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The constant administrator

Kim Anema and the bureaucracy of Squamish
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A Passage to Politics Kim Anema, chief administrative office for Squamish, looks back on his journey to the top of municipal government

The sun shines bright on Stanley Clarke Park, and Kim Anema takes it in through the long, wide window in his office. This time of year, that’s where he gets his vitamin D. That same sun is still climbing the backside of the Chief when he gets to work at 8 a.m., and it’s long since set when he makes his way home about the time most people are loading their dishwashers. For all intents and purposes, this window is a walk through the park it looks over.

But that’s the nature of the job. Being the chief administrative officer of a burgeoning municipality involves long hours and little rest. This is a man who doesn’t golf enough to be good at it; rather, he’s just good enough to want to golf again. When he reads a book, like The Kite Runner , he does it in one weekend — otherwise, the story gets lost in the shadow of district reports, long-running meetings and demanding research.

Anema’s road to this window was a long one. One of 10 children, he was born in 1953, just one year after his parents emigrated from Holland. The product of a Christian Reformist upbringing, his values were instilled early, and they guided him right through to the decisions he makes today.

But first, he started an education in finance, and that steered him to Fort St. John, where he counted beans for a refinery project. When that project shut down, Anema wound up in the town’s municipal hall. Working in the finance department, he stayed there for almost 10 years before moving to Houston, B.C., to work as treasurer.

“When you go into a small community,” he says, “you have more diverse responsibilities. In that community, besides a responsibility for finance, I had responsibilities for bylaw enforcement and business licensing, and I acted as the administrator in her absence. In a small community, you have a steep learning curve about other aspects.”

He took that learning curve to Port Moody in 1987. It was strictly a finance gig, nothing like the cornucopia of duty he had in Houston. Plus, the big city anonymity didn’t stoke his fires, and so, before a year had gone by, he made plans to push on.

He landed in Squamish in 1989, again in finance. After a few years, his boss retired, and he took over that role. Come 2002, when Councillor Corinne Lonsdale was mayor, Anema became CAO, a role he’s occupied ever since, one that saw him partner not just with Lonsdale, but also former Mayor Ian Sutherland and sitting Mayor Greg Gardner.

From that mould comes this neat office and tidy desk, just a few sticky notes on a computer screen, a newspaper closed on a coffee table, itself arranged beneath a collection of aerial maps of Squamish. Nor has all the work and stress worn him down. Though only 55, he still manages to look younger.

As CAO, Anema is not the most public of district figures. The mayor speaks for council, and department heads speak for their reports. But Anema is worth 125,000 taxpayer dollars every year, and those department heads go forth under his direction. He’s the go-between for staff and council, the conduit of communication travelling between the two bodies.

In so doing, he has to strike a solid partnership with whoever the mayor may be. But he can’t stray into the realm of friendship. And when there’s a change in guard, when, for example, the politics of Lonsdale gave way to the vastly different politics of Sutherland, Anema had to prove his pliability.

“The issues seem to be constant on a fundamental level,” he says. “It’s about jobs, the economy. And there are a lot of social issues. We seem to be changing and becoming more involved in social issues than local government has historically been.”

Staff has to be pliable, too. When they put forward a recommendation, they do so in climates often charged with politics. The fact of their bureaucracy allows them to shrug off the threat of electoral comeuppance, to sculpt their report from the clay of policy with the comfort of impunity. But, after tendering their reports, that liberty has run its course, as was the case with the Paradise Trails equestrian community. Staff railed against it, said it flew in the face of all policy. But council voted for it anyway.

“It’s about moving on,” Anema says. “If the decision of council is different, then it’s time to shift. I think how staff respond to situations like that may vary depending on the amount of experience.

“We try and make recommendations that are based on sound management criteria. While we’re aware of political issues in the background, we try not to let them creep into the reports.”

The coming issues are as numerous as they are political. Repairing fallout from rejecting the Regional Growth Strategy will be straining. Garibaldi at Squamish will move to centre stage this term, and the related reports will be many. And then there’s land use, specifically employment land use, which has been top of mind since major industries started quitting town.

“Each one of these was a hit to our economy. When that happens, it hits the community, but also the corporation. I would not describe this community as have not. We are just suffering some challenges that will be overcome. There’s no reason not to be optimistic about our future.”

Knowledge breeds intimacy, whether in human relationships or with a person’s idea of their community. And that puts Anema in an interesting position, especially when set against his elected overlords. Inevitably, he and his staff will develop passions for certain directions. They’ll render those passions in reports, summarize them in their recommendations. And then, after a call to order, those passions can be swept away like so much dust. Makes you wonder why people like Anema don’t throw their names into the ballot box.

When Anema talks, he usually puts a finger on his chin or presses a couple against his cheek. The suggestion of running for office causes that hand to fall like a boulder off a cliff. He looks almost shocked. “No,” he chuckles. “No.” And then he recovers: “But I have utmost respect for those who do.”