February 18 2002


February 18 2002



The Prime Manager’s real influence is on party politics and executive administration, not policy. How much influence? Well, Stockwell Day speaks admiringly of the discipline of Chrétien’s Liberals. Deeply marked early on by the chaos of Lester Pearson’s cabinet, Chrétien determined to do better. The 68-year-old PM will leave lasting lessons about governing from the centre. The supreme example of his pragmatism was the working relationship he forged M with Paul Martin after defeating him in a bitter 1990 leadership f race. Chrétien loves the game I he plays so well: “I have been I a politician since I was a kid.”


The conventional wisdom on Martin has always been wrong. Never a corner-office-style politician, the finance minister cleaves to his father’s brand of Liberalism: the social aims of government are never far from the top of his priorities list. So Martin defeated the deficit mainly on the strength of tax revenues, not spending cuts. His influence has been most powerful among Liberals who once wondered if they could buy into 1990s-style fiscal probity and still cling to 1960s-style social conscience. Martin, 63, showed it could be done —if the economy cooperates. His influence is also powerful among just about anyone betting he’ll finally get to be PM one day.


Of the three titans of Canadian conservatism who rose in the 1990s, Mike Harris and Preston Manning chose 2002 to bow out. Only Klein, 59, is still standing—and his biggest national impact may be yet to come. The veteran Alberta premier’s decision to push ahead with health-care reforms could make him an agent of change in the area Canadians care about most. It could also antagonize the feds—not necessarily Klein’s natural ground. Unlike Harris, who was truly loathed by the federal Liberals, Klein has enjoyed a comfortable working relationship with Chrétien.


He was always, well, capable. Stolid. A good guy on the next level down from interesting. Then, suddenly, Manley was The Man. Or maybe not so suddenly. He often quietly got his way during long years as industry minister. By making him foreign affairs minister in October, 2000, Chrétien tipped him as a

rising star. His pro-U.S. stance quickly attracted informed attention. Then, after the Sept. 11 terror attacks, Manley burst into the public consciousness as the unofficial Minister of War. Since being named deputy prime minister in the January cabinet shuffle, the 52-year-old marathon runner looks almost boundless in his scope.


B.C. premiers whose precipitous rises and falls make the province’s mountain terrain look flat by comparison.

Arguably Canada’s worst-governed jurisdiction during successive leftand right-wing regimes, British Columbia needs a winner. Campbell, 54, brings a combination of populist instincts (televising cabinet sessions) and policy guts (deep cuts to spending). While he still has to prove his tough budget measures can restore the economy—and that he can withstand the collective anger they have provoked—he could break the mold of


Lobbyists, bureaucrats, partisans—anyone engaged with federal politics knows Goldenberg holds the keys to Jean Chrétien’s kingdom. Except the voters. Eddie—as he is always referred to with an informality that belies his influence—is the most powerful unelected Liberal in Ottawa. The 53-year-old senior policy adviser is assumed to have a say in any decision of the Prime Minister’s Office that matters. His in

stinct in politics is to &

play it safe. His loyalty | to Chrétien is absolute, | as it has been since I they first got together in the early 1970s. Others come and go. In his third term as Prime Minister, Chrétien is on his second chief of staff, his second communications director, his second policy chief. A second Eddie, though, is inconceivable.


When he was deputy minister of industry under Manley, Lynch was instrumental in making the concerns of the high-flying high-tech sector a top priority. Since moving to Finance in March, 2000, the 50-year-old mandarin has shifted the powerful department’s focus from fundamentals (deficits, inflation) to new departures (productivity, innovation). He’s tight with business leaders, as well as with Martin and Manley. And Lynch’s influence extends to more personal aspects of Martin’s life: the finance minister took up regular gym workouts in 2001, relying on Lynch’s personal trainer for direction. Chances are good Lynch will eventually become chief bureaucrat —the clerk of the Privy Council—especially if Martin happens to be prime minister.



Things were so much easier for Dodge when all he had to do, as deputy minister of finance, was listen to Martin’s occasional tantrums. Oh, and wrestle a multibilliondollar deficit into submission. Now, he’s got a hard job: as Bank of Canada governor, Dodge’s task is to nurse the long-ailing loonie back to health. The 58-year-old economist is more hip than his predecessors to modern means of influencing people. In late January, working closely with Martin, he broke with the old tradition of central bank governor aloofness to defend the weakening Canadian dollar in rare television interviews.


