The only remotely interesting thing about that viral video of a potty-mouthed Conservative "supporter" shrieking at a gang of reporters was his utter cluelessness regarding the Mike Duffy scandal.

"You didn't ever cheat on your tax return?" he shouts defensively at one point, imagining this to be somehow relevant.

Anti-Conservative partisans doubtless found the squeaky-voiced senior a satisfying caricature of the stereotypically ignorant Tory voter. Yet one hardly has to be a right-wing demagogue to share his irritation at a media class obsessed with "fantasy scandals."

Last April, noted CBC pundit extraordinaire Bruce Anderson wrote a column in the Globe and Mail predicting widespread public fascination with the then-looming corruption trial of Senator Duffy. Likening it to a reality show with "voyeuristic" appeal, his anticipation was shared by most of the Canadian media establishment. This thing was going to be the political event of the year, they said, and a damning one for the Prime Minister at that.

Well, we're now six weeks in and O.J. it ain't.

A recent poll found only 22% of Canadians claim to be following the trial, with 75% saying its proceedings will not affect their vote one way or another.

So what went wrong? Why was the press pick for summer blockbuster such a flop?

Well, for starters, strip away the sensationalism and you'll find the scandal at the core of the case is hardly Hollywood.

Senator Duffy lived in Ottawa but pretended to live in the Maritimes in order to opt into a parliamentary expense account for lawmakers commuting from other provinces. When Duffy got caught, the Prime Minister's Chief of Staff, Nigel Wright, gave him $90,000 to reimburse the treasury.

That's really it.

In 2013, Wright told RCMP investigators Prime Minister Harper only endorsed his scheme to the extent he agreed Duffy should return to taxpayers the money he grifted from them. The media, desiring Harper to have a larger role, desperately hoped Wright was lying, and repeatedly suggested the prime minister would call an early election before Wright could take the stand. Instead, Harper wound up extending the campaign period, ensuing Wright's testimony occurred right in the middle.

Wright has yet to contradict his original story. Under oath, he's repeated the PM granted nothing beyond "broad terms" approval for the idea Duffy should refund his false-pretence expenses, back when that was somehow still a matter of dispute.

That Wright proceeded to give Duffy money out of his own pocket to pay his tab instead of forcing him to pawn his Chatelaine Award for Eighth-Sexiest Canadian of 1987 or whatever, is mildly offensive, I guess, in that it allowed the senator to escape any real hardship for abusing his public office. But the RCMP concluded it did not rise to the level of a criminal offence, which is why Duffy's the only one facing charges.

Bereft any Wright bombshells, the press now struggles to justify round-the-clock coverage of a low-level corruption trial by constructing increasingly convoluted opportunities for outrage. But as convolution increases, public interest doesn't.

We are currently supposed to be awaiting hard answers regarding what Ray Novak knew and when he knew it, for instance. My guess is most Canadians would like to know who Ray Novak is first.

Wild mischaracterization also runs rampant. Senate rules are vague enough that Duffy's apparent graft may have been permissible under a very literal reading. The fact that Harper — like any sane person — was nevertheless outraged at Duffy's obvious scamming proves to Michael Harris over at iPolitics that the PM "didn't care about the truth or the law." Okay.

Other journalists have resorted to the "but-what-if" school, in which we are instructed to arose outraged at things the Harper inner circle never did — namely soften an auditor's report on Duffy's spending or use Conservative Party funds to pay off Duffy's debt — but discussed at one point.

Or perhaps the real horror is what some are generously calling the "cover-up," i.e.; the approximately 15 minute period in which Senator Duffy pretended to have paid back his debts himself.

In the grand ledger of scandals, this all may be "a nothing," as the profane viral guy put it. But humans possess great talent at making somethings from nothings, and the Tories may justifiably fear fallout from endless coverage of a trial the public doesn't really understand, but is nevertheless told to judge harshly.

No one likes to look simple-minded. A hostile press seeks to convince the public their fully-clothed emperor is actually naked.

 

Written by J.J McCullough