CANADIAN COAST GUARD MANAGERIALISM, STAKEHOLDER RESISTANCE AND THE STRUGGLE TO SAVE RESCUE DIVING

January, 2002

Abstract:

Coast Guard management attempts to suspend and then terminate Coast Guard rescue diving in B.C. evoked stakeholder resistance and widespread controversy. The author is a citizen-volunteer member of the Canadian Coast Guard Lower Mainland Advisory Council and retells the rescue diving story from a stakeholder perspective. Flawed Coast Guard processes were constructed within managerialist discourse and enacted against an historic backdrop of inauthentic public consultations and dodgy statistics. Managers option for strategic instead of communicative action. The author explains why rescue diving is needed and presents management with moral and Canadian options which do not depend on bench-marking, best practices and other anti-democratic features of neo-liberal managerialism. He broadly contrasts Canadian marine SAR "discourses of impossibility" with recent triumphs in Australia. Whilst the paper concerns rescue diving, the analysis pertains to other aspects of SAR and public life in Canada.

STEAK HOLDERS

Gary Thompson awoke on July 22nd, 2001 to find calm seas in front of his home in West Vancouver. This was good because, around noon, Coast Guard and civilian vehicles arrived on the road above while boats and other craft landed on the beach below. Coast Guard and Canadian flags flapped in a gentle breeze.

Neighbours leaned on balconies or scrambled over the fence into Thompson's place. It was clearly an event of some significance - involving Coast Guard personnel and civilians. As sausage and steak sizzled on a BBQ - and beverages lay in the ice-filled bin labeled "dive team" - the unusual nature of the event became clear. Divers, Rescue Specialists, wives and kids crowded the patio. There was only one speech - from Gary Thompson, Chair of the volunteer-citizen Lower Mainland Advisory Council of the Canadian Coast Guard (LMAC). LMAC's are supposed to advise Coast Guard. Thompson was not containing his joy concerning recent events. In his speech, he asked for reconciliation and building SAR for the future.

Coast Guard managers in B.C. had suspended and then permanently terminated a rescue diving program that, in the opinion of stakeholders, was an important part of marine SAR in British Columbia. Terminating the dive team was unacceptable. Formed after fatal incidents in 1992 and 1993, rescue diving at Sea Island started in 1995. Labelling it a "pilot project" soothed Ottawa reluctance. Coast Guard personnel with the ships' crew group received an extra $700 a year to participate. Because of their collective agreement, officers received no extra remuneration. By November, 2000, 33 officers and crew from Sea Island and Kitsilano had been trained. During the six years of the project, many people left the base (or Coast Guard). Nevertheless, Sea Island was generally able to maintain a dive team on stand-by (Nemrava, 2000). There was only one major case (SAR ) when divers were needed but not available.

Those in charge at Sea Island developed a Rescue Divers Manual so comprehensive it was used by DND and police diving authorities. Each diver had to provide appropriate medical and fitness reports and certification or endorsement as a Public Safety, Commercial or Fleet diver. Once in the program the diver completed fourteen academic and in-the-water training modules. These concerned capsized vessel stability, zero visibility searching, submerged aircraft extraction, current and river searching and contingency planning. For training purposes, the dive team has the fishing vessel Cheryl Dawn sunk in the slough behind the base along with a van bearing Quebec license plates. Divers have been in and out of the Cheryl Dawn many times where they practiced techniques to protect themselves from panicky "survivors," giving air and safely finding the way back to the surface.

After word spread, DND dive trainers and divers took the course. By 1998 there had been more than 1000 injury-free dives (Wootton, 1998). Diving equipment at Sea Island was worth about $80,000 and the annual operations and management costs over the five years of the project, ranged from $15 to $40,000 (Nemrava, 2000) - paltry sums in a Coast Guard SAR budget where just B.C. consumes more than $2 million per month (including the low-activity winter months).

Coast Guard Commissioner Major-General John Adams, a former military officer, claimed divers had saved only one life in six years. At a management meeting held in Ottawa on November 23 and 24th, 2000, he pressed for termination of the dive program. Coast Guard managers in B.C. agreed to suspend the program on November 29, 2000 and then terminate it at 1530 hours on Friday, February 16th, 2001 - when most news media had fled for the weekend. None of these managers had diving or relevant operational experience. None had commanded a ship, let alone a hovercraft.

The same tendency had impeded rescue operations mounted at the September 1998 crash of Swiss Air F-111. Jack Gallagher (1999), the Coast Guard officer in charge of the response to the Swiss Air tragedy, was clear on this point. He noted "there is a move, government-wide and within our department, which advocates staffing management and executive positions with generic managers. This strategy has high potential to exacerbate the problem as they will not, by and large, have an operational focus and truly understand the importance and magnitude of special operations." Although the rescue diving controversy had yet to reach a crescendo, Gallagher's perspective applied with equal utility to B.C. Having generic managers "could seriously jeopardize the required commitment for Coast Guard to successfully prosecute important missions" (Gallagher, 1999).

Instead of generic managers, Gallagher wanted experienced fleet officers in management. Prior to cutbacks they was a "ready pool" that could handle large projects and special assignments. But, with blitzkrieg politics and the degovernmentalization of government, there were no longer enough fleet officers to be released into management. Gallagher wondered where talent was supposed to come from. In situations like Swiss Air or rescue diving, managers would need to have a "good marine background, (be) used to having big tasks delegated to them, be good decision-makers, have knowledge of programs and organization and a 'can-do' attitude."

It was this "can-do" attitude that went missing between Ottawa and Vancouver. In Ottawa, the Coast Guard Commissioner had suffered the indignity of ridicule after being accused of nepotism. To him, the hovercraft base was a distant but troublesome blip on the backside of Coast Guard operations and diving a "black hole." By canceling the dive program he'd hopefully hear less from tiresome enthusiasts at the Sea Island hovercraft base. There was also an attempt to subdue Captain John McGrath - the irreverent hovercraft O-I-C - a Scotsman that worked public relations to the advantage of the base but, worst of all, resisted mediocre management.

As citizen-volunteer LMAC members and Coast Guard personnel quenched summer thirsts on Thompson's patio, it was apparent that, from a management perspective, something was awry. First, McGrath wasn't subdued. On the contrary, he was exuberant as usual. Second, Coast Guard rescuers were buoyed by value the public attached to their work. As well, "national program" now didn't seem to mean an icebreaker in every port - including daffodil festooned Victoria. Could there be divers where they're most needed? In the lower Georgia Strait?

Ordinary citizens - helped by Peter Bernard, an experienced Queen's Counsel hired to do an enquiry, exemplary work by Kate Corcoran, a television reporter using a typhoon of leaks from Coast Guard sources - had exposed processes wherein management feigns but has no genuine interest in stakeholder input. As Bernard (2001) would say in his report "It is clear … that no significant effort was made to determine the views or the wishes of the public prior to the cancellation of the Rescue Dive Pilot Project. In fact, opinions that were offered in support of the project seem to have been ignored" (p. 24).

Stakeholders had grown tired of being used to manufacture consent for "best practices" created in Ottawa. They were disappointed regional managers had not stood up for B.C. Astute and, in his words, not given to "flapping his gums on television," Gary Thompson had tried to calm LMAC stakeholders that wanted Coast Guard management heads used as anchors. Management could not pretend there was even a murmur of consent for terminating the rescue dive program. On the contrary, the protest had been loud, sustained and unanimous. Finally, the Minister of Fisheries sensed government was in hazardous waters - accused of being callous - of maybe killing Canadians.

PURPOSE

The view developed here is that managers are less relevant than what lays behind their "decisions." Terminating the dive program illustrates the problem of developing Canadian innovation and leadership - not just in SAR but an entire range of socio-political phenomena. The situation can be contrasted with that of Australia where, despite the relative absence of a federal presence, SAR is nested in a discourse of possibility.

In Australia, the first response is "bloody hell, let's do it." Even without a rescue dive program, the Aussie proclivity is to "have a go." The rescue of 55 distressed mariners caught in a Sydney-Hobart yacht race hurricane, coupled with snatching Tony Bullimore and other around-the-world yachtsmen from certain death, became a triumph of Australian nationhood. In contrast, SAR in Canada is too often constructed by a discourse of impossibility, mediocrity, conceptual confusion, implausible statistics and managerial defensiveness. The on-again off-again dive program and managers who construct themselves as victims stuck with making "hard decisions," are part of a broader national problem.

Our preoccupation is with the story behind the story. Bernard (2001) identified spectacular mismanagement by certain individuals. Replacing them would bring relief but not solve the main problem. This problem - managerialism - is at work in many arenas of public life in Canada and abroad. It now drags public agencies (such as universities and the post office) away from their historic commitment to the public good.

Had Bernard (2001) been given broader Terms of Reference, his report would have been even more compelling than what is already a tapestry of mangerialist fumbles. For once, shortage of money was not the main issue. Even the most hostile managers didn't tout cost as a major factor in the decision to terminate the dive team. Besides, on July 15th, 2000, the Minister of Fisheries had announced $115.5 million in new funding for maritime SAR. This was part of the additional $320 million that Fisheries/Coast Guard received in the 2000 budget "to assist the Department in managing … cost pressures" (Department of Fisheries and Oceans, July 13th, 2000). Dive team costs wouldn't even make a blip in the $535 million the federal government spends each year on SAR.¹

The purpose here is not to restage debates adequately covered by Bernard (2001). Moreover, the focus on Coast Guard diving and hovercraft operations is not meant to marginalize other valuable operations and outstanding personnel involved in maintaining navigation aids, fisheries research, marine communications and other services provided by Coast Guard. The focus on hovercraft should also not be taken to mean ships; cutters, helicopters or other craft are unimportant. Nor does the author claim expertise demonstrated in dive program evaluation reports produced in August, 1997 by Brian Stevens, the December, 1998 four-year review by Coast Guard captain Brian Wooten or the Nerve (2000) Report produced in great haste in response to blitzkrieg management. These reports are useful and Bernard (2001) was so impressed by Nerve's work he devoted nearly four pages of his report to it. However, none of these authors were tasked to consider the socio-cultural background or politics against which the dive drama was enacted. In particular, Nerve's report focused on "due diligence," "human resources" and other attributes of managerially.

These days' citizens are less inclined to join clubs or engage in volunteer service than previously. In many respects, civil society is in collapse and the struggle over Coast Guard diving is part of a broader phenomenon that threatens democracy. But, in this case, a group of stakeholders refused to condone mediocre management.

Our purpose is to locate the dive controversy in a socio-cultural and political context, to chronicle events that occurred and to show management is not neutral. Coast Guard Managerially is part of a neo-liberal tapestry that advantages some interests and disadvantages others. We retell the dive story from the perspective of the ordinary citizen. Although the focus is on the B.C. Coast Guard rescue diving program, the analysis pertains to other places and aspects of public life in Canada.

POSTMODERN HYBRID

Coast Guard is fractured by turf wars. Many "ship" people in Fisheries don't like the hovercraft because it's half ship and half plane. Like homphobes and racists, they're threatened by a collapse in "natural" boundaries. Some yearned for the good ol' days when a ship was a bloody ship. The hovercraft plays with boundaries, flirts with aircraft origins, is made of lightweight materials, and rides on a cushion of air. It is light, playful, noisy and takes illegal shortcuts across shallows. Can't it be one thing or the other?

The Department of Fisheries has been described as a "dysfunctional bureaucracy that's at war with the stakeholder groups it serves" (Hume, 1996, p. B1). Yet, hovercraft people were enthusiasts and their leader a survivor. He had an army of supporters in the community and, along with Kits. Base, ran the only Canadian Coast Guard station manned (and womaned) 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. In the absence of support from National or Regional management, McGrath's leadership approach was based on "Do a good job, find ways to do it better, believe in it." What McGrath's lost at the mangerialist table in Ottawa, he made up for with community contacts at home. When it came to "partnerships," McGrath was a boisterous genius.

The dive program brought new life to hovercraft operations and continuing education (lacking elsewhere in Coast Guard) became available. Unlike other branches of Fisheries (Sullivan, 2001), women seemed comfortable at Sea Island. On some incidents a hovercraft crew of four was composed of three women and one man.

Before the Parksville base closed, there were several Coast Guard hovercrafts scooting across mudflats, up the Fraser River and in and out of rock-infested Gulf Islands. Hovercraft 086 and the venerable 039 were cannibalized for parts. Today there is the new Hovercraft Siyay and the older, smaller and slower Hovercraft 045. B.C. is well suited to hovercraft operations and the Sea Island base is the busiest "lifeboat" station in Canada. However, despite the record of accomplishment, bodies located, fishermen snatched from burning wrecks (e.g. Shiana Bev), recreational boaters removed from sinking vessels (e.g. Emotional Rescue), confused nudists retrieved from Wreck Beach and people plucked from freezing water (e.g. Lloyd Webb and Eddy Jackson) there were still resentments.

Managers brought up on ships easily resented the glamour, speed and drama of a hovercraft in action. With multi-tasking and ability to lift buoys, deliver supplies to lighthouses, and do things previously performed by ships, it threatens jobs. In his report, Bernard noted, "those working on large ships (icebreakers and other large vessels) were said, to varying degrees, to resent those working small ships (search and rescue vessels). A further tension existed between large ship and small ship factions and those working the hovercraft at Sea Island. This was exacerbated by creation of the specialized rescue dive program run exclusively at Sea Island" (Bernard, 2001, p. 6). The biggest resentment stemmed from people-on-shore. Plenty of personnel at Sea Island admire "ship-people." And Coast Guard captains on ships admire the hovercraft. But, after years of tumult, downsizing, blitzkrieg approaches to policy formation and miserable salaries, there were understandable fissures and tensions.

When the hovercraft shows up in Hollywood movies and the Officer-in-Charge lands the part of a bad guy, it stirs jealously at management desks or Coast Guard stations where life is more routine. Before CBC suspended The Beachcombers, the hovercraft starred with Bruno Gerussi (Nick) and Robert Clothier (Relic). It had also been in the television series Danger Bay and appeared in thriller/sc-fi programs made in Vancouver such as Creatures of the Deep. Another film, In the Nick of Time, involved reenactment of the successful retrieval of a man from a capsized lifeboat. But nothing matched McGrath's starring role in Rumble in the Bronx. It was Jackie Chan's name in the credits but, in hovercraft circles, McGrath was the man.

When Tom Schnackenberg (Leader of the victorious Team New Zealand America's Cup sailing syndicate) visited Canada, he went to the hovercraft base to discuss aerodynamics and hydrodynamics. In contrast, smoking Coast Guard managers are banished to frozen streets in bleak Ottawa. In honour of the Sea Island base cat, there's a photo on the wall. Adding insult to resentment, there was free parking, a rural feel and nice pub outside the gates of the hovercraft base.

