By Patrick Metzger

Illustration by Matthew Daley/Torontoist.

So earlier this week there was a Torontoist meeting, and the Watch (that’s what we’re calling ourselves now, pass it along) was all, “People love to read about Queen’s Park because it’s super-interesting and hip” and then someone else was like, “Maybe you should try explaining what provincial government does because nobody knows what you’re talking about,” so we go, “Thanks, ya jerk,” and hit him with a Druxy’s tuna sandwich, ’cause he was being such a jerk and all up in our face and whatever.
But before the situation degenerated into a pathetic geekster brawl replete with girlish screams and fistfuls of bloodied soul patch, we realized he was right. Even the determinedly apolitical recognize their federal leaders from photo ops with Obama, and know a little about municipal politicians because they’re the ones who conspicuously fail to clear your snow and add or remove bike lanes depending which one pisses you off more. But provincial pols are the pizza-faced teens of political life—uncharismatic middle kids overshadowed by the older children out in the world who only call when they want something, and by the babies at home screaming and peeing on the duvet.
But we ignore provincial lawmakers at our peril, because they have a big impact on our day-to-day lives.

First, because we’re all about the education, a little history: the iconic structure at Queen’s Park wasn’t the first Parliament in Toronto; earlier attempts on Front Street had already burned down partially or completely at least four times before our ancestors realized the location had bad mojo and moved further north. With Confederation in 1867, Toronto officially lost its bid to become the national capital but got provincial capital as consolation prize, and construction on the pink palace of government at Queen’s Park began in 1886.
The body that sits there is a legislative assembly in the Westminster tradition, with 107 members elected every four years on the first Thursday in October (fixed election dates were only introduced back in 2005, and the first election under the system took place in 2007). There is only a single house, with no upper chamber analogous to the unelected drones and political also-rans of the federal Senate. Little known fact: Ontario is the only province where our representatives call themselves Members of Provincial Parliament instead of just Members of the Legislative Assembly, which perk was presumably cheaper than giving them a raise.
The big question, of course, is if the feds take care of guarding the borders and delivering mail, and local bodies collect the trash and fill the kiddie pools, what does the province do?
Lots.
When modern Canada was birthed back in 1867, the balance of power was weighted heavily towards the federal government. For example, under the original Constitution Act, the federal body retains authority to disallow provincial statutes within one year of their passing, although this right hasn’t been exercised since 1943 and would be poorly received if attempted now.
At the same time, certain powers were allocated specifically to the provinces, key areas of responsibility being hospitals (or leech-shacks, as they were known then), education, and the administration of justice both criminal and civil (although the feds retain a monopoly on criminal lawmaking). Those portfolios, plus modern additions like provincial transportation, mean that if you ever expect to use a school, hospital, courtroom, or highway, you’ve got a stake in who runs the Ontario government.
Vexing Toronto mayors since 1867 is the fact that municipal governments are essentially creatures of the province, and that any major changes to the way Toronto’s civic bodies work have to be signed off at Queen’s Park. That means that if Mayor Ford wants to cut the number of city councillors in half as promised during his campaign, he’s going to have to kowtow to whoever is sitting in the Premier’s office after the October election.
The brown-nosing becomes even more fevered when Toronto needs dollars for big ticket items like transit, because unlike the City, the province has the power to impose income and sales taxes on every man, woman, child, and corporation between Hull and the Manitoba border. As more power has informally accrued to the provinces since Sir John A. MacDonald got wasted and designed our national political structure, expenditures have jumped dramatically, with most of the cash going towards health, education, and social programs.
Apart from the money the province gets directly from you and me, the feds kick in some special-purpose cash, notably the Canadian Health Transfer and the Canadian Social Transfer, which are earmarked for exactly what they sound like.
Beyond that are equalization payments paid from “have” to “have-not” provinces, the latter a club which a humbled post-industrial Ontario joined in fiscal 2009–2010. That year we scored $347 million courtesy of our federal sugar daddy and western taxpayers, and this year we’re in line for a spectacular payout of $2.2 billion (consider the irony that Premier McGuinty’s much-maligned green programs are indirectly funded in part by the tax revenue spewing out of the Alberta Oil Sands).
In spite of our increasing tax burden and federal largesse, various factors, including the skyrocketing cost of healthcare, our burgeoning rust belt status, and the lingering global financial crisis, have led to a series of impressive budget deficits over the last few years. The elimination of the deficit will be a key source of unkeepable promises from Ontario’s political parties as we swing into election mode.
The bottom line: if you’re not interested in provincial politics, you may want to be. Whether you want to get a shot, learn a trade, or sue your landlord, just about every public service you get is touched by Queen’s Park. And after all, you’re paying for it.