Justin Tang/The Canadian Press Niki Ashton speaks as she participates in the first debate of the federal NDP leadership race with Guy Caron, Charlie Angus and Peter Julian, in Ottawa, Ont. on Sunday, March 12, 2017.

The NDP is a heartbreaking entity.

Under the late Jack Layton they found a way to thrive, gobbling up ridings in Quebec as their cane-wielding leader hobbled across the nation and inspired millions of Canadians to take a chance on the little party that couldn't. They decimated their main rivals, the Liberal Party of Canada, and showed the country that a politician can inspire large swaths of the public long before a man named Justin Trudeau burst onto the scene.

But Layton passed away, and while the party's replacement leader, Tom Mulcair, put on a clinic in the House of Commons, undressing Emperor Stephen Harper for months on end during the Senate debacle, he just couldn't manage to impress voters, especially while wearing a forced grin on a man formerly known as Angry Tom. The NDP lost the vast majority of their seats from the previous election and took their familiar place as Canada's third place party.

They then decided to turf Mulcair in hopes they could find someone within their ranks to battle the celebrity of the aforementioned Trudeau. Smartly, they seemed to discourage ambitious politicians from creating a crowded field, and today we are down to four contenders: Charlie Angus, Guy Caron, Jagmeet Singh, and Niki Ashton.

Leaders don't manufacture a scandal by attempting to turn female colleagues who witnessed an accidental elbow into feeble political props.

On paper, all of these potential leaders have redeeming qualities. Angus is a champion of Indigenous rights; Caron provides a good shot at winning back seats the party lost in Quebec; Singh is a savvy minority with fundraising chops; and Niki Ashton resonates well with young people. Unfortunately for Ashton, her like-mindedness with young folks may also be her albatross.

Like many millennials, Ashton subscribes to the pathological wing of identity politics. That isn't an overstatement. During Elbowgate, that innately Canadian incident that turned a moment of tomfoolery into a two-week apology tour, Ashton had the audacity to claim that she and other female colleagues now felt unsafe to go to work at the House of Commons. She framed her hysterical comments inside what she referred to as a "gendered lens," banking on the notion that if she just claims to be afraid, the country should show her and her female colleagues pity.

Of course, most women rolled their eyes at Ashton, likely feeling infantilized by an elected official who is supposed to embody the intelligence and strength of female politicians. After all, women in politics are already scrutinized enough, but acting like one inadvertent elbow was the same as a terrorist lurking during Question Period was a surreal display.