There was also the problem of media interest in hovercraft - with pictures of grinning Rescue Specialists, satisfied Captains and grateful citizens. For example, after the Pacific Charmer incident, The Province ran a full-page picture of Tim McFarlane - who laboured under a multiple disadvantage. First, he worked at the hovercraft base and second, he was an architect of the dive program. Third, the Province picture was complimentary.

Some submissions to Bernard (2001) concerned a so-called "cowboy factor." Coast Guard managers had long been on the receiving end of McGrath's Scottish humour. When a new security gate was installed, visitors requesting entry could be mischievously told "get out of your car, face the camera with your hands above your head." Australians, Kiwis, Brits and other Scotsmen were likely to receive even more explicit instructions.

One witness appearing before Bernard (2001) relabeled cowboy behaviour "professionalism." The witness cited the Pacific Charmer incident where there was excellent teamwork between RCC controllers and hovercraft crew (Boshier, 2000). Early in the incident - before COSPAS-SARSAT satellites had time to do their work, the Rescue Coordination Centre (RCC) estimated the distressed vessel might be near Coffin Point. But Tim Theilman had a hit on 121.5 mhz direction-finder part of the Emergency Position Indicator Beacon (EPIRB) and took the hovercraft in another direction. By using their training and professional judgment, the hovercraft crew went to Valdez cliffs where they located men² in the water. If being a cowboy means maintaining professional autonomy and espirit de corps, we're for it.

Bernard (2001) commented on camaraderie at the base. In addition, McGrath had spent years cultivating stakeholders and partners (such as the Richmond fire department) long before mangerialism laid claim to those terms. Certain managers thought McGrath had recruited the Vancouver LMAC into the hovercraft "cause" - a notion that caused amusement and consternation to the formidable intellects and independent minds on that organization. When the hovercraft pulled off stunning rescues - such as the three fishermen off Pacific Charmer or the seaman hauled out of the Iolocos Grace lifeboat - management provided no comfort when critics made unfair accusations (about, for example, response times or doing "show" dives).

A person inside a capsized boat or car has no interest in managerial prevarication and arguments about "core mandate." Nor do they care whether they are trapped in fresh or saltwater. The last thing they need is a debate about jurisdiction. And nobody has the slightest interest in whether there are rescue divers in Texas or the River Thames. The person underwater just wants out. For the public, rescue diving is like the airport fire department. One hopes their services are never needed but, if so, citizens do not need confusion, mediocrity or a half-hearted response. They expect well-trained and committed rescuers arriving on the fastest craft available. This is Canada.

SINKING THE DIVE TEAM

Many of those gathered on Thompson's patio - including the author - have little affection for the term "stakeholder." Along with "strategic planning," and bench-marking," "alternative service delivery," "devolution," "cooperative arrangement" and "voluntarism," "stakeholders" are part of a managerialist or enterprise discourse that constructs citizens as economic units. As a federal agency, Coast Guard (and its mothership, the Department of Fisheries and Oceans) is deeply immersed in Dilbert-like managerialism. One branch of Coast Guard serves another and, as a member of the National Defence/Coast Guard Rescue Coordination Centre noted, "we've lost sight of the fact we're here to serve the public and not the government machine."

The dive program was terminated by Regional Director-General Mike Henderson on Friday February 16th, 2001 at 1530 hours. Thirty-six hours later, in the early hours of the morning, Paul Sandhu sped down No. 1 Rd, Richmond within sight of the hovercraft base. He apparently failed to notice the end of the road, hurtled over a stopbank and landed in the Fraser River. A female companion escaped through the broken windshield but Sandhu died. This event occurred just across from the hovercraft base.

Death of Paul Sandhu

At the hovercraft base Captain Mike Kelly, Craig Rackham, Luciano Nisi and Julie de Grandpré pulled on work clothes and fired-up Hovercraft 045. It was a short ride across the river to Sandhu's car. Julie de Grandpré is mother of an eight year old girl, daughter of a B.C. fishermen, fluent in French and, for many years, lived on a boat. This would be a night she'd never forget. Hurtling through hangar doors, crew yelled "Are we taking dive gear?" Just one day earlier there had been dive gear on Hovercraft 045. But, because of Ottawa recalcitrance and compliant managers in B.C., tonight there was none.

Prior to the arrival of the hovercraft, a 23 year old woman passenger in the car had escaped and was escorted away wrapped in a blanket. She'd been helped by a neighbour who'd heard the crash and, to this day, little is known of her except she was not Sandhu's wife. Before departing the scene she'd said "Paul can't swim."

People on shore were uncertain of the location of the car. As the hovercraft nosed into the river bank, de Grandpré jumped out and spoke with them.

"It's in line with the red light at the airport," said a witness pointing into the river.

Two Richmond firemen entered the water on paddle boards. They kicked their way past the car then, in response to shouts from shore, came back. With the hovercraft illuminating the scene they found and clambered onto the car. The water over the car was knee deep and, on shore, de Grandpré wondered if they could reach down and open the doors. Even a mask and snorkel would have helped in this situation.

In the meantime, other emergency responders on shore were berating the French-Canadian woman in the Coast Guard uniform.

"Where's your dive gear? What the fuck is going on?"

Police officers, fire and ambulance personnel were frustrated by Coast Guard inaction. Sandhu had not been in the water very long and there was still a chance for successful rescue. The fact a woman passenger escaped suggested it was possible.

It would normally take de Grandpré and other divers about three minutes to get into their gear. Under the old regime, they'd have suited-up en route to the call.

After two firemen standing on Sandhu's car decided they were serving no useful purpose they swam back to shore, took a tow wire and brought it back to the car. As the car was pulled up the rocky shore an RCMP diver arrived on scene in a dry suit that had yet to be zipped up.

The windshield was pushed in and the hood dimpled. Considering the speed of the vehicle and flight over the dike, the car was in reasonable shape. Sandhu's dead body was in the back seat and pulled out face down.

When the hovercraft crew arrived back at the base they had to swallow profound feelings of disgust concerning Ottawa managers. On the night and in days following there was no counseling or debriefing for hovercraft personnel. Coast Guard managers ordered lawyers to counsel divers not to talk. Lawyers were sent to the base and some divers were phoned at home. Next, a form letter ordered divers and other crew members not to discuss the Sandhu incident. As well, management tried to extract video footage from news media. Plenty of effort was devoted to silencing divers but no resources were provided to counsel or support those (to this day) upset by circumstances surrounding the death of Paul Sandhu.

Not long after this tragedy, Julie de Grandpré and her daughter were buying milk in a Richmond supermarket. As they approached a cashier an Indo-Canadian woman - who recognized de Grandpré from television coverage - shouted

"You let him die …. You let Paul die!"

These events were within the control of Coast Guard Commissioner John Adams and B.C. managers Mike Henderson and John Churchill. But, on the night of the Sandhu tragedy managers were safely home in bed. It was de Grandpré, a solo mother, that had to endure insults. Yet she had been told to disregard her previous training and forget about diving. In the Richmond supermarket, cashiers and other shoppers turned to look at the French-Canadian who allegedly let Sandhu die. Julie de Grandpré has not forgotten the feeling.

Bernard Report

After Paul Sandhu's death, instead of ordering restoration of the dive program, Herb Dhaliwal, the federal cabinet minister in charge, hired Vancouver maritime lawyer Peter Bernard, Q.C., to "review the basis of a decision …. to terminate the … Rescue Diving Pilot Project at Sea Island Base." Dhaliwal did not ask Bernard to discover whether the dive program was needed. Rather, the emphasis was on what regional managers had been up to and the extent to which Ottawa officials were involved. The emphasis was on decision-making processes, not the merits of the dive program itself or, more interesting, the discursive construction of "need."

Bernard's (2001) report was a strong critique of Coast Guard management. Most notably, he dwelt on the fact managers didn't notify other agencies (or the public) that the dive program had been terminated. Sandhu's brother claimed Paul might have survived had the hovercraft not arrived. In the absence of Coast Guard, citizens on scene might have made the shallow dive and released Sandhu from the vehicle. Someone would have tried to open the car door. With the Coast Guard on scene, everyone expected action. Instead, Hovercraft 045 acted like a lighting plant on a movie set.

Bernard was also disturbed by the brief public consultation process "that was, for the most part, cosmetic." (2001, p. 27). "It appears that the decision to cancel the Rescue Diving Pilot Project was all but made at the Management Board meeting in November, 2000, the LMAC was not advised of that fact at the February 12, 2001 meeting. Rather, LMAC members have indicated that when the meeting was closed they were left with the distinct impression that the decision regarding the continuation of the pilot had not been made" (2001, p. 27). Coast Guard managers were at the February 12th, 2001 LMAC meeting but neglected to appraise members of what had already been decided - choosing to take the position the matter was "still under review." This was at variance with what they knew was the truth - that the program had been suspended in November of the previous year. It would be terminated four days after the meeting in which they now sat.

Bernard (2001) traced the history of the dive project, reviewed various evaluation reports (all generally in favour of diving) - including the one by hovercraft First Officer Jeff Nemrava (2000) - and then dug into maneuvering and discourses shaping the decision to suspend and then terminate the program. He showed how the death of Sukpal Sandhu triggered a wave of condemnation and the Minister's decision to order an enquiry. In the final part, Bernard (2001) reviewed rescue diving conducted by other agencies such as the Department of National Defence (through 442 squadron, Comox), the navy fleet divers in Esquimalt, the RCMP "E' division dive "team" (spread throughout the Province) and a local Provincial Emergency Program group located in Terrace, B.C. Next, he discussed the Calgary and Toronto fire departments and, most ominously, the U.S. Coast Guard and maritime authorities in the United Kingdom. Finally, he posed three options for the Rescue Diving program. These were - first "do nothing," second build a "cooperative arrangement" with other agencies or third "create a permanent rescue dive project" at the Sea Island hovercraft base.

A telling part of Bernard's report was the last sentence. "To this reviewer, the attitude of senior Coast Guard management towards rescue diving will probably not be changed unless the Minister directs them to establish a policy, create a national program and generally support the rescue diving concept both philosophically and financially" (2001, p. 44).

Bernard's (2001) report was nested in techno-rational discourse and, as expected from a respected maritime lawyer, largely traversed previous reviews and investigations, the testimony of witnesses and Coast Guard files. It largely dwelt on who said what to whom and treated management as a messy but rational process. He dumped the problems in the laps of individual managers (particularly Jon Churchill) the Coast Guard Commissioner and the Minister. And, as is so often the case in Canada (particularly Coast Guard) it takes an unproblematized position concerning British and US rescue services - as if what happens in the U.S. represents some kind of sentinel, standard or "benchmark" for Canada.

MANAGERIALISM

Managerialism is a discourse that constructs many elements of life in Canada. A discourse is a taken-for-granted set of understandings about a phenomenon. Hence, "back to the basics" discourse arises from frustrations some parents have with schools. It foregrounds reading, writing, arithmetic and backgrounds social studies and other abstract subjects. It stems from fundamentalist thought and action. Every discourse contains what Foucault called power/knowledge complexes. There is no neutral discourse. Each discourse brings some interests into the foreground and renders others illegitimate or invisible. It is important to "read below" the surface to see whose interests are served (and whose eroded) by what's happening underneath. For example, on the surface, "one law for all Canadians" sounds all right but is a discourse designed to erode First Nations (which is itself a discourse).

Apart from unequal power relations, the other thing to understand is that discourse constructs reality - not the other way round. It is hard for people brought up to believe there is an objective reality - studied through science - to grasp this aspect of discourse. In the early days of HIV/AIDS - when constructed as a "gay plague" - this discourse conveniently (and very dangerously) relieved heterosexuals of responsibility and eroded the already marginalized status of gay people with health issues.

Managerialist discourse shaped relationships between managers and stakeholders struggling over a rescue diving program. It distorted consultation processes and led to the wrong decision. Two men died. In our view, individual actors in this drama were less important than discourses that constructed them.

Neoliberalism that informs governments in rich Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD) countries has modern origins in the rightwing "anti-government" thrust of Thatcherism, Reaganism and, in Canada, Mulroneyism. However, as pointed out by Foucault and neo-Foucauldians, it's origins reside in the "art of government" found in the 16th century. It was here the notion of economy, the "correct manner of managing goods and wealth within the family" found its way into political practice. What makes Foucault's work fascinating in the context of SAR politics, is its preoccupation with how power is exercised. With this as a backdrop, we now adapt the work of Peters (2000) to rescue diving in Canada.

Neoliberalism of the kind practiced in Canada has forged a new relationship between government and management.

• There has been a shift from policy and administration to management. Private-sector management styles and language are emulated and, as such, government is choked with Dilbert-like buzzwords - "visioning", "strategic planning," "due diligence," "bench-marking", "best practices," "alternative service delivery."
• Government is now in the "business" of "degovernmentalization." Instead of promoting citizenship and building health, education and SAR services, these things are "consumer-driven" or based on "market forces." If government feels it can devolve responsibility to the private sector (commercial divers?) or volunteers (the auxiliary?) this is deemed to be prudent and responsible. "This is not our core mandate" is a common refrain. Following election of the B.C. Liberals in 2001 their "core review" asked "if the surviving programs could offer reduced service levels or cut costs or be handed to the private sector or volunteers" (Willcocks, 2001). Options set out in briefing papers were familiar - "elimination, reduction, consolidation, transfer to the private sector or volunteers." (p. A16). Ministries could make their own decisions about "whether, and to what extent, stakeholder consultations are required." In Newfoundland, Coast Guard decided to decommission a SAR vessel, remove staff from eleven lighthouses and take a helicopter out of service. Yet Coast Guard management - apparently with a straight face - said, "the changes are an attempt to modernize the fleet and will not result in a service downgrade" (Coast Guard Cutting Back, National Post, 24 February, 2001, p. A5).
• There are new forms of prudentialism wherein "risk management" is individualized and privatized. There is an actuarial rationality and distancing of government from the problems of individual Canadians. This new relationship between government and knowledge involves intensive polling and development of new forms of social accounting ("Only one life saved in six years …."). Need arises from statistics, not fundamental values, the lived experience of citizens or commitments to moral or ethical discourse. Hence, addressing the Sandhu family, Coast Guard Commissioner John Adams had sympathy for those grieving but insisted the "need" for diving was not there (6 p.m. VTV News, February 24th, 2001). "Need" arises from statistics (which, in marine SAR are neither reliable or valid), not the value of life or grief of families. Curiously, in this controversy, lives of those above were accorded more value than those below the surface of the water.
• The pubic sector is being privatized and remaining public functions restructured in accord with the ethos of an enterprise society. Public services are being administered as if they were "markets" and there is a commitment to the alleged virtues of competition. "Enterprise" has become a generalized principle for organizing society. The public sector is being down-sized and, in Canada, all forms of government try to devolve responsibilities - preferably onto the "free market" - although, if necessary, onto another branch of government. Public institutions are restructured along commercial lines. They are less interested in managers with values than in those with entrepreneurial skills and ability to stare down critics and make "tough" decisions. An enterprise state allegedly erodes a "culture of dependency."
• Instead of transparency and authentic consultation, managerialism involves secrecy and, if necessary, fibbing and obfuscation. Having embraced an enterprise culture, managers model themselves on private sector counterparts. In the private sector, the task is to guard information from competitors. Manage information so as to control discourse. Use information as power. Leave things unsaid.
• The distinction between "public" and "private" has significantly evaporated and public/private "partnerships" are commonplace. Neoliberals construct citizens as individual consumers with the ability to "choose" from offerings on the "free market." For example, in education, neoliberals like to wipe out differences in the mission of competing institutions to move to a consumer-driven system where individuals buy services from "providers."
• "Management" has become an end in itself. In an enterprise culture, knowledge of the phenomenon being managed is not needed.