Since Preston Manning’s exit, her voice is the most piercing in Parliament. She has a way of cutting through the static surrounding tough policy files, too. As justice minister, McLellan took on young offenders and gun control and, after Sept. 11, pushed through tough security measures against stiff opposition. Now, as health minister, she will be put to the ultimate political test. She is the only Liberal heavyweight from Alberta, cradle of the latest medicare revolution. Chrétien has shown he trusts her, but she’s in the Martin leadership camp. If she survives all that, McLellan, 51, could carry her rising clout into the Liberal party’s next era.


After presiding over patronage appointments for four years in the first phase of the Chrétien government, Collenette, 51, moved three years ago to the inner sanctum of the Toronto-based Weston family business empire. Chrétien still calls her for advice. Her combination of top-level political connections and elite boardroom credentials is rare. And it doesn’t hurt that she’s married to Transport Minister David Collenette, one of Chrétien’s most loyal Ontario lieutenants. Beyond straddling the top strata of Bay Street and the Liberal party, she is a beacon for careeroriented feminism. When she was director of appointments for Chrétien, she boasts, nearly 40 per cent of some 2,500 federal postings went to women.



While he’s far too stately to be the poster boy of anything, Monty stands astride an enviable mountain of media, telecommunication and Internet businesses. As chairman and chief executive of BCE Inc., whose empire includes CTV, the Globe and Mail, Sympatico-Lycos, Teleglobe and, of course, old stalwart Bell Canada, the Montreal-born and -based Monty is the undisputed king of convergence. Monty, 54, is also one of the few CEOs willing to speak out—against s Quebec independence; for perI sonal tax cuts. Now, as chair“ man of the Canadian Council

of Chief Executives, Monty takes on a new role: that of speaking on behalf of the other power brokers.


Tall and lanky, Nixon is the new kid on the Bay Street block of big bankers. But there are few Canadian individuals or businesses whose lives aren’t touched, directly or indirectly, by the CEO of the Royal Bank of Canada, the country’s largest bank. Nixon, 45, took the Royal’s reins after running RBC Dominion Securities Inc., the bank’s investment arm, for only 16 months. A consensus builder, he so impressed Royal’s board members, they named him bank boss without contest when John Cleghorn left last year. Now, the legendary deal-making expertise of Dominion’s chairman, Tony Fell, feeds into Nixon’s new realm of influence. Nixon’s next team effort? Forging stronger ties between business and Ottawa.


The jazz-loving, chain-smoking, hard-nosed deal maker, Israel H. Asper—much better known as Izzy—started out in 1974 with the purchase of a TV station in Winnipeg. Today, his company—he's executive chairman of CanWest Global Communications Corp.—is the country’s largest media owner, with major city dailies, the National Post, and the Global

network of TV stations. While his son and heir apparent Leonard runs the day-to-day business, Asper-père, who turns 70 this year, is still a very active player. Of late, he’s come under attack for insisting his papers toe the line on his political and pro-Israel (the country) stances, which might be called putting his mouth where his money is.


While the rumours fly in Quebec that Scraire is negotiating an exit package from his post as chairman and J chief executive of the

Caisse de dépôt et | placement du Québec i —he’s said to be eye° ing a lower-profile gig in Europe—whoever is in control of this behemoth of a pension fund manager has the power to move markets. The Caisse, with holdings worth $125 billion, is the single most important stock market player in Canada. Given the Caisse’s dual mandate to promote Quebec’s business interests (often, of course, highly political) and to make money on behalf of pensioners, Scraire, 55, has had a very fine line to walk.


They’re not conjoined, but the two brothers, co-CEOs of Power Corp., can’t really be separated in the influence stakes. Paul, 47, and André, 45, jointly lead the multinational giant created by their legendary father Paul Sr. (who, as director and chairman of the board’s executive committee, maintains a hand on Power’s tiller). Power owns or controls insurance and mutual fund companies, runs newspapers including Montreal’s La Presse, and has a key stake in privately held Bertelsmann AG, the German-based entertainment powerhouse that owns publishers such as Random House, record labels such as Arista and RCA and even the rights to Elvis Presley’s works. The brothers’ influence comes not just from Power’s corporate reach, but also from their style: known as quiet, stealth-like operators, they can make Bay Street’s power-brokers quiver.


