This week, the re-elected NDP government in British Columbia held its swearing-in ceremony. But the mood wasn’t triumphant—it was cautious. This was no ordinary victory. The narrow margin of their win, clinched by just a single seat, signals that the game has changed. It is no longer business as usual in Victoria.
The story of this election is as much about the rise of the BC Conservatives as it is about the NDP’s shaky return to power. Just months ago, the Conservatives were an afterthought in provincial politics, a party so dormant that few expected them to make an impact. Yet, against all odds, they nearly unseated the government. A few ridings that leaned NDP by razor-thin margins are all that stood between Premier David Eby and the humiliation of losing the majority.
It reminds me of a scene from Welcome to Wrexham, where Ryan Reynolds—new to the world of soccer—remarks: “Some ties feel like wins, and some feel like losses.” For the Conservatives, this election felt like a win. They may not have formed government, but their near-upset has positioned them as a serious contender and reshaped the political landscape in BC.
A Complacent Campaign
The NDP, for their part, seemed caught off guard. Complacent, even. For years, they relied on their traditional base and the assumption that the BC Liberals were their only real opposition. But this time, the Conservatives rode a wave of discontent that stretches far beyond provincial borders. They harnessed the national mood—marked by waning enthusiasm for Trudeau’s Liberals in Ottawa—and used the conservative brand to infiltrate BC politics, blindsiding the governing party.
But why did this happen? How did a government that once commanded 57 seats shrink to the bare minimum of 47? The answer is as simple as it is complex: communication.
The NDP’s campaign hinged on a singular message: “John Rustad is bad.” Their flyers, ads, and talking points all revolved around attacking the Conservative leader, a relative unknown who had entered the race just weeks before. Ironically, this relentless focus gave Rustad name recognition—especially among people who had no idea who he was. For a campaign that needed to define why the NDP still mattered, it was a baffling choice.
What’s worse, the NDP failed to use its most valuable currency: the legitimacy of being the movement that protects British Columbians. This government has delivered tangible benefits to people, especially renters, workers, and families. Yet they didn’t remind us of that. They didn’t tell their story.
The Missed Opportunity
Again, soccer—sorry 🙂 I’m a season pass holder for the Vancouver Whitecaps. When one of my family members can’t join me, I often invite someone from Vancouver’s small Ecuadorian diaspora (I’m Ecuadorian myself) through a WhatsApp group. On one of these occasions, Diego joined me. During the game, he brought up the election. He mentioned that his coworkers were considering voting Conservative and seemed to wait for my reaction.
I asked him, “Are you a renter?”
“Yes,” he said. He rents a small apartment nearby.
“Well, then you should vote NDP.”
“Why?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“Because if the Conservatives win, we won’t be able to live in BC anymore. They’re planning to eliminate the yearly rent increase cap.”
Diego’s face went pale. “What?” he said, shocked. Diego, who lives with his wife and a three-year-old, had no idea.
The NDP failed to communicate what was at stake for renters like Diego. If they did, the message didn’t reach him. Policies that could have mobilized thousands of renters were buried under the “Rustad is bad” messaging. Diego was one conversation away from supporting a party that could have cost him his home. That’s a failure of communication.
It reminded me of what my son’s soccer coach always insists on when the team complicates the game unnecessarily: “Play simple.” The same principle applies here. Keep your messaging clear and direct. Highlight what matters to people in their day-to-day lives, and you’ll cut through the noise. The NDP needed to focus on the basics—what they’ve done, what’s at risk, and why they matter.
You can’t get lazy with communications. You can deliver great governance, but if people aren’t constantly reminded of it, it’s as good as not having done anything at all.
The Path Ahead
After the swearing-in, I listened to David Eby address the press. Two key points stood out. First, while cabinet ministers haven’t received formal mandate letters, they all understand that the economy is the government’s priority. Second, the creation of a new ministry focusing on rural issues is both curious and strategic. It’s no secret that rural BC is a weak spot for the NDP—losing Nathan Cullen’s seat was a glaring example. Acknowledging this reality and making an effort to engage rural communities is a step in the right direction.
But engaging rural communities requires more than symbolic moves—it demands direct, consistent presence. During my time as Undersecretary of Public Administration in Ecuador, I saw firsthand how meaningful engagement transforms public perception. Every three weeks, we organized gabinetes itinerantes—off-site cabinet meetings in rural communities across the country. These sessions brought the entire cabinet face-to-face with local residents, tackled challenges, engaged with regional media, and made real commitments. It wasn’t just about showing up; it was authentic, two-way communication that reinforced trust and accountability.
In BC, rural communities often feel disconnected from provincial politics. For many, the only visible connection to government is through their MLA’s office. While that’s important, it’s not enough to create a tangible sense of state presence. Communication is not just about being seen—it’s about listening, responding, and demonstrating that the government is fully invested in every corner of the province.
But even bold moves like these will fall short without a consistent, relentless communication strategy. The NDP must remind British Columbians—every day—how their government is protecting them, providing stability, and addressing their needs. That’s how they will contrast themselves with the Conservatives—not by plastering Rustad’s face on flyers with the label “bad.” Clearly, that wasn’t enough during the campaign, and it won’t be enough moving forward.
The Power of Purpose
A few months back, I was watching House of the Dragon, the prequel to Game of Thrones. It’s not my favorite show, but something resonated. When the king was dying, his advisors debated how he would be remembered. “The King of Peace,” they decided. That single phrase captured the legacy of his reign. In politics, I call this PURPOSE. You need that one defining word or phrase that crystallizes your time in service.
For Eby, the choice seems obvious. Sorting through an old archive recently, I found a donation slip I made over 15 years ago to Pivot Legal Society. When I think of Eby, I think of that fearless lawyer standing on the side of the most vulnerable. He could be the premier who solves BC’s drug and mental health crisis through necessary and compassionate treatment. That would be a legacy worth fighting for—especially in a time when East Hastings has become the international TikTok example of the fentanyl crisis.
The Stakes of Leadership
The NDP’s narrow victory isn’t just a wake-up call—it’s a test of their ability to lead in an era where the margins are slim, and the stakes couldn’t be higher. Governing today means understanding that every decision, every policy, and every message must serve a larger purpose. It’s not enough to react to the opposition or rely on past goodwill; the NDP must reclaim their identity and remind people why they are the party of progress and protection.
The campaign never stops. As misinformation and polarizing narratives seep further into Canadian politics, the stakes for progressive governments couldn’t be clearer. The fight isn’t just against the opposition—it’s for the trust, stability, and future of this province. This is the moment for Eby and his cabinet to step into their purpose, to be remembered not just as caretakers of power but as the architects of a stronger, more compassionate British Columbia.
The question is no longer whether they can govern—it’s whether they can lead.