Managerialism is part of neo-liberal program to undermine civil society (with its emphasis on authentic consultation, citizen participation and social democracy) so as to create a vacuum that can be occupied by trans-national corporations, a cult of finance and culture of enterprise.

Table 1 shows elements of management systems shaped (or not shaped) by mangerialist discourses. The difference between a system run in a mangerialist or non-managerialist discourse (such as administration, leadership or communicative rationality) is shown in the two right hand columns. Recall that mangerialism is not management. Even organizations created to oppose managerialism, not to mention universities, community centres, churches, NGO's and SAR agencies, need managers and management. Managerialism is a discourse largely serving the interests of global capital - not those of ordinary citizens. It contains features listed above which, at the operational level, manifest themselves in ways shown in Table 1.

Managerialism serves "private" (rather than public) interests, causes managers to be secretive, to construct citizens as consumers (rather than citizens). Managers easily become defensive and suspicious, the favourite manta is TINA ("there-is-no-alternative"), comparisons (i.e. benchmarking) with foreign jurisdictions are favoured and there is a preoccupation with "efficiency" (instead of human needs), management (instead of policy), degovernmentalisation (instead of citizenship). The favourite metaphor is that of "the market."

The prudentialist orientation of managers implicated in managerialism is to distance themselves from the person in difficulty. "It's your problem." This in contrast to the other orientation committed to the notion "it's our problem." For those implicated in managerialism, boundaries around mandate or turf are sharply drawn. There is a preoccupation with statistics, polls and "objective" measurement - whereas those in the other orientation challenge the foregrounding of objective-knowledge and dwell on human subjectivity - values and needs. In managerialism, management is an end in itself. In the other orientation, management is a process and it's desirable to have managers who understand or have experience in the phenomenon of interest. Finally, for those immersed in managerialism, partnerships are for "degovernmentalisation," whereas for non-managerialists, they are a manifestation of responsible citizenship and commitment to community.

Table 1
Elements of Managerialism

A significant aspect of managerialism is the TINA ("there-is-no-alternative") principle (Boshier, 2001; Kelsey, 1995) and blitzkrieg approach to policy formation and change. At the centre of blitzkreig politics is the need to make changes with lightening speed, dismiss resistance or counter-arguments as unrealistic, remind critics the past is no guide to the future and, most importantly, use consultation for implementing - not changing - the thrust of "reforms." Demoralise, neutralize and keep critics off guard by engaging in endless rounds of restructuring and cutbacks. Constant turmoil, staring down opponents and neutralizing potential critics with harassment allegations or "consultation" will smooth the way for change and subdue or exhaust critics. Construct changes as necessary. Tout them as "modernization" or a "new initiative." Claim they are not "politics" - just "reforms." As well, globalisation has led to a tendency to "benchmark" one country's services against others. Want to reform your SAR services? Instead of a Made in Canada solution, go and see how it's done elsewhere. In particular, study the United States. Because the US Coast Guard is part of the military it is highly inappropriate for the civilian Canadian Coast Guard to use them as a "benchmark."

Non-Managerialism

Non-managerialist approaches to management are often nested in Habermas's notion of communicative rationality, theory about administration, the notion of management (not the same as managerialism) or, more particularly, leadership.

Habermas claimed that, in situations like the dive controversy, "the unforced force of the better argument" should prevail. Consultation or dialogues should be free of coercion, manipulation, distortion, or other barriers to rational discussion. "Discourse presumes ideal speech situations in which conditions of symmetry and reciprocity predominate, including that all people who wish to may initiate and continue dialogue; that they may raise, question and pursue any assertion; and that they will not repress others" (Coulter, 2001, p. 3). For Habermas, there are ethical, moral and pragmatic discourses - all part of a wide-ranging attempt to "construct a democratic dam against the dehumanizing forces of modernity by encouraging public dialogue (Coulter, 2001, p. 6). In Habermasian terminology, managerialism involves strategic action designed to accomplished pre-determined ends by using instrumental reason. In contrast, non-managerialist perspectives involve communicative action. Here, there is an attempt to foster understanding via communicative reason. In practice, both get conflated. However, in situations such as the dive controversy, strategic action gets detached from the lifeworld of communicative action.

A recent theme in leadership theory is particularly apt in the context of rescue diving. It concerns continuous turbulence, chaos or "white water." These days it is impossible for managers to know all rules of the game or understand what's happening in every part of their organization. More than ever, leaders have to re-examine the way they think about human beings. Quit cooperating with those involved in exploitative, manipulative, and dominative purposes. Leaders need to reassess how to promote the discovery of spirit within the workplace, especially during permanent white water, where normal relationships are continuously disrupted.

Leadership must bring out the best in people - and relate to the deepest sense of their spirit (Starratt. 1993, p. 13). Non-managerialist "leadership" involves "management by meaning and values" - not just short term objectives. The leader helps define what the work means - to the workers, stakeholders and broad community. Like Tom Schnackenberg or Nelson Mandela, leaders call forth extraordinary talent and effort in the organization and lead by example. This is particularly important in SAR where saving lives is a high calling and not always amenable to instrumental reason or strategic action.

Leadership is also essential for democracy. Without people who think for themselves, state contrary opinions and exercise responsibility for the quality of life in their communities, societies are vulnerable to demagoguery and managerialist excess. Active citizens creating their own future populate a healthy society. Leaders learn, work and grow as a result of respectfully interacting with such people.

This kind of leadership was not visible during the rescue diving controversy. Part of the folklore in Canadian SAR is that it takes loss of life to stimulate action. For example, the Ocean Ranger tragedy evoked significant change as did turf wars that triggered the Report of an Evaluation on Search and Rescue (1982) - the Cross Report. In the case of Coast Guard diving, it would take two "car-in-the-river" fatalities to expose the underbelly of managerialism.

"CONSULTATION" IN THE CONTEXT OF MANAGERIALISM

The amount people are committed to a project varies as a function of the extent to which they were consulted during its creation. Hence, most modern management theories extol the virtues of "empowering" workers by offering high levels of autonomy and "ownership" of the task at hand. Forty years ago, this principle was the centerpiece of McGregor's (1961) "Theory X" and "Theory Y" forms of management. Drawing on Maslow's (1954) work on need hierarchies, McGregor identified "Theory X" managers as micromanagers, authoritarian and inefficient. In contrast, "Theory Y" managers were nurturing, manifested high levels of trust, listened well, engaged in authentic and respectful forms of consultation and, as a result, secured better outcomes.

In adult education, it is taken-for-granted the best programs involve democratic forms of participation and continuous consultation - before and after the program begins. Hence, in a series of experiments where learners are randomly assigned to two groups and one lot is "consulted" and the other not, the consulted group almost always enjoys the experience more and derives the greatest benefit.

At one time, citizen participation was considered the hallmark of social democracy. Without an active citizenry - willing to hoof it down to the village hall to help create the society within which they live - the vacuum created will be occupied by trans-national corporations and individuals more interested in enriching themselves than in building a vibrant democracy.

Unfortunately, democratic tendencies nested in these earlier (and now almost quaint and romantic) notions of participation, have been gutted by a mangerialism that uses consultation to manufacture consent for "reforms" often widely at variance with authentic needs of ordinary citizens. A centerpiece of managerialism is to use consultation inauthentically - as an instrument to force change. There is no genuine interest in views expressed. Sometimes the best thing about these impressive looking reports is the cover.

Inauthentic and Authentic Consultation

Table 2 identifies elements that distinguish "inauthentic" from "authentic" consultations. Hence, in an inauthentic consultation - there is a preoccupation with the "objective" world (rather than the way the world is subjectively perceived or experienced by citizens). A minimal level of effort goes into the process, the goal is to manufacture consent for extant policy, those doing the job are going-through-the-motions (and feigning sincerity), they are psychologically distant from clients (i.e. disengaged), their processes are closed, their results often presented as statistics (rather than broad and rich meaning structures), Conclusions often bear no relationship to the data secured.

In the right hand column of Table 2 are characteristics found in authentic consultations. These are deployed to create policy, they respect client subjectivity, involve considerable effort, have open, engaging and respectful processes and present results congruent with data gathered.

Coast Guard Consultation Debacles

The inadequate public consultation concerning the dive program was not the first. Even the prim and proper Canadian Maritime Law Association (1999) found it "unfortunate" that a Coast Guard report on oil spills "has not been the object of stakeholder consultation." Similar exercises had been conducted in B.C. as part of an effort to manufacture consent for destaffing lighthouses (discursively constructed as the "lighthouse modernization" project) or the mandatory training of recreational boaters (the "small vessel partnership"). In all cases, consultation was intended to facilitate implementation of policies already constructed in Ottawa.

Table 2

Elements of Inauthentic and Authentic Public Consultations

Lighthouses

To this day, B.C. fishermen who traipsed into hotel basements or community halls to sound off about the need to retain staffed lightstations are aggrieved by the way their time and civic commitment was squandered by managers who claimed a "consensus" for destaffing (when, on the contrary, there was almost universal hostility to the idea). It cost more than quarter of a million dollars for consultants and Coast Guard personnel to listen to fishermen who ended up marginalized as emotional.

Recreational Boating

The "Small Vessel Partnership" consultations in B.C. were peculiar. Although the consultation team claimed arrangements went off flawlessly, almost nobody lined-up with written submissions that had been invited. At the kick-off meeting (April 20th, 1996) at the Vancouver planetarium, "none were presented" (Report, 1996). It was the same at the afternoon meeting in Vancouver, at Nelson, Penticton, Kelowna, Kamloops, Richmond, Port Hardy, Campbell River, Tofino, Port Alberni, Nanaimo and on through the province. Like almost every other place, Vancouver City produced no written submissions, Victoria only two. According to the Report (1996), throughout the entire province, a total of only five written submissions were received. About the only communality in oral presentations made at these small meetings was the sense licensing and mandatory training constituted a "tax grab." Across the entire country, only 75 written "briefs" were received (IER Planning, Research and Management Services, 1996). Despite claims to the contrary, Canadians were not enthused by the notion of mandatory education or training. Rather, this idea was hatched in 1989 by Coast Guard consultants Frank P. Maher who produced a feasibility study on boating safety education (Draft Report, 1997).

The B.C. Report listed comments made but they were not put into a broader context, there was no analysis or critical commentary and they definitely did not constitute endorsement of the Small Vessel Partnership. Even more odd was the fact the same description was used to describe what happened at nearly all meetings.

Despite flawed processes, Small Vessel Partnership "conclusions" were trumpeted from coast to coast. Here are just two examples:

• The Canadian Gazette. 13 June, 1998, p. 1341 claimed "the Canadian Coast Guard initiated extensive direct stakeholder consultation program in 1995 … they began in Ontario and were "extended to the rest of the country in 1996." "Public meetings were held in 75 communities where the views and concerns of 3500 Canadians were heard."
• During an address to an international "Vancouver Smart Forum" conference at UBC (June 11-12, 1998), Jon Churchill (then in the Office of Boating Safety) said "From St. John's to Victoria and from Windsor to Whitehorse we were told 'just get on with it and bring in regulations requiring some form of mandatory training or operator proficiency requirements for recreational boaters.'" We are a "service which has learnt not only the importance of reaching out to its stakeholders but the importance of listening to its stakeholders; in the process we have formed new and enduring partnerships and established a better way of doing business" (Churchill, 1998).

These - and numerous similar utterances - swept aside exceedingly flawed psychometric and consultative processes and, in a revealing slip, Mundschutz (1998) of the B.C. Office of Boating Safety, admitted "we have no official analysis from Fisheries and Oceans in Ottawa, who received the responses nationally." Considering the almost complete absence of data presentation, its flimsiness and fact the Table of Contents was at the back (instead of the front) of the National Consultation Report (IER Planning, Research and Management Services, 1996), B.C. wasn't missing much.

Simply having meetings doesn't yield good policy or constitute authentic consultation. Despite the shadowy and emaciated nature of the "data," Small Vessel Partnership "conclusions" were firmly anchored in managerialism although, as subsequent experience showed, there was no long-term commitment to consult (let alone listen) to stakeholders. Had Coast Guard management heeded it's own exhortations, the dive controversy might have been avoided.

Some of the world's best known adult education experts reside in Canada - the home of important university graduate programs in adult education. In some respects, Canada leads the world in adult education. Educating boaters is not a bad thing but, as witnesses who attended the North Vancouver consultation pointed out, if it's worth doing, it's worth doing well. Do it properly or not at all.³ Projects like the Small Vessel Partnerships endanger boaters by giving the impression something is being done when very little is happening (Boshier, 1992). Carrying a plastic card or answering multiple-choice questions doesn't guarantee anything. It can be done much better and the potential of the Office of Boating Safety is not being realised. A year after this project was implemented, incidents were up!

Radio Services

A 1992 consultation on Coast Guard radio services involved meetings in sixteen communities along B.C.'s coast. Organizers were disappointed by the attendance in some places - particularly the North Coast. In Nanaimo, only one person showed up. In Sointula and Queen Charlotte City two appeared and in Tofino only three. The organizers thought low attendance "might be explained by the extensive improvements in CGRS radio coverage and safety services on the North Coast" (Kinney, 1992). But it is imprudent to think silence denotes consent, that nonparticipation means satisfaction. Due to the inauthentic nature of previous consultations and corrosive struggles with Fisheries, citizens assume this consultation will be like the last. Nonparticipation is also due to the collapse of civil society. People are withdrawing from organized group life of communities and taking refuge in defensive individualism. Citizens are tired of nonsense and being used to condone programs that lead to a decline (not improvement) in the quality of their life. However, of recent Coast Guard consultations, this one on radio services was probably the most authentic.