Tom Kierans is a go-to kind of guy.

Once the president of McLeod Young Weir Ltd.—he struck the deal to sell the investment firm to the Bank of Nova Scotia—Kierans is now on the boards of eight companies, including Manulife Financial Corp., PetroCanada and BCE Inc. He’s also sat on countless advisory boards to government, universities and the private sector. After 10 years of leading the C.D. Howe Institute—during which time the Toronto-based think tank became arguably Canada’s most influential ideas centre—61-year-old Kierans, the thinking person’s investment banker, took over the Canadian Institute for Advanced Research. But his role as a classic Bay Street insider means that much of what he does you’ never hear about.


The former PM hardly needs an introduction. Which, in the business world, is his real calling card. Nine years since he left politics, Mulroney now holds directorships on nine corporate boards, including Barrick Gold Corp. and Quebecor Inc. He’s a senior partner at the blue-chip Montreal law firm, Ogilvy Renault, and on behalf of clients and business partners, he travels the globe, opening the doors of foreign governments. Mulroney, who turns 63 next month, has gone from being one of Canada’s most I hated politicians to one of its most sought& after businessmen.


While his Rosedale neighbours are unhappy about his home and garden expansion plans— Schwartz has bought up and torn down three neighbouring houses to put in such additions as a swimming pool and underground parking— they, like the rest of the country, stand in awe of his ability to grow businesses. The man who almost wrested control of the Canadian airline industry away from Air Canada’s Robert Milton, only to wipe his brow last fall in relief that he hadn’t, isa perpetual-motion entrepreneur, involved via his Onex Corp. in businesses ranging from electronics to sugar to movies. Schwartz, 60, and his wife, Indigo Books queen Heather Reisman, are Canada’s premier—and very Liberal-minded—power couple.


One of the few highly respected businessmen with a powerful government background, the president and CEO of Canadian National Railway Co. has turned the train company into a successful, money-making market darling from a moribund, cash-draining Crown corporation. Tellier, 62, can draw on wide contacts in government from his time as boss of the civil service under Brian Mulroney (and Pierre Trudeau’s point man on the 1980 Quebec referendum before that). While his effort to merge CN with Texas-based Burlington Northern Santa Fe Corp. was nixed in 2000 by U.S. regulators, since Sept. 11 he’s used his considerable clout to campaign to keep the CanadaU.S. border unencumbered.


Terry Matthews is the tech industry’s visionary, with deep pockets and an impressive track record. The sale (against his wishes) of his second major start-up, Newbridge Networks Corp., to Paris-based Alcatel SA in 2000 left him a cash-rich billionaire who can do—and fund—pretty much whatever he likes. He’s a hard-driving leader who inspires remarkable staff loyalty. With an IPO scheduled for this year for his latest enterprise, March Networks Corp., the media-shy 58-year-old hopes to create a new Canadian tech giant.



It’s been more than four years since McKenna left the premier’s chair in New Brunswick at the top of his game. But he still has the buzz. With a law office in Moncton, an informal one in Toronto, and nearly a dozen blue-chip direc^ torships across the country, McKenna is his | very own information highway—and Atlantic & Canada’s chief cheerleader at the boardroom | table. One sign of his talent: he’s a % Paul Martin supporter and a Jean “ Chrétien confidante. His influence f comes from a top-drawer political £ Rolodex and the fact that there are | Liberals who think McKenna, 54, J might be interested in being prime J minister himself someday. «


His ATCO Ltd. portable trailers (revenues $3-billion-plus) have an almost unparalleled global reach, and he is currently big into Arctic drilling, but Southern is nonetheless firmly rooted in his native Calgary. His other family venture, the Spruce Meadows Equestrian Centre, is the place for the professional horsey set to meet and greet, and to mingle with visiting celebs. Still a force at 71, still putting in the long hours, Southern is a charter member of Calgary’s original oil-boom power elite. Along with the likes of close friend and former premier Peter Lougheed, and recently retired oilman Jim Gray, he is the courtly prism through which new money gets its taste of Cowtown.


