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Many years ago, a reporter gazing out the window of the CBC’s parliamentary bureau — perhaps looking for inspiration — saw a strange apparition.

A pale, blobular shape would momentarily appear in the window of a nearby parliamentary office building, then recede, only to appear again.

A crowd of reporters and producers gathered. Gradually the conviction grew that the ghostly shape was that of a naked man. Then a consensus emerged about the only sensible thing to do: Go get a cameraman.

Within minutes, a crew swung into action. Soon there were crisp telephoto images being committed to videotape. A completely naked man pacing back and forth in an office, apparently dictating something, or perhaps only talking to himself.

One reporter always carried a little book published by Parliament with thumbnail pictures of the, er, members. In a matter of moments, we had a positive ID: He was a senator, a denizen of Canada’s chamber of sober second thought.

What happened next is interesting. Word of all this commotion soon got to the grown-ups in the corner office. A decision was quickly made: “Bulk” the tape — that is, erase it. And never speak of it again.

This incident pretty much sums up the sensibilities of the parliamentary press corps. A highly developed prurient interest coupled with a equally powerful culture of discretion about what should be shared with the Canadian people. I think you can imagine what the British media would have done with this journalistic “opportunity”.

I thought of all this the other day when contemplating Glen McGregor’s article about Paul Calandra’s history of family legal problems. McGregor reported on what he called an “ugly family dispute in which (Calandra) was accused of taking money from his dying mother and suggesting he should kill his sister”.

Like every single journalist, lobbyist, MP and political staffer in Ottawa — I promise you this — I clicked on the link when I saw it. Once I had read and absorbed the article about the legal dispute, which was apparently resolved in 2008, my finger hovered over the tweet button, considering whether to share the news.

And then I hesitated.

I would not suggest throwing Calandra out of office on the base of McGregor’s revelations, but Canadians might want to take them into consideration when weighing his words as a government authority on ethics.

With this small act, would I be contributing to the coarsening of Canadian political culture? Glen McGregor is an intrepid investigative journalist with a proud record of scoops — most notably landing and then developing the story of the ‘robocalls’ affair with his colleague Stephen Maher.

But he’s also a veteran of the scurrilous gossip-rag Frank. He has often scooped the competition simply by refusing to observe the shared pieties of Ottawa’s press corps.

I didn’t tweet the link. But as the days passed, I began to think about that. Was it a considered decision or just an unthinking cultural impulse? On reflection, it seems to me it was the latter.

I would not want to go down the road where a politician’s family life, sexual orientation or personal entanglements were routinely fodder for the news — certainly not in the absence of any direct link to their public responsibilities. On the other hand, I harbour no doubts that a minister of foreign affairs leaving classified documents at the home of a girlfriend with a history of links to a biker gang is a legitimate matter for media coverage. (We’re talking about you again, Maxime Bernier.)

What we should be doing in the media is balancing discretion with legitimate public interest.

Paul Calandra came to prominence very suddenly last fall. Stephen Harper made Calandra his chief avatar, in Parliament and out, for defending the prime minister’s handling of the Senate scandal involving Mike Duffy, Pamela Wallin, Patrick Brazeau and Nigel Wright.

In carrying out his task, Calandra has relied routinely on heart-warming homilies drawn from his family life — the way his dad managed his pizza place, how his daughters earn their allowances.

The stories were such transparently phoney metaphors that no one could have taken them very seriously. And hypocrisy must be the most venial of political sins, given that it is, as Machiavelli taught us, inherent in political life.

But there’s more than that at work here. Calandra is the prime minister’s chosen vessel for lecturing us on the moral values Harper supposedly embodies and that so many of those around him, we are given to believe, have betrayed.

The allegations against Calandra — by his own sisters, no less — have not been proven in a court of law, as the saying goes. But of course, this was also true of the allegations against Duffy, Wallin and Brazeau — who were cast out of the Senate at the behest of the prime minister and with the slapping applause of none other than Paul Calandra. I would not suggest throwing Calandra out of office on the base of McGregor’s revelations, but Canadians might want to take them into consideration when weighing his words as a government authority on ethics.

Even if the allegations of outrageous personal and financial conduct made against Calandra in the now-settled lawsuit were entirely untrue, as they may well be, it does rather suggest that no situation can adequately be judged without a full hearing from all sides.

But this is not just about Calandra.

Every single person involved in this Senate unpleasantness was appointed by Stephen Harper — all the senators involved, as well as his chief of staff.

Calandra got his job as the prime minister’s junkyard dog only because his predecessor, Dean Del Mastro, had to resign from caucus last summer after Elections Canada laid charges against him for campaign irregularities.

So, sorry. The prime minister is well past the point where his appointees have a right to escape a full and intrusive public vetting.

And thanks, Glen McGregor. You’ve done Canadians a favour.

Follow Paul Adams on Twitter @padams29

Paul Adams is a veteran of the CBC, the Globe and Mail and EKOS Research. He has taught political science at the University of Manitoba and journalism at Carleton. His book Power Trap explores the dilemma of Canada’s opposition parties.

The views, opinions and positions expressed by all iPolitics columnists and contributors are the author’s alone. They do not inherently or expressly reflect the views, opinions and/or positions of iPolitics.