NEED FOR RESCUE DIVING

Certain incidents hang like black clouds over Coast Guard diving. For example, on 13 August, 1992 the B.C. Ferry Queen of New Westminster pulled out of the Departure Bay (Nanaimo) terminal with a vehicle still on the loading ramp. "A van passenger at the side door saw that something was not right and slid the door open to try to get on the apron. At about the same time, the apron and fingers lost the support of the ferry deck … Two occupants surfaced shortly after the van fell in the water and were rescued … Three passengers were recovered from the van underwater, two died and one survived only to succumb to her injuries later in hospital" (Transportation Safety Board, 1992).

The author, then in the Flat Top islands near Nanaimo, heard the abbreviated Mayday.

Ferry: "Mayday … This is the Queen of New Westminster … we have a vehicle in the water."

Vancouver Coast Guard Radio: "Roger that …. Are there people in the vehicle?"

Ferry: "Affirmative."

Vancouver Coast Guard Radio: "Stand-by."

This was the kind of incident where, had there been a high speed hovercraft like Siyay - with trained divers suiting-up en route - this family (particularly the children) might have had a chance. But, in 1992 there were no underwater rescue services and fatalities resulting from this incident evoked an enquiry headed by Nemetz and Williamson (1992). Their report led to creation of a Coast Guard "working group" on diving and, after the Bona Vista outcry, there was a three-day meeting in Calgary in January, 1994. On June 7, 1994, 25 people from Coast Guard and Rescue Centre discussed the matter again but no consensus was reached. The schism was the same as now. Rescue Specialists were keen to develop a diving program and innovative technologies to support it. Opposing were managers - older and a bit appalled by the enthusiasm and temerity of the advocates. Despite the ambiguity of these beginnings, the dive rescue pilot project was launched in January, 1995.

In November 2000 when Major-General Adams was prevailing on regional managers to axe diving, fissures in Coast Guard hadn't changed much since June, 1994. On one side were managers who continued to proclaim an absence of "need" for rescue diving. On the other side, crews at Kits. Base and Sea Island, stakeholders, LMAC members, media and citizens - all wanting it. Managers grasped at quantitative data while citizens and rescuers had more of a qualitative perspective. Statistics versus stories. In the middle was the Minister - in danger of becoming a SAR case himself.

As well as the incident involving Queen of New Westminster, cars in the river, overturned float planes and people trapped in capsized fishing vessels like Protector, discursive edges of the rescue diving debate in B.C. are bounded by horrific incidents. Management would like to dismiss them as statistical aberrations - regrettable but only occasional occurrences best forgotten. There's was a "let's-hope-there-are-no-more-cars-in-the-river because-then-shit-will-really-fly" approach. But, for those involved in rescue, and citizen-volunteer stakeholders, the details of these incidents constitute the "need" for rescue diving. This is Canada. It is from accounts like these - not Excel spreadsheets containing dodgy statistics - that "need" is determined.

Fishing Vesssel 'Respond'

In the early hours of September 26, 1981 the 51' steel trawler Respond was proceeding up Georgia Strait two miles from Sand Heads when it was in a collision and rolled by the deep-sea ship Rimba Miritai. The men inside didn't have a chance. One minute they were lulled by the rhythm of their diesel. In the next, upside down, struggling for their lives in the mayhem of water, noise and the unfamiliarity of the floor becoming the ceiling.

Hovercraft 039 left the base at 3.49 a.m. and, arriving on scene eighteen minutes later, crew heard muffled yells of men energized by panic and possible death. Not being equipped for diving, hovercraft crew pointed their nose at Steveston where police diver Bob Teather and another RCMP constable had rushed to the docks. At 4.54 a.m. Hovercraft 039 had them aboard and sped back to Sand Heads. By 5.15 a.m. they were again alongside the capsized fishboat.

The skipper and deckhand were trapped inside. Because of pounding, rescuers assumed there was some kind of air pocket. At 6.18 a.m. Teather and his companion had the first survivor into fresh air and, ten minutes later, the second man was outside.

The Official Summary (Rescue Coordination Centre, Sept. 26, 1981) noted the divers "are to be commended. Neither of them had done a similar type dive. However, they did a superb job of teaching the survivors to use the mask and regulator resulting in their successful removal."

The skipper of Respond and his deckhand appeared calm as the hovercraft sped them back to an ambulance. To this day, police divers who pulled off this rescue feel this "calmness" was a function of spending three hours in a diesel contaminated air pocket.

Years later, others would be in the same predicament - but with a more dismal and horrific outcome.

Bona Vista

At around 2.56 a.m. July 21, 1993, Bona Vista passed in front of the push-barge Arctic Taglu and there was a collision. The fishboat rolled under the bow of the barge and six people were trapped inside. Most wore nightdresses. The C.F.V. Tyee No. 1 witnessed the collision, came alongside and tied the upside-down hull of Bona Vista to the bow of Arctic Taglu.

The author heard the Mayday and, along with the hovercraft and other vessels, got underway towards Active Pass. There was a light wind, some cloud but good visibility. The hovercraft - with a crew forbidden to dive - arrived on scene and heard survivors in an air pocket knocking and screaming for help. A Coast Guard crewman borrowed dive gear from a recreational boat and entered the water.

Divers Ken Perry and Dave Rayment, assisted by hovercraft crewman Dave Percy, removed the first four survivors at 0334 hours. There were two adult men, a six year old boy and thirteen year old girl. They were put in the hovercraft and whisked to the Tsawwassen ferry terminal.

Two women remained in the hull. Divers had glimpsed legs through the companionway. Women were struggling to keep their mouths out of diesel-polluted waters. The air pocket measured no more than the width of one hand. One woman's head was craned back so her lips could draw on the "stinking, precious remains of diesel fumes and oxygen" (Bell, 1993, p. A1). A diver appeared, offered his regulator and told her to breathe. She just screamed.

When a Labrador helicopter brought military divers Master Corporal Mike Simpson, aged 39, and Master Corporal Gavin Lee, aged 32, to the scene at 0450 hours - nearly two hours after the collision - the women in the wreck had gone silent. Simpson and Lee quickly extricated one dead person but were unable to get a remaining survivor - a woman in her 40's - to leave the wreck. She was wedged into a tiny space. When they vented an air bottle and pulled on her leg, she resisted.

Cpl. Lee entered the cavity, dragging his dive tank behind him as he came up the narrow companionway. He removed his regulator and spoke to the woman. She mumbled incoherently and he felt diesel searing his lungs. It felt like having his face shoved in a can of gas. He then returned to the surface and those present considered the options. Knocking the woman unconscious was one but there was no room to swing a fist. In the end they hog tied her - put a rope around her ankles - and pulled the struggling German out of the hull. Out at last, she was in severe hypothermia, covered in diesel, incoherent, had a weak pulse and neglible blood pressure. She was alive when placed in the helicopter but had to be twice revived (with CPR) on the flight to Royal Jubilee hospital in Victoria. Later that day, she died (Grip of Death, 1993; Nathan, 1993; Bell, 1993; Lee, 1993).

All six occupants of Bona Vista eventually died. For rescuers, the sound of people pounding on the hull and yelling for help, left four legacies. First, rescuers never forgot the screams and, in 2001, are still dealing with trauma. Second, this and similar incidents motivated R.C.C. controller Mike Stacey (with support from the National Search and Rescue Secretariat) to build a Cap-Sav device which involves drilling a hole into an upturned hull and inserting air, light and a communications system. Stacey's device is brilliantly engineered and has enormous potential but makes most sense if rescue divers are available. Third, the Federal Court of Canada ruled Coast Guard (then part of Transport Canada) failure to ensure a vessel had appropriate running lights was "a significant contributing factor to the accident." Fourth, Bona Vista stirred up controversy about whether there should be properly trained and equipped rescue divers on the hovercraft (Deaths Spark Diving Ban Review, The Vancouver Sun, July 22, 1993, p. 1).

Miss Joye

Maxine Matilpi was on a seiner that capsized when transiting Seymour Narrows - near Campbell River. As the boat tipped she couldn't fight the ingress of water and found herself trapped in an air pocket. This is how she explained the situation to Jensen (1995).

"Kenny, Betty and the baby went towards the pilot house to get out that way. Fred and I were in the galley, trying to open the galley door, but there was too much water pressure. So we grabbed a frying pan and kept banging at the window by the sink, but it just kept bouncing off. The water was coming up fast, really fast. We were three-quarters upside down by then. By the time it got up to our chests we were completely capsized. I don't know how many times we tried to get out that window, and we just couldn't. Finally, we just hung onto the lazy susan with our noses pressed right up against the floor to get any air."

"I decided to leave the galley, it seemed like I felt my grandfather's presence, Henry Speck. For some reason, I just had to follow this feeling that told me to get some light. So I dove down and saw this light like a lantern, and I followed it. I came up ready to burst and, sure enough I had at least five feet of air in the pilothouse. I stood on the wheel, but water started coming up really fast. That's when I started to panic and screamed."

"When water got past my nose, I thought 'now I'm going to die.' So I dove down again. Again I followed this feeling that my grandfather was there guiding me. This time I swam towards the engine room. It was pitch black down there."

"There was some breathing air, I felt around in the pitch black and knew I was in the engine room. … diesel was coming into my nose, my ears. Every time I touched them they were slimy. I could taste it in my mouth. I found this wooden object and started banging away and shouting, "I'm alive, I'm alive. I'm down here" (Jensen, 1995, p. 149).

Men standing on the upturned hull could hear Matilpi shouting and screamed back. "Divers are coming!" To make herself more visible, Matilpi left the engine room and swam back to the stairway. A Coast Guard diver approached, removed his regulator and said "the boat is sinking … we've got two minutes … have you ever scuba-dived?" The answer was "no" but, in her words, Matilpi "wrapped around him as we were going up. I didn't realize how deep we were - about 20, 21 feet under the surface."

This First Nations woman survived in a putrid air pocket for 2.5 hours. Trapped in whirlpools, the Miss Joye had almost transited the entire Seymour Narrows. So much for managerial theories about survival times and the "nine minute" window. At the inquest, she met the Coast Guard diver who extracted her. "I just gave him a big hug. I got choked up because I wanted to say so many things at once. I thanked him for my life."

"Well, that's my job," he said.

Jaguar in False Creek

At 1.45 a.m. on November 31st, 1994, 55 year old Peter Kains and 50 year old Dale Mearns were in his 1991 Jaguar in downtown Vancouver when it plunged into False Creek. Kains made it to shore but his companion was trapped and now very dependent on the prompt arrival of well-equipped divers. Unfortunately for her, none arrived. Coast Guard cutter Osprey arrived at 2.10 a.m. but, because of managerial edict, without dive gear. Mearns body was finally removed at 2.57 a.m. after the hovercraft arrived and a crewmember, in defiance of policy, went down with a tank but no diving lights. On behalf of Coast Guard, Rod Nelson said the employee had broken the rules. But Coast Guard was now reviewing the policy (Colebourne, 1994; 1994a).

The brother of the deceased uttered a familiar refrain - "How many more tragedies have to happen before the politicians realize they have a responsibility to people?" Newspaper headlines - such as The Province, December 1, 1994 (p. A4) were explicit - "Death Blamed on Lack of Coast Guard Equipment." "It's a frustrating situation - to put it mildly," said Fred Moxey on behalf of the Kitsilano Coast Guard base (Colebourn, 1994; 1994a). Terry Brown, Assistant Chief of Operations at the Vancouver Fire Department wrote to the Director-General of Coast Guard, commending three Coast Guard crewmen for their "valiant attempts" to reach Mearns. "They worked against impossible conditions and still managed to attach a rope to the vehicle."

Instead of plaudits, these three got reprimands.

Sun Boy

On around 10 p.m. on August 8, 1999, 1000 or more boats were milling around in English Bay awaiting a summer fireworks display. There is potential for tragedy nested in large public events involving boats - such as fireworks, the former Sea Festival and Nanaimo bathtub races.⁴ However, even the most diehard pessimist could not have anticipated the horror of what happened when a pleasure boat hit a towline between the tug Jose Narvaez and its barge.

Moments before the first fireworks soared, the Bayliner Sun Boy crossed the towline and flipped. Some of the fourteen people aboard were tossed into the water. Others were trapped below. Five people died.

A challenging aspect of this incident was to establish whether all occupants were accounted for. Nick Boychuk, a C-Tow employee, swam into the vessel and came out saying there was nobody inside. But, when Coast Guard divers entered Sun Boy they came out with three bodies. Boychuk, claiming to be a commercial diver, was hard-pressed to explain his error. Girls rescued from the water knew how many had been aboard. Their information, coupled with the good work of Coast Guard divers, led to suspension of what would have been a difficult search in congested waters (No One Knew Who Was in the Water, The Province, August 9th, 2001, p. A4c; Armstrong, 1999; 2001).

Iolcos Grace

In November, 1998 the deepsea ship Iolcos Grace was anchored in Vancouver harbour and a fully-contained lifeboat (with men inside) was being lowered overboard when something went catastrophically wrong. The boat plunged into the water taking a chaos of shackles and rigging with it. Landing the wrong way up, lives were immediately at risk.

On the deck above there was a chorus of alarm in foreign accents as sailors tried to rerig their gear so as to retrieve the boat. It would probably take two hours to stabilize and rerig the gear and, even then, there were no guarantees the boat could be righted and pulled up. Inside the lifeboat, the situation was not good. Three men had swum out. But two didn't appear. The lifeboat had fractured and a flotation pontoon got loose inside and became a battering ram.

Arriving on scene, hovercraft crew decided to send down a diver to inspect the entry point into the lifeboat, look for signs of life and assess the extent to which diving risks were acceptable.

Dive team members use a tether which delivers audio communications and, after considering the report coming from below, there was a decision to dive. Long after this incident was concluded, various people in the regional and national office of the Canadian Coast Guard claimed the Iolcos Grace dive was for "show." How somebody sitting at an Ottawa desk, several years after the incident, could arrive at this kind of conclusion, was a matter of much speculation at Sea Island base and infuriated the Regional Diving Safety Officer (Clements, 2001).