The cherubic fixer? Don’t be fooled by the curly, now greying, locks and the Scotch-and-soda voice. Smith is the political organizer who delivered almost every seat in Ontario to Jean Chrétien in the last three federal elections, and he didn’t rack that up by being everyone’s favourite uncle. Chairman of Toronto law firm Fraser, Milner Casgrain, a big corporate player itself, Smith, 60, moves in his own sphere because he’s the Prime Minister’s sounding

board on Ontario, and because he’s been there, done that. Former executive assistant to Liberal worthies,

a one-time Toronto alderman and


£ mayoral candidate, and an MP I and federal minister (briefly) in the I Trudeau era, he knows which doors 8 to open in the corridors of power.


Occasionally eclipsed by elder brother Joey, the arts donor, Larry is the one with his mitts on the true pulse of Canada’s beloved Hogtown. Minority owner of Maple Leaf Sports and Entertainment, which in turn owns the NHL Leafs and pro basketball's Raptors, as well as the glitzy Air Canada Centre they play in, Tanenbaum is a tycoon in his own right: a former construction magnate with net worth above $800 million. The owner who pushed the others to pony up the big-contract money to make both sports teams contenders, Tanenbaum, 56, is also well in with Mayor Mel Lastman’s kitchen cabinet, and bosom pals with local super-fixer Paul Godfrey. That’s front-row seating.


Mr. Patient Money, they call him in the oil patch. Though for someone who chucked a law career at 28 and parlayed a $100,000 investment into a current fortune of $450 million or so—at just 42—it does seem a misnomer. Edwards’ secret: buy low and hold on. Tenacity has made the ex-Saskatchewanian a shooter in his adopted Calgary, where his Canadian

Natural Resources has been a white knight and his aerospace holdings have sparked a high-tech boom. For ÆÊL his pains he’s ended up co-owner of the ■ Calgary Flames.



The 73-year-old Pattison is that once-ageneration kind of guy: just a humble, trumpet-playing, church-going everyman with a $15-million yacht, Frank Sinatra’s palatial old spread in Palm Springs and the thirdlargest private company in Canada (24,000 employees in over 50 enterprises with $5 billion in sales). His rags-to-riches story —from used-car salesman to international biggie (and spur-of-the-moment philanthropist)—is the stuff of B.C. legend. But his real influence flows from being the affable billionaire. On the polarized West Coast, Pattison has become the business chief who will go anywhere to find a middle ground.

Last summer—a test of faith—he even arranged a job in his Pattison Sign business for disgraced former NDP premier Glen Clark.


The King of Lobster Point is either an ostentatious young Turk with a $20-million mansion or, as some would have it, the greatest entrepreneur in the Atlantic fishing industry. Take your pick. What’s undisputed is that the 53year-old Risley has transformed a family business trucking lobsters to Maine into a seafood giant with up to $1 billion in global sales. His

personal worth (estimate: $287 million) pales beside that of the reclusive Irvings, the barons of New Brunswick. But Risley’s neat reverse takeover of Newfoundland’s FPI Ltd. by his Bedford, N.S.-based Clearwater Fine Foods—and his attempt to transform the fishery into a high-tech harvester—makes him the one to watch.


The understated son of Quebec’s most ubiquitous and trusted folk hero—lab-coated pharmacist supreme Jean Coutu—the 46-year-old François could make the list on business smarts alone. His step-by-step expansion into the United States (332 stores to go along with the 262 in Quebec and Eastern Canada) has returned record $2.9-billion revenues for the drugstore giant Jean Coutu Group. More importantly, he has done it by managing the reputation of a firm that has often ranked as the most respected in Quebec. He is prudent and bold at the same time— in the manner of his father, the chairman, who is spending more of his energies on his charities. The Coutus are role models for a Quebec business class that likes to play hard— and win—on the international stage.


Nellie, as she is universally known throughout the Northwest Territories, was elected to her fourth term as chairwoman of the Inuvialuit Regional Corporation board last month. No surprise there: when has she ever lost an election? A member of the territorial legislature from 1979 to 1995, premier for four of those years, Cournoyea was one of the land-claims negotiators who won a groundbreaking settlement for her people in 1984. And through the IRC she has been the one to manage its $278 million in assets ever since. Raised on the land by a trapper father, educated through correspondence courses, she is enormously respected in the North. That she is now saying Yes to Arctic gas development in the Mackenzie Delta is sure to be heard a continent away, in Parliament and the White House.