Back alongside Iolcos Grace, the flotation pontoon had crushed one man in the lifeboat lifeless. But there was another - alive, treading water, but quickly becoming hypothermic and exhausted. It was an acceptable risk and, using procedures already rehearsed in training, hovercraft divers Jim Garrett and John Merrett extracted the tired and grateful seaman. Back in his home country, friends and family marveled at the fact Canada saved their man. The Regional Diving Safety Officer noted that "as a result of the diver's training, the victim was successfully extracted from a lethal situation" (Clements, 2001, p. 4).

LMAC AND THE MANAGERS

As the dive controversy unfolded there was a crucial LMAC meeting on February 12th, 2001. The Coast Guard Lower Mainland Advisory Council contained a diverse membership - most of whom occupied or had recently relinquished senior positions in various organizations. For example, attending the February 12th, 2001 meeting was Norm Dyck, President of the Council of B.C. Yacht Clubs, Geoff Drewery, recently retired Deputy-Harbourmaster of the Port of Vancouver, Bruce Falkins, Vice-President, B.C. Coast Guard Auxillary, Bob Baziuk, Manager, Steveston Harbour Authority, Alan Murray, Past-President of the Marine Underwriters Association, Paul Levy, Director, Terminal Operations, Vancouver International Airport, Gary Thompson, Retired Director, Aon Reed Stenhouse and LMAC Chair, Jim Hancock, Chief of the Richmond Fire Department and Roger Boshier, Commercial Salvor and UBC Professor. Sitting to Thompson's right was Coast Guard Regional Director-General Mike Henderson. The Director-General was meeting this LMAC group for the first time. The first order of business was to extend him a warm welcome.

Jon Churchill sat to the right of hovercraft O-I-C John McGrath. Also present were Coast Guard members Wayne Dutchak, Supt. of Lifeboat Stations Fred Moxey and Karl Seselja, Acting O-I-C of the hovercraft base while McGrath was on sick leave. LMAC members not present on February 12th included Bruce Logan from the United Fishermen's and Allied Workers' Union, Mike O'Hanlon, Chief Pilot for Harbour Air, and Captain James MacFarlane, Vice-President Operations, North Fraser Harbour Commission.

As well as the Vancouver LMAC, there were similar organizations on Vancouver Island. The Vancouver group had met at the UFAWU offices but, in recent years, settled into the meeting room above the Environmental Response facility at the Sea Island Coast Guard base. Members took their duties seriously and had worked harmoniously and diligently with Pablo Sobrino to clarify LMAC process. LMAC was a noun - the name of a Coast Guard consultative body - but also a verb (the LMAC process). Relationships with Rick Bryant, the former Regional Director-General, had been distant but cordial and mutually respectful.

Thompson started and finished meetings on time. Members received no payment. No lunches were provided and coffee, when available, was bad. Meetings would be temporarily halted when a jumbo jet hauled past or hovercraft heaved itself down the ramp. There were several foreign accents around the LMAC table but citizen-volunteer members had in common a need for frank exchange with Coast Guard management. In particular, Gary Thompson - who had a long record of public service and accomplishment in business - appreciated frankness, was not prone to waste time and determined to keep LMAC members and Coast Guard management committed to "the process." As each meeting drew to a close, it was customary for noisiest LMAC members to remind management "we're friends of Coast Guard." There was some tough love. But it was well meant and meetings were interesting and enjoyable. The LMAC's had been created so stakeholders could provide advice and, as far as Thompson was concerned, anything less would not suffice. But to hear advice, managers had to listen. This would become a fatal problem and two men would die.

Jon Churchill, Acting Director of Marine Programs, sat silent and grim at the February 12th LMAC meeting while citizen-volunteers defended the dive team. Saving somebody trapped under water doesn't need big words or managerialist jargon. Doing it the Canadian way, doing-the-right-thing, doesn't require rumination or "tough decisions." The Regional Director-General appeared surprised by the passion of LMAC support for diving. Jon Churchill had been in Coast Guard for 34 years. He rolled his eyes and remained aloof. Management sat in one paradigm, citizen-volunteer LMAC members in another.

It was not so much what the Regional Director-General and Acting Director of Marine Programs said on February 12th, 2001. The most egregious error was in what they didn't say. Ostry (1987) observed that, in the Canadian civil service, "it becomes harder rather than easier to discern truth and integrity in decision-making" (p. 10). Neither Churchill or Henderson would say the dive team had already been suspended and would be permanently chopped in less than five days. The situation appeared to betray the citizen-volunteer LMAC process. Later, LMAC discovered emergency services - such as the Airport authority, fire departments and police - also hadn't been told. It wasn't just LMAC kept in the dark.

On February 12th, 2001 LMAC members sensed prevarication in the Regional Director-General's voice and warned "if the dive team goes, there'll be a car in the river and the resulting furor will make the lighthouse destaffing controversy look like a Sunday School picnic." Bruce Falkins, Vice-President of the B.C. Coast Guard Auxillary, suggested "dropping a bomb" would be helpful. The Regional Director-General was told "Do in the dive team and it will haunt your whole watch" (Minutes of the LMAC, February 12, 2001). Turning to the O-I-C of the hovercraft base, members invited McGrath to keep "close tabs on the dive gear … don't get rid of it … it will be back."

Churchill was tasked to take minutes of the February 12th, 2001 meeting but for months afterwards, they were stalled by the incomplete nature of what he provided. In this arena, at CMAC and other places, certain managers constructed themselves as victims of consultative processes. Despite what had been said at the "Smart Forum," it would be better if tiresome stakeholders would disappear.

Gary Thompson's radar sensed controversy ahead so he canvassed each member for their notes of the February 12th, 2001 meeting and eventually gave the Bernard (2001) enquiry and LMAC members minutes that better represented the situation than the sparse account eventually produced by Churchill. Hence, there are now two sets of minutes for the February 12th LMAC meeting.

There were many significant moments in this meeting but three were crucial.

• First, Regional Director-General Henderson confirmed "safety concerns" previously leveled at hovercraft divers had all been resolved.
• Second, a decision concerning the future of the dive program had not been made. It would "be made shortly in about two weeks" (LMAC Minutes, July 19th, 2001).
• The Regional Director-General and Acting Director of Marine Programs refused to confirm or even hint at the fact the dive program was about to be terminated.

The dive program had been suspended in November, 2000, and would be permanently terminated four days after this meeting. The Regional Director-General's policy was to neither confirm nor deny. Instead, he thanked LMAC for their "input" and said it would be "part of the equation." He would take it "into consideration."

LMAC members left the meeting with the impression the dive program was intact. In particular, Richmond fire chief Jim Hancock was reassured to know that, if a car went in the river, hovercraft divers would be there as usual. In addition Paul Levy of the airport authority went back to YVR confident hovercraft divers would suit up and enter the water in the event of an aviation incident.

Later, Bernard (2001) would be disturbed at the fact "no specific notification was made to the public or to representatives of relevant emergency response service providers after the … diving pilot project … was terminated on February 16th, 2001." (p. 2). "The lack of notice of the suspension and subsequent cancellation .. to other emergency response service providers is disturbing … The Coast Guard decision to suspend the …. Project … removed a valuable and expected service to ensure public safety" (Bernard, 2001, p. 32).

Adams, Churchill and Henderson were not well placed to defend the fact they "forgot" to notify other agencies because the need to do this had been thoroughly canvassed just a few years earlier. For example, in Coast Guard enquiries concerning the September 1998 crash of Swiss Air Flight F-111 there was a particular emphasis on the importance of notifying other agencies of any change in Coast Guard policies or procedures. For example, Recommendation 23 of Gallagher's (1999) "debrief" was in bold type and claimed Coast Guard managers "must discuss decisions with all government agencies where there may be an impact and care must be exercised not to overlook any groups."

Of the fifteen people at the LMAC meeting, thirteen were broadly in favour of retaining the dive program. The Regional Director-General and Acting Director of Marine Programs would lower the axe only four days later and must have known what was in the wind. Both had ample opportunity to tell Hancock - the fire chief - not to expect hovercraft divers next time a car went into the Fraser river. Instead, Hancock (and others present) left the Monday meeting not aware that, on Friday afternoon, Henderson would push the buzzer at the base gate, drive in, gather together the crew then on shift and terminate the program. Thirty-six hours later, Paul Sandhu died in the Fraser river - within sight of the hovercraft base.

STAKEHOLDER RESISTANCE

After Paul Sandhu died, stakeholder resistance to termination of the dive program stiffened and complicated political dilemmas at Sea Island and in LMAC. At the hovercraft and Kits. base, some felt media interest would only inflame what was already an incendiary and demoralizing process. Already worn down by the on-again, off-again nature of the dive program, they hoped there would not be another car in the river or fishboat or floatplane upside down. Nobody relished the thought of having the new hovercraft reduced to a "lighting plant" - looking at people grasping door handles or, in upside down float planes, struggling with seat belts.

Hence, one group avoided media and maintained a detached though smouldering silence. Based on past experience there was apprehension that, once the media spotlight had dimmed, and the Minister had gone on to other issues, management retribution would follow. In particular, they worried that Kits. Base diving would be suspended and plans for a second hovercraft jeopardized. Others at Kits. and Sea Island cooperated with media and considered it a necessary instrument for resuscitating the dive program. There were animated discussions about whether divers were "gagged." Many feared the consequences of speaking. At one stage, management authorized them to speak as long as they avoided "politics!"

In the LMAC there was also a continuum of opinion. The Chair felt recourse to media would put LMAC "outside the tent" and even jeopardize the entire consultative process. He decided to take a long view and declined opportunities to speak with media. However, as a member of the Royal Vancouver Yacht Club, he had access to leading citizens and ensured the Minister received numerous letters on this subject. At the other end of the continuum were those who claimed the consultative process had been a sham. The only LMAC advice ever heard concerned microscopic issues to do with the location of Aids to Navigation. LMAC's were already outside the tent.

Kate Corcoran, a reporter for Vancouver Television, demonstrated an almost complete grasp of politics embedded in the controversy and, night after night, what followed were not leaks, but a deluge. She was reared in the B.C. Okanagan and, prior to joining VTV in March, 2000, had spent ten years at Global Television. In the fiercely competitive world of television news, Corcoran made good use of her B.C. roots and ability to cultivate contacts inside Coast Guard. Midway through the controversy she had broadcast more than eighteen stories on prime time news and was still going strong. They were visually engaging and the result of diligent attempts to contact survivors who owed their life to Coast Guard rescue efforts following underwater entrapment. One item with Maxine Matipli - a First Nations woman who'd survived for 2.5 hours in airpockets under an overturned fishboat - was particularly compelling. In another, the Minister insisted - time and again - that there was only a nine-minute window for rescue (in sharp contrast to the 90 minute window the dive team had used prior to being terminated).

After the Sandhu tragedy, Corcoran continued her near daily coverage of the story but was now joined by Global Television, BCTV, the CBC and other broadcasters. When the story "went national" the potential for political damage to government expanded accordingly.

The Canadian Press story of 20 February, 2001 was notable. On February 12th Regional Director-General Henderson told LMAC "safety concerns" about the dive program had been resolved. Yet, eight days later, Canadian Press reported him saying, "the Coast Guard program has been suspended since November because the Rescue Diving team was unable to comply with Labour Canada codes." He was also quoted as saying "the Defence Department already provides it, so the need is minimal." He further noted that U.S. and British Coast Guards no longer provide rescue dives.

The fact military divers in Comox and Esquimalt cannot speedily respond to incidents (let alone in the Fraser River or southern strait) didn't seem to trouble senior management. Even with Bona Vista (six lives at stake) it took military divers nearly two hours to get on scene. In the midst of the controversy, a Coast Guard manager apologized for missing a Vancouver meeting because "weather" prevented flying from Victoria. His office is not far from Esquimalt where navy divers were also presumably grounded by weather.

Clements (2001) is Coast Guard Regional Diving Safety Officer. As rumours mounted concerning possible termination of the dive program his frustration level soared and he wrote a long and erudite letter to the Director-General. What he said couldn't have been clearer:

I am hearing many extraordinarily incorrect statements … from a variety of people - many of whom are decision-makers, people who I thought would want to arm themselves with something other than anecdotal references and misinformation. If CCG diving is to be suspended, then it seems that the general public, and the employees who have devoted several years of their lives to the project, deserve to have the service live or die based upon information that is factual" (2001, p. 1)

He then used six pages listing and providing answers to rumours. For example, concerning the claim there's "no evidence" rescue diving contributes to "successful completion" of incidents, he used the Iolcos Grace to counter the claim. With regard to the notion rescue diving is not part of the Coast Guard "core mandate," he did what many others were doing - went to the web page for the Coast Guard (Search and Rescue) mission statement. The first objective (at the top of the list) is to "save 100% of lives at risk." It was not the Coast Guard mission to save those above sea level and ignore the rest [http://www.ccg-gcc.ca/sar/missin_e.htm].

With regard to safety, Clements reviewed relevant sections of the Labour Code and concluded that, if the dive team was terminated, it could not be for any "lack of adherence to the COSH regulations." (2001, p. 7). Despite these and other reassurances, on 20 February, 2001, Canadian Press claimed the Regional Director-General was still citing safety concerns. Eight days earlier, he'd told LMAC safety concerns had been resolved.

Another aggravation in management discourse was the notion of Canada as colony - still craving advice from mother England and the neighbour to the south. Ralston Saul (1997) invoking the memory of La Fontaine and Baldwin, called Canada and its quest for identity, a triumph of complexity and imagination. He condemned rampant corporatism, the weakening of democracy and use of "false language" to prevent public debate. Now, at the dawn of the 21st century, Coast Guard managers looked to the U.S. and U.K. for benchmarks. Ironically, in the earliest years of the infant colony in B.C., Marine Department captain John Walbran, a highly respected British Columbian, looked into his own environment for guidance on how to proceed. And, as the Team New Zealand sailing syndicate demonstrated, extraordinary accomplishment does not arise from copying others. Following others means being at the back of the pack. It leads to moral lassitude, intellectual inertia, flaccid leadership, mediocrity, fear, attempts to suppress contrary views and violation of public trust.

AUTHORITY TALKS

Major-General John Adams was scheduled to dedicate a Coast Guard Auxillary boating safety trailer at Vancouver's Delta Airport Hotel on February 24th, 2001. At the time, LMAC member Bruce Falkins, one of the most vigourous opponents of termination, was Vice-President of the B.C. Coast Guard Auxillary. He and other Auxillary members would be at the dedication ceremony. So would Vancouver media who, since Sandhu's death, were less interested in a trailer than questions about the dive program. The Commissioner's answers would likely be in an econometric discourse - a statement about costs and benefits and a stern assertion of managerial authority. Sandhu's death would not deter him from his mission.