A first-rate opinion-monger with the lungs of an opera star, Mair is Canada’s reigning talkshow champ—in a province that takes these things seriously. Woe betide any public figure who tries to avoid his microphone. A former B.C. cabinet minister and constitutional junkie who found his calling in 1984 at CKNW, Vancouver’s largest radio station, Mair is one of those rare editorialists who can make almost any public policy a life-or-death debate. His tough-minded opposition to the constitutional reforms of the mid-1990s started a brush fire in the West that led to their demise. A more flexible curmudgeon than he is often given credit for, Mair can change his mind. Though not on the important things like fly-fishing.


She is the Queen of CanLit, her impish catsmile peeping out of bookstore shelves from Kapuskasingto Copenhagen. At 62, and with 40 titles under her belt, Atwood has won nearly all the big literary awards save the Nobel Prize. And there are many who believe that is not beyond her grasp. A nationalist and feminist icon, she has never shied away from tough topics—sexual repression, class politics, even the survivability of Canadian

literature. She is also that rare creative figure who is not afraid of a public cause, whether it’s writers’ rights, water purity or, in her view, the perfidy of cuddling up to the Americans over free trade. Atwood picks her battles more carefully these days. But she did spend her 60th birthday walking the picket line with Calgary Herald journalists. An exquisite storyteller, Atwood both represents and has the firmest of grips on the Canadian mind.



He may never have the out-front cachet of his friend and former rival, producer Robert Lantos. But MacMillan is the one dishing up huge chunks of what Canadians watch on the tube or the big screen. A jogger who cooks to relax, MacMillan heads Alliance Atlantis, the largest Canadian producer of prime-time drama with hits like Da Vinci’s Inquest and CSI: Crime Scene Investigation. It is also the country’s biggest movie distributor and an emerging player in specialty TV. MacMillan bubbled to the top four years ago when his much smaller Atlantis Communications bought Lantos's Alliance. Now the Alliance Atlantis moniker is on everything from the History Channel to Canadian prints of The Lord of the Rings.


Not just a hockey idol, he’s a human metaphor. How many times have you heard the phrase: “So-and-so is the Wayne Gretzky of...” (pick a profession)? Front and centre this month as the guy who chose the Canadian men’s Olympic hockey team, Gretzky is more than just an exalted hockey exec (he’s an owner of the Phoenix Coyotes) in Canada’s own game. He is simply the most popular sports, and maybe pop-culture, personality in the country. Blue-chip companies like Imperial Oil and TransAlta want him on their payroll because his presence at corporate functions attracts cabinet ministers and other deal-making bigwigs. Just like at the rink: He draws the crowd and makes everyone else look better.


As Jack Kerouac was to the Beats, so is Moses to his people—father of the MuchMusic generation. A legit visionary who foresaw the visual barrage that would be specialty TV and rode it like a wave, Znaimer has a touch for breaking down the wall between audience and performer—also between the audience and the broadcast booth. The power of Much has been to open the windows and let a couple of generations of Canadian talent flood out without being preachy. The power of Znaimer has been to go where others wouldn’t. With seven new specialty channels (from SexTV to high-brow Bravo) and now eight high-energy local outlets between Toronto and Victoria, the Citytv empire he created has moved the bar for small screen innovation. The true sign of success? His style has been ripped off all over the world.


Erwartung. His play Elsinore is an audacious reworking of Hamlet in which Lepage performs all the roles on a London

He is Quebec’s Renaissance man, so it is appropriate that one of the most multi-talented figures in today's performing-arts scene once wrote and starred in a one-man show about Leonardo da Vinci, the prototype of the genre. Lepage has wowed critics with films like 1995’s Le Confessionnal. He has conquered the opera world with his productions of

Bluebeard’s Castle and


Blink twice and they’re gone, all those superstars of Canadian music, flitting off to sunnier climes in New York City or L.A. Left behind is the star-making machinery. Chief lever-puller: Randy Lennox, 44-year-old president and CEO of Universal Music Canada, the country’s biggest label. If there is to be a new music award or a charity CD—like the one last fall that raised $500,000 for children with disabilities—it doesn’t happen without Universal’s nod. A rock ’n’ roll diplomat who survived the spate of corporate mergers, Lennox has big names like the Tragically Hip on record. More telling, a host of creative independents are flocking to him, ready to ride Universal’s high-octane international machine.