As expected, Adams and the dive program overwhelmed media coverage of the trailer dedication ceremony. When the inevitable scrum occurred, here's what he said about the dive team (VTV News, Saturday, February 24th, 2001):

"It was a tough decision … but the right decision."

"In six years the dive team has only successfully rescued one person … the requirement isn't there, the effectiveness is very low and the risk is very high."

"The psychology of rescue is such that you have to temper that … that is my responsibility."

After February 12th, 2001, even cautious members felt the LMAC process might be flawed and a waste of volunteer energies and time. For Thompson and Norm Dyck, folding the LMAC tent would also threaten RBAC (the Recreational Boating Advisory Council). It was time a chat and, on March 30th, LMAC Chair Thompson and RBAC Chair Norm Dyck settled into Vancouver's Raintree Restaurant at the Landing at 375 Water St in Gastown with Mike Henderson. Dyck (2001) had already apprised the Minister of the Council of Yacht Clubs opposition to termination. Would a chat - mano-to-mano-to-mano - sort anything out? Known as a straight shooter, Thompson paid for a no-holds-barred lunch. For Henderson the lunch was free but message unmistakable. "The LMAC feels betrayed … we'll cut you some slack … but people want your head."

WAITING FOR DIVERS

After the November, 2000, suspension and February 16th, 2001 termination of the program, gear was taken off the hovercraft in compliance with Ottawa orders. But it remained at the base. Whether hovercraft team members would stash privately owned equipment was an open question. But, considering the level of surveillance and discipline, it was unlikely. There was great anticipation concerning Bernard's (2001) report and apprehension about the possibility of another Sandhu incident. By terminating the program, management had taken an enormous gamble. For rescuers, the question was not "would there be another incident?" The only question was "when?"

In the early morning of July 5th, 2001, Acting-Captain Susan Pickrell was supervising what would likely be her last shift before going on pregnancy leave. When in the dive team she'd searched the bottom of Ganges Harbour looking for Dave Rayment. He was one of the divers on the Bona Vista tragedy but later died after being pinned under tracks of a crane that capsized. It felt like Coast Guard had lost one of their own when Rayment died.

Along with dive leader Tim McFarlane and the late Capt. Tim Theilman, Pickrell had also been involved with the dramatic hovercraft rescue of three men from the capsized Canadian fishing vessel Pacific Charmer. Pickrell was not pleased by stress Julie de Granpré suffered as a result of being yelled at during the Sandhu incident and spoke publicly about it (Bailey, 2001).

Coast Guard and Fisheries have been labeled a "old boys network" (Sullivan, 2001). Yet, it was three women (Susan Pickrell, Jenelle Leighton and Julie de Grandpré) and one man (Craig Rackham) that reported for work on the evening of July 4. Of this group, Pickrell and de Grandpré had been divers.

At around or shortly after 2.15 a.m. on July 5, 2001, 56 year old Stephen Lee was driving a new Acura car in the 9600 block of River Rd, Delta and, for reasons not known, plunged into the river. Truck driver Kevin Brown noticed headlights in the river. He swam out to the stricken car. The 4-door 2001 Acura was floating with the front tilted down and trunk open. It was being swept along in the current and Brown couldn't get the door open. He swam back to the bank to get a rock to smash a window. But the car sank.

A second truck driver called 911, Rescue Centre was notified and tasked the hovercraft. But what for? Brown had been unable to release the driver, witnesses had seen the car sink (once again in shallow water) and there was no evidence the driver had escaped. The next fourteen minutes would be amongst the most frustrating ever experienced at the hovercraft base.

Someone who heard the Mayday broadcast notified reporter Kate Corcoran who called the VTV newsroom. They contacted Jazz Sanghera, her cameraman. He sped to the scene and was filming before rescuers showed up. After the Sandhu tragedy, insiders wondered if the death of an Indo-Canadian would spark the interest of the Indo-Canadian Minister of Fisheries. Now, an Indo-Canadian television cameraman was getting a scoop. His images would set the dive controversy heading in new directions.

At the hovercraft base Acting Captain Susan Pickrell, Jenelle Leighton, Julie de Grandpré and Craig Rackham were in the upstairs quarters when the phone rang. Unlike a normal telephone, the one at the hovercraft base is fitted with an alarm that can't be missed.

Susan Pickrell answered and, in the next room, Julie de Grandpré realized they'd soon be off to another car in the river. Pickrell was talking to a police officer who wanted hovercraft divers. The police had clearly not heard that Coast Guard diving was now forbidden and, as Pickrell realized the gravity of the situation and the police officer at the other end persisted with his request, the conversation grew more heated.

"What are we supposed to do?" Pickrell was saying. "Call RCC and ask them!"

As she dressed for the call de Grandpré realized she was the only diver on shift. Pickrell had been a diver but was now pregnant and not certified. However, had diving been authorized a back-up team could have come by road and the man in the river might have had a chance. As de Grandpré hurried down stairs, through the hangar and out to the craft she couldn't help by wonder if this would be a repetition of the Sandhu debacle. It sounded eerily familiar. A car in the river, confused police response and Coast Guard managers asleep in their beds while the $17 an hour employees speed onto the river.

With all four crew aboard, Rackham slid into the drivers seat, Pickrell sat at the nav. station and the other two took their seats. Hovercraft 045 heaved itself up and slid down the ramp, Rackham sped across mudflats south of Vancouver airport, gingerly steered through the hole-in-the-wall in the Steveston jetty and set a course for Vito's shipyard. During the trip to Stephen Lee's car the crew largely kept thoughts to themselves. Although they all feared a repetition of the Sandhu debacle - and de Grandpré was still stung by the abuse - there was little discussion about what lay ahead.

The hovercraft had been given the wrong address and almost sped past the place where Stephen Lee was trapped in the river. However, emergency vehicles were on shore and, shortly after heading in the direction of flashing lights, hovercraft crew wearing headsets popped open the door and saw a "twinkle of bubbles." They then signaled to police on shore.

"Down here, down here …."

At the time nobody aboard the hovercraft knew Kevin Brown had seen the car sink and attempted a rescue. As the craft closed on the bubbles the depth sounder read 15'.

Without dive gear there wasn't much to do so the crew did a shoreline search (in case Lee had escaped from the car or been thrown clear). Then they waited, waited, waited, waited and waited …. for RCMP divers. The car was right side up in only fifteen feet of water about 40' offshore. It was a dive within range for breath-hold divers (Grierson, 2001) or snorkellers. RCMP divers eventually showed up, went in the river, but didn't attempt to open car doors. Lee would have to stay in the river.

Here are the events as they happened (Pacific daylight time):

Approx. 0215 hours. Stephen Lee and his 4-door 2001 Acura go into the river near Vito's Shipyard on River Rd, Delta, B.C., Nanaimo truck driver Kevin Brown - on his regular route from Annacis Island to River Rd - attempts a rescue.

O220 hours. A second driver calls 911. The operator at the Vancouver emergency communications centre assumes hovercraft divers are still available, takes down the particulars and contacts RCC in Esquimalt.

0230 hours. Hovercraft tasked by RCC. Acting-Captain Susan Pickrell is on the phone to Delta RCMP for clarification concerning the Coast Guard role. "We don't dive any more … haven't you heard? What do you expect us to do?" Constable Naidu of the Delta RCMP is perplexed by news of the dive team termination. Julie de Grandpré gets into work clothes and hopes this will not be a repetition of the Sandhu debacle. Rackham and Leighton go outside where the hovercraft was parked on the apron next to the hangar.

O230 hours. In the Patricia Bay H.Q. of Victoria Coast Guard radio, operator Don Smith and a colleague get a call from Rescue Centre. The call comes on the #1709 circuit - a kind of open party line that connects them to RCC and other Coast Guard facilities. It broadcasts through speakers and headsets. Smith and a colleague copy information into the message data system - previously designed for SAR purposes by a Coast Guard radio operator. It takes a few minutes to get the information and craft a mayday-relay broadcast.

0232 hours. At Victoria Coast Guard radio, Don Smith and colleague activate the auto-alarm and broadcast a mayday-relay.

0233 hours. Kate Corcoran is jerked awake by a phone call. She calls her newsroom who task Jazz Sanghera, a VTV cameraman with a reputation for high-speed driving. Sanghera tumbles out of bed at his Burnaby home near BCIT, pulls on clothes and sprints to his vehicle. He knows the location of Vito's shipyard and, at this hour, there is almost no traffic to impede him. He's next to a major highway going in the right direction.

O234 hours: Victoria Coast Guard radio continues the broadcast. RCC now has a better description of the exact location of the car in the river. Sanghera has tape and batteries in the VTV camera and is speeding toward the river.

0244 hours. Hovercraft 045 departs base. On board are three women and one man. Alone with their thoughts, they wonder if this will be a repetition of the Sandhu incident? Dive gear is left at the base. The hovercraft speeds out of the middle arm of the Fraser River, swings to port, noses through "hole-in-the-wall" by Steveston and heads up the main arm of the river. On board, the crew are quiet.

Approx. 0300 hours. VTV news cameraman Jazz Sanghera arrives to find a distraught Kevin Brown and another truck driver. He begins filming. No Coast Guard or other rescuers are on scene.

0321 hours. It has been a 40 minute run for the older and slower Hovercraft 045. But still well within the "90 minute resuscitation window" previously used by the dive team. Arriving on scene, they see bubbles. The car has been in the river just over an hour but air still escapes from it.

0329 hours. Hovercraft commences a shoreline search. Using powerful Night Sun lights they illuminate the shore downstream from where the car entered the river.

0338 hours. The shoreline search is completed with a negative result. Julie de Grandpré is put on shore and hovercraft awaits arrival of RCMP divers.

O340 hours: Hovercraft awaiting arrival of police divers.

0345 hours. Hovercraft awaiting arrival of police divers.

0349 hours: Hovercraft awaiting arrival of police divers.

0350 hours. RCMP divers arrive and enter the water. Julie de Grandpré asks police divers "have you done this before?" Only one police diver enters the water and other police appear agitated by the Coast Guard rescue specialist. Stephen Lee has now been submerged for 1 hour, 20 minutes. De Grandpré pointedly asks firemen if they have a winch that could haul the car from the river. RCMP officers make clear their impatience with the French-Canadian Coast Guard rescue specialist. The problem is that police don't do rescues, just body recoveries.

0358 hours. RCMP divers have looked at the car but do not "sweep" (i.e. attempt to get into) the vehicle. RCMP announce they'll await arrival of a tow truck. The hovercraft rescue specialist continues waiting on shore but asks police divers "did you sweep the car?' Police are reluctant to answer persistent Coast Guard enquiries but make clear they do not intend to open the car.

0424 hours. A tow truck that had previously arrived but then inexplicably went away has now returned to the scene but has a car attached to it. The Coast Guard rescue specialist alerts police to the fact the tow truck has a car behind it. Inside his submerged car, Lee has now been underwater for more than two hours. There is now almost no chance for survival.

0428 hours. The RCMP diver connects a tow line to the 4-door 2001 Acura.

0433 hours. The car is coming out of the water. Doors, the windshield and windows are all intact.

0441 hours. Car pulled from water. There is a male in the back seat but he has been in the water for 2 hours, 11 minutes. Julie de Grandpré and ambulance personnel commence CPR on Stephen Lee.

0448 hours. Hovercraft 045 returning to base.

Later in the day Coast Guard marine superintendent John Palliser (from the Rescue Centre) told The Vancouver Sun he "doesn't know" if the outcome might have been different had hovercraft divers used their dive gear (Morton, 2001, p. B1). RCMP spokesman Grant Learned said RCMP divers are a "recovery team." What police did - or failed to do - for Stephen Lee, was "normal procedure" (Morton, 2001, p. B4)

Assumptions embedded in the Commissioner's objections to Coast Guard diving were profoundly eroded by the Sandhu and Lee fatalities. While there were no guarantees, there was a widespread feeling both might have lived had Coast Guard divers got in the water. Both were easy dives with minimal risk. In Sandhu's case the car was upside down in shallows just under the surface. Lee's car was right side up in fifteen feet of water. Kevin Brown, who attempted the rescue, had seen it floating and then gently sink. Sandhu was in the river about 450 metres from the hovercraft base, Lee about 40 minutes away. DND divers from Comox and navy divers from Esquimalt were hours from the scene and thus not tasked. RCMP did what they usually do - recover the body so it can have a decent burial.

The Commissioner's discomfort at having to make "tough decisions" had lost lustre. There was also the possibility of litigation. In the USA, Judge David Norton has recently awarded a widow $19 million after Coast Guard failed to adequately respond when the 34' sailboat Morning Dew ran aground. What the judge said resonated through Richmond, B.C. "This tragedy was avoidable … It was not angry sea or cruel weather that impeded the Coast Guard's ability to rescue .. it was human error, the impetuous termination of a SAR mission" (Boat/U.S., 2001).

After Lee died, VTV devoted more news space to what lay behind the diving decision. In particular, Kate Corcoran pressed for release of Bernard's (2001) report and made good use of exclusive video images filmed by Sanghera. Susan Pickrell told The Vancouver Sun divers who made an "unauthorized rescue" stood to lose their jobs. "And they only make $17 an hour as it is" (Bailey, 2001)

MAPPING POLITICAL RESPONSES

With managerialism in disarray, which discourse would construct the inevitable political response?

Diving was now a matter for the Minister. The program had been terminated less than six months, two people were dead and stakeholders rejected the Ottawa message. This was now a dangerous controversy and it had to be taken off television newscasts and newspaper front pages. An argument would have to be crafted and Fig. 1 - created by arraying the elements of managerialism across those of public consultation - is a map that discursively yields four possible responses for the Minister.

The vertical axis concerns mangerialism. High levels of commitment to the discourse (and associated practices) of mangerialism are at the top; non-managerialist perspectives are at the bottom. Hence, most private industries and departments of governments would fall on the top half of the vertical axis. Universities would fall in the middle - although are increasingly being pushed up the axis. Certain NGO's, community groups, churches and museums would be on the bottom half of the vertical axis. The horizontal is the public consultation axis with inauthentic elements on the left and authentic consultations on the right. In Table 1 and 2 elements of managerialism and public consultation were presented as binary oppositions. In Fig. 1 axes are best treated as continua.

Treat this map like a nautical chart. Charts are used to locate your current position and to figure out where to go next. Consultations falling on the eastern edges of this map tend to manifest the elements of authenticity. Those in the west are inauthentic. Program, projects and initiatives in the northern part of the map are largely constructed by managerialism. Those in the south are less or non-mangerialist. In this region, critical modernists would be committed to democratic forms of communicative action and the merits of moral and ethical discourse. Those espousing leadership or postmodernism would expose unequal power relations and watch their own behaviour and speech.