Entertainment lawyer Levine almost belongs in his own category as the big-dog negotiator for Canada’s arts and entertainment elite. His clients, including the country’s top filmmakers, broadcasters and writers, benefit from his organizational skills and unruffled chutzpah. Age 58—and a closet historian—the Torontobased Levine is the closest Canadian equivalent to a big-wheel Hollywood agent. His grasp of entertainment financing has made him the marquee broker of independent film and television documentaries. And his loyalty to clients such as late prime minister Pierre Trudeau and his ex-wife Margaret made Levine the person the family turned to when setting up the Trudeau Foundation.

I stage. One common I thread for Quebec’s biggest theatrical export: his rock-band enthusiasm for spectacle (along with substance)— a style that has contributed mightily to today’s image-rich theatre, dance and giant puppetry. The fact that he has also spanned the cultural divide that is English and French is no small achievement itself.


As head of the Toronto International Film Festival, Handling can view as many as five movies a day. What he thinks of them can mean the difference between obscurity and celebrity. Winning a prominent showing at the annual blowout, now one of the most prestigious in the world, is a huge break for even a small film. Just its existence is a catalyst for the country’s entire film industry. The festival’s combination of international focus and Canadian roots mirrors that of 52-year-old Handling: Calgaryborn, he grew up an army brat in Germany. Along the way, he gained a firm belief in the importance of culture to a nation’s well-being.


He’s a film buff with a Midas touch, someone who started off, rather modestly, animating cartoons for the National Film Board. But Langlois, now 45, was an early master of the digital wizardry that led to the otherwordly effects of the modern blockbuster. His computer-graphics company Softimage provided much of the genius behind such hits as Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, The Matrix and Titanic. And it made Langlois a multimillionaire in 1994 when it was bought by Microsoft. That in turn made him a player in Montreal's real estate, high-tech and arts scenes, developing, among other things, Ex-Centris, a super-trendy cinema with built-in digital production studios— a playground for the next generation of cinematic experimenters.


Backlit, and forward looking, Wall has turned the luminosity of the humble bus-stop ad into a work of art. The 55-year-old Vancouver photographer backlights everything from a solitary man mopping linoleum to a close-up of a hand removing a white rag from a washing machine. The results are usually called “postmodern,” but the effects range from baroque, when his lens explores a tangle of rope, to pristinely classical. A university instructor,

Wall is the focal point for a growing school of West Coast artists. But his true influence lies in transforming the ordinary stuff of Vancouver life into imagery that the entire world admires.


The joke, as she tells it herself, is that she rose through the court system faster than many of her cases. But it is exactly that touch of quicksilver that is needed to sit atop the Supreme Court of Canada, where power is both absolute and subtle: Whose cause do we hear (or not) today? Elegant and cultured, and with an engagingly raw laugh that shows

off her ranch-girl upbringing, McLachlin, 58, became the court’s first female chief justice two years ago as it was rebalancing—getting tougher on criminals, more liberal on social policy. A prolific writer of judgements, she is a fierce believer in social rights. But her real strength is her ability to cajole a strong-willed court to speak so often with one voice.



A stylish symbol of immigrant arrival, Clarkson (born Adrienne Poy) came to Canada as a refugee during the Second World War and then entered our living rooms as one of the more adroit television commentators of her time. Almost foo regal, some say, as Governor General, Clarkson “is the person we tell our daughters to be,” declaims one Canadian-based Asian diplomat.

More than a cultural role model, at 1 63 she embodies the notion that 5 ideas matter. With writer-husband f John Ralston Saul—whose think£ ing she often espouses—Clarkson J?

has turned the usually dreary Governor General’s Awards into an entertaining celebration of literary personalities. And her dinner parties have become a movable salon, where writers, artists and achievers of all sorts mingle.


Put an internationally acclaimed scientist in charge of health-science funding and watch his speciality grow. In the case of Bernstein, that may be exactly the point. The president of the recently formed Canadian Institutes of Health Research, Ottawa’s superfunder with an annual budget approaching $550 million, Bernstein is one of Canada’s—and the world's —leading authorities on cancer research and gene therapy. Formerly head of research at Toronto’s Mount Sinai Hospital, 54-year-old Bernstein brings an expert’s skepticism to many cloning and new-age discoveries. More importantly, he brings the discipline of discovery to the big picture—intent on funding social ethicists along with the lab coats.