How could the Minister argue for resuscitation of the dive program? The most lofty but easiest argument would dip into assumptions embedded in the south-east corner of the map where citizen-stakeholders reside. He would contrast "private interests" - as represented by managerialism - with the notion of "public good" - based on leadership and a Canadian and moral imperative.

With the exception of First Nations, most Canadians are immigrants - or descendants of immigrants - who chose to live here because of commitment to the public good. Canada is the country of civility, medicare and decency. Policy-makers in the USA living in the shadow of "compassionate Conservatism," or Britons thrown off balance by legacies of Thatcherism, might think rescue diving is not worth the effort. But this is Canada. Every citizen counts and there are special needs in B.C. When Canadians hear a cry for help, they respond. Not in a half-hearted way but with expertise and commitment. Coast Guard diving is a moral, ethical and Canadian commitment. It is not a matter of benchmarking.

Considering the nature of the earlier struggle, the more likely option would have the Minister located in the north-western corner. Maintain the position previously enunciated by managers. There isn't a need for a dive rescue program. The "numbers" don't merit it. Set up a contest between above and below water rescues and argue for the former. Accumulate "surface" numbers from every lifeboat station and Auxillary unit in the province, add and compare them to one small dive program nested in the broader activities of the Sea Island hovercraft base.

Where divers snatch people out of shallows, label these a "surface" rescue. This will boost the numbers. The public won't know the difference. Avoid too much detail about rescue diving. Turn "listening" into the centerpiece of the argument. Knowing it has become difficult to manage stakeholders, tell them that, although a dive program is not "really" needed, there has been public pressure. So you can have your dive program. This argument will look thin and intensely "political" but will end the controversy. Managerialism will live another day.

What matters most about this map are the two circles that show zones occupied by Coast Guard management and citizen-stakeholders (such as those in LMAC). It was in zones framed by managerial discourse and public consultation that the struggle to save the program was enacted. The rescue diving controversy burned long and hard because managers and stakeholders occupied different positions.

Fig . 1. Zones Occupied by Management and Stakeholders

Respected Citizens

At one time, Coast Guard managers were among the most respected citizens in B.C. For example, Captain John T. Walbran, who brought the Department of Marine and Fisheries ship Quadra into Esquimalt in 1892 was a superb seaman, scholar, magistrate and gentleman. As the only seagoing government ship on the B.C. coast, Quadra and her captain provided an unmatched level of leadership to remote coastal communities in the fledgling colony. Walbran's (1909) British Columbia Place Names 1592-1906 is still a classic. Appleton (1968) describes him as a "cultivated man who combined the attributes of a first class seaman with a deep interest in all that concerned the marine activities of B.C." (p. 167). On Sundays Walbran would read a church service but there "was nothing pompous" about him. On the contrary, he was a "man of warmth and charm" welcomed wherever he went (Appleton, 1968, p. 245).

Walbran had the B.C. motto - Splendor sine occasu ("Splendour Without Ceasing") - emblazoned on Quadra liferings. Confidence entrusted in him meant he and the ship were often dispatched to investigate matters that would now come under the purview of a local authority or other government department. A man of action with a sense of humour resembling McGrath's, Walbran pursued projects and responsibilities with passion. He was from a family of Shakespeare scholars and could easily argue the merits of ideas such as those presented above. "Splendour Without Ceasing" didn't require benchmarking.

The "Nine Minute" Theory

Six days after Stephen Lee died, Minister Dhaliwal and Regional Director General Mike Henderson drove up to the gate at the Sea Island hovercraft base. Whether the intercom was used to tell them to get out with hands up is not known although, given the level of anxiety, it was unlikely. At about the time they arrived, the Harbour patrol was reporting a car in the North Arm of the Fraser River. Police were summoned but what could have quickly been another nightmare turned out to be a derelict (probably a stolen) vehicle.

Most of the leading actors in the diving drama were not at Sea Island. Talking to the small group assembled, the Minister reinforced his belief that, unless divers get to the person trapped underwater in less than nine minutes, responding was mostly a waste of time. The Minister's "nine-minute" theory seemed to have been acquired from a neighbour who was a lifeguard. If so, this lifeguard, the Minister and other managers were poorly informed about the ability of people - such as B.C. fishermen on Prospector (four men trapped in an over-turned seine vessel - all rescued), the Miss Joye (eight trapped and Maxine Matilpi inside for 2.5 hours off Campbell River - five rescued, three dead) who lasted significantly longer than nine minutes. They could have e-mailed British yachtsman Tony Bullimore who survived in the air pocket of the capsized Exide Challenger for nearly five days or two men trapped several hours in the over-turned fishing vessel Odyssey and saved by divers Bill Shires and Pat Miller in a most extraordinary rescue (McCloskey, 1998, p.301).

SPENDOUR WITHOUT CEASING

Canada and Australia are both big countries with a familiar litany of conflict between federal and provincial (state) jurisdictions. They both struggle in the shadow of British colonial traditions, have long coastlines and maritime traditions. But, unlike Canada, maritime search and rescue in Australia is located in a discourse of possibility.

Round-the-world and offshore yacht racing has profoundly tested the abilities of Australian rescue authorities and evoked scenes of overwhelming joy and pandemonium when rescuers did the impossible. Among incidents that stand out are the 1998 Sydney-Hobart yacht (i.e. sailing) race and, amongst others, rescue of round-the-world yachtsmen Tony Bullimore and Thierry Dubois.

Bullimore and Dubois were trailing the fleet in the 1997 Globe Vendee round-the-world race for solo sailors and consumed by storm in southern ocean more than 2,600 kms. from south-west Australia (52 S; 100 E). The shortest distance around the world is near Antarctic icebergs far from the conventional reach of rescue authorities. Both Bullimore and Dubois had capsized in a hurricane. Their distress beacons were heard and HMAS Adelaide tasked into mayhem.

On Pour Amnesty International Dubois had flipped and the boat stayed upside down. When an Australian Orion appeared overhead they saw the bedraggled Frenchman clinging to the rudder of the upturned boat. Pilots dropped a Search and Rescue chain containing two liferafts. But it missed the target. In desperation, Dubois let go of the rudder and swam 100 yards to the rafts - "like an untethered astronaut stepping away from his ship into the void of space" (Lundy, 1998, p. 245). As he tried to climb in, one raft flipped and started deflating. An hour later another Orion arrived and first dropped a smoke signal. Then another two rafts came hurtling down. Dubois crawled into a new raft and secured the canopy to get out of a minus 30-degree wind chill. The Orion swung back and dropped a helibox - containing a VHF radio.

"Looking good … looking good, god damn, we put it right at his door," exclaimed the aircraft crew.

Then the VHF radio crackled "In two days, HMAS Adelaide will arrive with its helicopters." Dubois ate, slept, drank, sang, read the survival manual and pumped, pumped, pumped. On the third morning the aircraft was back with a message "the helicopter is coming." The gale was blowing Force 9 and 10 - up to 50 knots. In Dubois words "a bit later on, a man dressed in his pilot uniform dropped down and asked me 'You want a lift mate?'"

At the time the Australian public, but not Dubois, were well appraised of the refueling and other near-overwhelming logistics behind the effort to get HMAS Adelaide and her helicopters into the southern ocean. The warship was being pushed at 24 knots with every additional knot increasing fuel consumption three per cent.

Bullimore's position was deep in the southern ocean at the edge of icebergs. HMAS Adelaide didn't have enough fuel to get on scene, search and then get back. Hence, a tanker was tasked for refueling. Captain Raydon Gates left Fremantle with his "two baskets" - one full of confidence Bullimore was alive, the other full of hope. As the warship bucked deeper into the southern ocean his confidence basket emptied and the hope basket filled (Bullimore, 1997a).

While the Australian navy was en route to Dubois, race organizer Jeantot was talking about air pockets. An experienced ocean racer, Jeantot felt the safest place for Bullimore would be inside the hull. On January 8, the day before Dubois was recovered, an aircraft found the capsized Exide Challenger without a keel. Conditions were bad - 40 knot winds, 4-metre swell, cloud base at 200', steady drizzle and, for Australia, a nippy minus 2-degrees at 300'. Visibility ranged from zero to 500 metres. There was no sign of the yachtsman. Then, in a series of moves that had the Australian public glued to radio and television broadcasts, an Australian Orion dropped sonar devices (an MK84 Signal Underwater Sound - SUS - beacon) near the boat. After exhaustive tests and replaying tapes, analysts concluded they could hear the 57 year old Bullimore working a reverse osmosis water pump. Headlines trumpeted "Crew Hear Tapping Sounds."

Inside his putrid air pocket, Bullimore was despondent and didn't know he'd been there nearly five days.

"The truth is, I've run out of ideas. In total darkness, crammed in a corner full of diesel fumes and rolling gray water, there is no hope. The only warmth I can feel in my body is deep in my chest, but I keep thumping my feet and tapping my fingers" (Bullimore, 1997a, p. 183).

When HMAS Adelaide got within range of Exide Challenger they were racing a weather front. The ship didn't have fuel to sit out a storm and officers were dubious about launching a RIB. Heavy cloud had dropped to 500' and it was blowing 40 knots as they approached the upturned boat. Could they get an RIB alongside before the storm? The RIB bounced over swells and surfed into position next to the stricken yacht. The next swell threw it onto the hull and then into a trough. "Come in again," yelled Pete Wicker. On the next approach a grappling hook hurtled through the air but failed to catch. Chris Smart made the second throw and the hook wrapped round the remnants of the keel. "Chuck us a hammer," said Wicker. He leaned over and smacked the boat with three short, sharp but heavy blows. Sailors in the RIB then heard a tapping sound and muffled cry.

"Christ, he's alive," they said.

Wicker pounded the hull again - this time with a different tune and their diver jumped in the water.

Bullimore (1997) said this:

"All of a sudden I started hearing noises in the sky, brrrrrrrrrrr, Royal Australian Air Force. The next thing I heard was rdrdrdrdrdrdrdrd, and I thought helicopters. By now I'm up to my chest in water inside the boat, being sloshed around, like a ping-pong ball in a washing machine. The next thing I heard was this bang, bang, bang on the side of the hull, and I tell you what … that was the greatest, greatest feeling … I said to myself 'there is someone out there'. Then I heard this big Australian voice …"

Leaving the putrid air pocket - his home for nearly five days - in one last adrenalin rush, he executed the exit plan he'd gone over in his mind while imprisoned.

"At the companionway entrance, I take a deep breath and a dive. Cold stabs my eyes but I need them open. I shoulder the door, slide through and kick off the wall into the dark green. The bubbles rise behind me, floating upwards into an undulating mirror of brightness … Rigging brushes my legs. Deeper Tony, deeper, you don't want to get tangled - you've come to far too perish like a fish caught in a net."

" I crash out of the water, blinking away the salt and brightness of the first daylight I've seen in four days. Directly in front of me, filling my entire field of vision, is a warship … There has never been a more wonderful moment. Absolute unparalleled elation floods through me, a joy so pure it actually hurts … I've been given a second chance at life. From a dark, wet and desperately lonely place, I've been reborn" (Bullimore, 1997a, p. 208). Later, the captain of HMAS Adelaide stares at the weather-beaten Englishman "as if he wanted to make absolutely sure I'm real" (Bullimore, 1997a, p. 211).

At the end there was one amusing hitch. Abandoning his 18" shelf, Bullimore swam for the companionway and popped into freezing Antarctic air. There was nobody there. Had the thud of helicopters, Aussie accents and banging on the hull all been a dream - the inevitable hallucination and end point of his ordeal? But once the rescue boat realized Bullimore had surfaced on the other side of Exide Challenger, a navy diver grabbed him and, with lips against his ear said "You'll be alright mate … You'll be alright." The frozen Briton was quickly transferred to HMAS Adelaide and a warm welcome from everyone - including Thierry Dubois. Back on the mainland there was an outpouring of national pride and plaudits for rescue authorities. The successful outcome was a significant boost to morale in the navy and Rescue Centre.

Instead of arguing about mandate, wringing their hands about impossible odds, citing dodgy statistics or keeping the public in the dark about developments, Australian rescue authorities had pulled off two rescues in exceedingly difficult and novel circumstances. Rear Admiral Chris Oxenbould cabled HMAS Adelaide. "The rescue of … Dubois and Bullimore was a magnificient achievement in the most difficult of circumstances .. Through your professionalism you have brought yourselves great credit which, in this case particularly, reflects upon Australia. Please accept my sincere thanks and congratulations as well as the heartfelt appreciation of the international yachting community" (Bullimore, 1997a, p. 225). The Australian Rescue Centre called it "one of the longest range rescues in history." RCC's in Japan, France and Britain cabled congratulations. Her Majesty the Queen sent her best wishes citing it as "an extraordinary feat of survival."

Arriving in Fremantle, more than 10,000 citizens and a fleet of dignitaries turned out to cheer HMAS Adelaide and yell good wishes to Dubois and Bullimore. Australian television carried it live. Bullimore hobbled down the gangplank and the crowd erupted. Dubois made a speech in broken English. Bullimore said "thank you Australia for giving me back my life … Thank you very much." He was supposed to spend two hours a day in a hyperbaric chamber but, after confinement in the air pocket, preferred the camaraderie of the pub.

There was a similar feeling of triumph and national pride as a result of rescues performed during the 54th running of the Sydney-Hobart yacht race that began on Boxing Day, 1998. Sailors found themselves battling winds of up to 92 knots and six died. But the Search and Rescue operation resulted in 55 being winched to safety and has been cited as "one of the most phenomenally accomplished peacetime SAR efforts the world has ever seen" (Mundle, 1999). Of the fleet of 115 yachts, only 44 reached Hobart. Searches covered about 10,000 square miles of windswept ocean, involved five civilian helicopters, 38 twin-engined fixed wing aircraft, two Royal Australian navy Sea King and two Sea Hawk helicopters along with HMAS Newcastle, two long-range Orion and two C130 Hercules aircraft. It also involved women rescue specialists who'd only ever been lowered into a muddy billabong at the training school and now found themselves 200 miles offshore expected to jump into maelstrom. Boshier (2000a) analysed some of these events but better accounts are found in the work of Mundle (1999), Dugard (1999) and Whitmont (1999).

The defining metaphor of Australia is the outback - the sunburnt country. But increasingly, the beach and coast have replaced it. Hence, the loss of six men in the Sydney-Hobart race greatly disturbed the national psyche. Yet, not long after six wreaths were thrown into Hobart harbour, politicians and public came to appreciate what had been accomplished. Mundle (1999) who wrote the best account of this saga, claimed the entire nation was indebted and, with a big thank you in mind, compiled a rescuers "roll of honour" that extended from p. 311 to p. 317 of his book. As a result of tragedies that unfolded in this race, changes have been made. But, in the course of a recent visit to the Australian Rescue Centre in Canberra, the author detected a strong residue of pride in several jobs well done. B.C.'s Captain John T. Walbran would have recognized the feeling.

RIGHT RESPONSE FOR THE WRONG REASON

Back in B.C. there wasn't much splendour although, after Stephen Lee died, events moved more quickly than before. On July 17th, Montgomery (2001) published an article in The Province that puzzled people at Coast Guard stations and in stakeholder groups. She claimed the Minister was about to offload rescue diving onto local fire departments. Jim Hancock, Chief of the Richmond fire department and LMAC member, had made clear they didn't want sole responsibility for rescue diving. And how could a firetruck drive on water - even on a calm day? However, this notion was no more or less bizarre than earlier "tough decisions" or walking-on-water ideas advanced by management. Hence, it could not be dismissed as nonsense. However, unlike her earlier contributions (Montgomery & Berry, 2001) she had this one wrong.

After the death of Stephen Lee and with the release of Bernard's report (2001) imminent, there was curiosity about how the Minister would go about reinstating the dive program. Another underwater death now would evoke street demonstrations and seriously damage vulnerable federal Liberals in Western Canada.

July 19th, 2001 was overcast and visibility in the Georgia strait not good. Two weeks had passed since Stephen Lee died in the river. In mid-morning, the 47' Maxum motor yacht Emotional Rescue slipped it's moorings and headed into the strait. Everything on this boat was new. Not long after leaving the dock the four occupants (a man, woman and two children) noticed water on the carpeted floor. Now it appeared deeper. And deeper. The woman occupant called Coast Guard radio on Channel 16. She appeared calm and all parties awaited further developments. She gave a position "just off … going around … Point Roberts." But now the water level was rising and Coast Guard radio attempted to get a more precise location. A latitude and longitude transmitted from Emotional Rescue located the vessel in the San Juan islands. The occupants then suggested they were off Porlier Pass, then Valdez Island, then Breakwater Island, then Porlier Pass again. Emotional Rescue was going down. Fortunately for them, Hovercraft Siyay had been tasked and, using radio direction finding equipment, found the mostly sunk vessel seven miles east of Thrasher Rock. The family of four had got out of the cabin before the boat sank. They watched its final moments from inside the hovercraft.

With four survivors on board, hovercraft crew were anxious to depart the scene. Earlier in the day they'd been told there'd be a press conference in late morning. At the moment Emotional Rescue gave its last gasp, the Minister of Fisheries was walking into a lecture theatre at the Simon Fraser University Harbourfront facility in downtown Vancouver. Brian Wootton, Coast Guard captain and author of one of the diving reports, along with two woman Rescue Specialists, was on Hovercraft Siyay waiting for the last moments of Emotional Rescue. Except for engineering personnel, the hovercraft base was empty and, as is usually the case during a callout, the only one on duty was an answering machine. John McGrath and Gary Thompson were both at their homes. VTV's Kate Corcoran was on holiday. Had the Minister's spin doctors picked July 19th to deny her a moment of triumph?

The Minister's press conference was carefully scripted. As well as addressing reporters gathered in the lecture theatre, he fielded questions telephoned from other locations. Even before the announcement it was clear it would be the hovercraft (and not fire trucks) speeding divers to Porlier Pass, the Patullo Bridge, Point Roberts, Pat Bay, mudflats in front of Vancouver airport and, most importantly, dikes and the float plane terminal near Sea Island.

Would the Minister invoke the public good or assert the Canadian obligation to provide leadership? Would he talk about how the dive program was a prototype of what should be happening throughout society, but particularly other branches of government? Would he give Habermas a nod and speak of a moral and ethical commitments?

Passion and Politics

The Minister was smiling and clearly pleased with his plan to reinstate and then prepare it for extinction.

He stepped to the podium and, amongst other things, said this:

"Since its establishment at Sea Island in 1995 the Canadian Coast Guard's Rescue Diving Pilot Project has become the topic of much interest - and many questions."

"Questions about whether the Project was effective. And whether it made sense to become a permanent part of the range of services the Coast Guard provides."

"And, of course, as with any pilot project we monitored it with these questions in mind. We also looked far beyond our borders, to see if - and how - other nations offer these services."

"After more than six years of consideration, we suspended the Pilot Project last December and terminated it in February."

"All of our close study and evidence pointed to one conclusion - that rescue diving is only effective in rare and exceptional circumstances."

"Over the six years of the Pilot Project, two people were pulled to safety by Coast Guard rescue divers - and one died shortly after in hospital."

"By comparison, over the same period, the surface rescue activities of the Coast Guard saved over 20,000 lives nationally - and over 9000 here in British Columbia alone. These numbers set out - in the clearest possible terms - where our efforts should lie."

"While the decision to cancel the Pilot Project was indeed the right one, many British Columbians - and particularly those directly involved with emergency response services - are passionate about the Coast Guard providing diving capacity of some kind at Sea Island."

"Ladies and gentlemen, I've been listening."

"And today, I'm pleased to announce that we will be initiating new diving services at Sea Island, as soon as possible."

"Ladies and gentlemen, today's announcement is proof positive that the Government of Canada is listening to Canadians. Indeed, British Columbians have spoken. And their message was loud and clear. They've told us that diving services must be part of the range of services the Coast Guard provides at Sea Island" (Department of Fisheries and Oceans, 2001; 2001a).

Managerialism Loud and Clear

The Minister's analysis was not nested in any moral construction of SAR, ruminations about what it means to be Canadian or desire to infuse authenticity into what had been a catastrophic consultative process. The emphasis was on being "effective," whether it "makes sense" (not in a socio-cultural or qualitative but objectivist, prudentialist, managerialist sense). The Project had been "monitored," we've looked "beyond our borders" (meaning the USA and UK). There was "close study." The "numbers" set out the "evidence." The decision to cancel the project was "right" (in a managerial and, as it happens, also a political) sense. But there has been a "significant investment," and there are opportunities to "strengthen effectiveness."

The centerpiece of his argument were the statistics - 9000 above surface lives saved in contrast to only two below surface "saves." It doesn't matter whether these numbers are viewed from a managerialist, discursive or critical perspective. Both sets of numbers were wrong. The "surface" figure was far too high and the "underwater" figure too low. The Minister was standing on quicksand.

Coast Guard is primarily a responding not a prevention agency and attempts to measure the phenomenon of interest are conceptually weak and psychometrically flawed. More than 20 years ago authors of the Cross Report (Report of an Evaluation of Search and Rescue, 1982) spent "considerable time" trying to assess response times and other aspects of SAR. The found the SARSTATS - the major database - "produced results of doubtful value owing to missing data and inconsistent reporting"(1982, p. 126). They concluded that "much SARSTATS data frequently shows evidence of not being audited for completeness and accuracy yet it remains crucial to analysis of SAR operations." They also claimed "the design of the information categories does not solicit all the information necessary" (1982, p. 127). In other words, the data base brimmed with under-theorized and conceptually flawed variables and other psychometric nightmares. Because of missing data and other contradictions, Boshier's (1990, 1992) analysis of the Coast Guard marine incidents data base yielded less useful findings than had been hoped for.

Ten years after the Cross Report, the Auditor-General was frustrated by the fact "information necessary to determine the need for search and rescue resources and alternatives for providing search and rescue services, is incomplete" (Report of the Auditor General, 1992, p. 8). In recent years there has been much discussion about the need to "clean-up" the statistics and the National SAR Secretariat got interested. But, as demonstrated in the dive controversy, the Minister and his officials still don't have a stable, reliable and valid platform from which to build policy based on something better than guesswork. This would be most likely to happen if Coast Guard got serious about prevention. Getting serious about prevention requires a better understanding of SAR and this requires statistics that are reliable, valid and based on durable theory.

Because of managerialism, public services are under pressure to show cause why they should exist. Hence, if one Rescue Centre hears another has adopted a more liberal definition of "incident," "lives saved" or other significant "business," they have every incentive to adjust their criteria. Their future might depend on it.

SAR controllers, managers, rescuers and statistical analysts all have a vested interest in producing impressive numbers of incidents. In the struggle for resources, jobs depend on it. It is also why Coast Guard is not well placed to mount prevention programs. In an enterprise culture, the prime business of Coast Guard SAR is incidents - the more the merrier.

Nobody is aggrieved by an absence of incidents involving airport fire departments. An absence of incidents will not trigger a debate about whether an airport fire department is needed. But, as demonstrated by the rescue diving controversy, in marine SAR, statistics matter. If you have a lifeboat or dive program, use it or lose it. Hence, at SAR meetings, managers (including those in charge of the Auxillary) announce with considerable satisfaction - "incidents are up." In an enterprise culture, everyone knows the game and it won't change soon. However, why managers would feed the Minister shaky statistics and have him set up a false binary opposition - contrasting surface with underwater rescues and, by definition, the value attached to lives of Canadians above and below water - is perplexing and disturbing.

ENSURING THE END OF THE DIVE PROGRAM

For reasons still hard to fathom, the Coast Guard Commissioner, Deputy-Commissioner and managers want to kill the dive program and, as result, the Minister's announcement was a smokescreen. The Minister claimed he'd been "listening" to Canadians and would build a new program. It was this announcement that evoked the merry gathering on Gary Thompson's patio. But it was mostly a hoax. There would be a "new" dive program but constructed to ensure an early demise. Reinstatement was for the purpose of extinction.

Managers who had been taken to task by a voracious media or called to account by stakeholders, would not give up without a fight. The Minister's plan - designed on the advice of managers - was to bury the old program by putting in place an emaciated program that, in an enterprise culture, would not yield enough return. After a few years of "no lives saved" - and with the noisy McGrath packed off into retirement and LMAC members disenchanted - diving could be stricken from the Coast Guard mandate and the entire mess packed away. People in capsized boats or cars submerged in the river would have to look after themselves. Even in their direst hour of need, they should be "dependent" on government.

The eventual demise of the dive program was ensured in several ways.

• With the exception of John Churchill - shunted to Ottawa to take charge of the failing and ill-conceived Office of Boating Safety - the same people that killed the program were left to create a "new" one.
• The small remuneration previously attached to diving was removed. From now on, Coast Guard employees wanting to dive would have to volunteer.
• Only the hovercraft base would have divers. The very important "back-up" divers at Kits Base would be removed.
• There was to be no "penetration" (i.e. going inside) overturned fishboats, float planes or cars. The new program was labeled "open water" rescue. This guaranteed a repetition of the Bona Vista tragedy. If people in an upturned boat are yelling for help there could be no compromise - "sorry … penetration forbidden." Divers could attach stability bags, try and blow air into the vessel but not enter the capsized hull. With cars and float planes there would also be no going inside.
  

Coast Guard Commissioner John Adams had earlier alluded to the fact it's hard to know what divers do underwater. This is helped by the fact managers are usually in bed when divers enter the water. Hence, reading between managerial lines, divers got the impression (from very important sources) that if, in an extreme situation, a successful rescue flowed from breaking rules, management might turn a blind eye. It's hard to contemplate a headline like " Divers save two people and get fired for 'penetrating' capsized fishboat" However, if rules were broken and something bad happened, there'd be consequences and the "cowboy" label painted in even larger letters on hovercraft operations. Acts of penetration that don't yield a survivor will attract discipline. When acts of penetration produce a survivor capable of writing thank you letters … well, we'll breath that air when it happens.

For this new (i.e. diminished) dive program, managers adopted a prudentialist orientation that significantly distanced them from responsibility for diving. Disabled by fear of litigation and conservative readings of the Labour Code, deftly put all the responsibility on divers.

After the Minister's press conference, citizens assumed a dive program was in place. Fishermen were reassured that, in the event of a capsize, divers would swim in and effect a rescue. Float plane passengers knew they too would be rescued by divers trained for this purpose. None of this was correct. The new dive program was a pale imitation of the old one.

If divers adhere to managerial constraints, there will be few (if any) successful rescues. Hence, after a few years, the Commissioner will invoke enterprise culture, cite a lack (or complete absence) of "success," say there is no "need" and close the program.

However, in situations like those that killed Paul Sandhu, Stephen Lee or six people in Bona Vista, no diver would swim down just for a look at a person gasping for breath. Without putting themselves into unnecessary danger, they'll attempt a rescue and won't be calling Ottawa about the meaning of "penetration." If cutters won't work, would a diver lean across a driver or passenger and release a seat belt? Would they wrestle a child free from a car seat? If they hear cries and see legs in a flooded fishboat companionway, what will happen? If five people are trapped upside down in a float plane and doors are open, is this just a case for seat belt cutters?

It would be comforting to think that ten, fifteen, twenty or even more feet under the water, human lives depend only on the skill and courage of divers. However, even at thirty feet, the diver trying to save a fellow citizen is irrevocably tied to managerialist excess enacted across a broader tapestry of politics and power. This is as much a socio-political, educational and cultural problem as it is a diving strategy. Saving life is an honourable calling but not just a technical challenge. In many ways, Coast Guard diving represents the best and worst of life in Canada.

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Footnotes

¹ Current annual Coast Guard expenditures for SAR are $150 million.

^{2Lloyd Webb, one of the men in the water, had no vital signs and was on the brink of death. He owes his life to hovercraft "cowboys" that correctly read and responded to on-scene data - even though it was contrary to what RCC was saying.}

3One of the most astonishing early recommendations to arise from the Small Vessel Partnership consultations was the notion boaters aged 55 or older were exempt from mandatory training. People who supported this were themselves decidedly grey or no-haired. Yet, in B.C., almost all customers of Gulftow Salvage and Marine Safety Ltd - hauled off rocks, put back on boats after falling off, towed in with various ailments, aggravations and spluttering engines - are not juvenile delinquents on personal watercraft. Almost all are affluent and over the age of 55 years! Many belong to well-known yacht clubs. A second recommendation violated a cardinal principle of adult education. There would be no on-the-water training (Draft Report, 1997). That's like learning to ski by reading a book.

⁴In the early years, the Nanaimo bathtub races were discursively constructed to appeal to young working-class men. Sponsored by Fosters Lager they featured much alcohol, merriment and "Pirate Frank Ney," the mayor of Nanaimo in a pirate costume (with no flotation) brandishing his sword from the foredeck of a power boat weaving in and out of the crowds. The gendered nature of this event well suited the boisterous history of Nanaimo as lawless coal town.

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