Move over Buzz and Svend, this is the face of the brand-New Left, and it doesn’t want anything to do with old-line political parties.

At 31, Klein has become the activist voice of a generation fed up with the homogenizing power of multinational corporations. Her personalized exposé No Logo lays bare the sweatshop reality behind the superbrands and has itself become a multinational hit, touted by rock stars and even NBA players like Canada’s Steve Nash.

The fact that Klein is in greater demand outside the country only adds to her mystique as the Paladin of the have-cellphone-will-travel generation. It even allows her to see firsthand the things she writes about.


As a communications industry pioneer, an eclectic acquisitor and a really rich guy who owns this magazine among other baubles, Rogers would make any A-list. He’s here because he's clearly a shaper: a technovisionary whose companies have introduced a string of Canadian firsts in cable, Internet and cellphone technology, and, more importantly, one who has embraced the idea of a social legacy. Two years ago, Rogers gave a whopping $25 million to the University of Toronto. He followed up last year—true to form, an eclectic philanthropist—with a $12.5-million gift to downtown rival Ryerson. Always a competitor, at 68 he’s setting the bar for his generation of wealthy givers.


University of Toronto legal scholar and all-round brain, this is the guy they call when a tough issue needs cracking. Born on a sheep farm in New Zealand, Trebilcock taught at McGill in the early 1970s before transferring to U of T. Since then he’s been at the thinking edge of a huge variety of projects: hydro deregulation, law society reform, immigration policy; he’s currently research director for an advisory commission to tell the Ontario government what to do next. Each discipline has its intellectual star. Think UBC’s Alan Cairns in political science or Simon Fraser’s ageless economist Richard Lipsey. Trebilcock’s added strength is that he is a pioneer in a multidisciplinary field, law and economics, and his texts are shaping legal debate in the courts.


His mother was the niece of Vincent Massey, his father a top-drawer Canadian diplomat. Toronto-born Ignatieff is that rare nexus of blueblood connections and talent. A kind of citizen journalist—with a penchant for war zones—Ignatieff, 54, has been an expat most of his adult life, writing books and essays from his London launching pad, where he was also a star of a highbrow British talk show.

Now at Harvard, he is circling closer to home. With an agile mind and a first-hand take on the world’s trouble spots, doors open to him in the highest circles.



Four years ago, as newly installed president of the University of British Columbia, Piper clashed with Jean Chrétien’s gang over the handling of APEC protesters on her campus. Now they couldn't be better buds. With University of Montreal president Robert Lacroix, Piper quietly persuaded the feds to invest $900 million in 2,000 research chairs to stem the academic brain drain—and then loudly praised them for it. New chums with Chrétien fixer Eddie Goldenberg,

Piperis the power to watch in the post-secondary world, not least because of her ability to say thank you in public.


Four years ago, environmentalist Comeau packed in her agitator’s role at the Sierra Club, where she was leading the fight against global warming, and took on a bureaucrat’s job at the sleepy Federation of Canadian Municipalities. Her activist friends wondered if she was slowing down. Not a chance. The 46-year-old Comeau, who talks and lobbies at the speed of light, is the one turning Canada’s cashstrapped municipalities into conservation powerhouses. Ottawa’s favourite environmentalist, from patron Paul Martin on down, Comeau has made the FCM a green banker—with a $250-million retrofit fund from the feds and a plan to cut enough greenhouse gas emissions to reach even the lofty goals of the Kyoto agreement on global warming.


Get past the grey suit and Montreal’s new mayor is a man of many quiet accomplishments: a Harvard MBA, a former provincial industry minister, even a purveyor of French perfumes. He’ll need the whole caboodle. The forced amalgamation of Quebec municipalities was a bitter affair, one of the crosses that drove Lucien Bouchard from office. But Tremblay’s inclusive bland-works style appears to be grinding down the old linguistic and city-suburb barriers. If it takes off, a born-again Montreal | that doesn’t subsist on 5 dreamy megaprojects 1 would transform the &

national landscape. ár