There are, according to the 1996 census, about 225,000 men and women in Canada calling themselves “truck drivers” — a number roughly equivalent to the population of Saskatoon. You’d think a group that size might have a little clout. Why then, don’t drivers have the voice they all seem to think they deserve?

To tell the truth, it’s not that drivers are being dismissed or ignored — although it may seem like it at times. More to the point, they’re just not heard from.

Take the border delays following September 11, for example. The United States government saw a need to restrict entry to that country, a decision that had a profound impact on the lives of thousands of Canadian truck drivers. Yet these drivers had no recourse. They were powerless to vent their annoyance. They couldn’t retaliate in any meaningful way. They just sat there, frustration eating away at them.

It’s easy to think that nobody is listening when you can’t find a voice for your own disenchantment or dissatisfaction. Mindful of injustices and misrepresentation, you soldier on in quiet desperation, as it were.

Internalizing the frustration isn’t the answer. Nor is swinging from flagpoles on Parliament Hill, or circling the wagons around the legislature. A truck driver has too many other things going on in his life for that sort of tomfoolery.

But surely there’s time to question government officials and industry leaders, to raise a voice, and to get involved in the business of trucking. It happens every day at truck stops and coffee shops across Canada.

Imagine what would happen if 225,000 people decided they had something to say, and were able to effectively direct their message to lawmakers. Who would dismiss those concerns? To do so would mean the denial of due process to a group of people who contribute over $100 million to the economy, including nearly $30 million in taxes.

Instead, the voice of the Canadian trucker is so faint, it’s seldom ever heard over the roar of other crowds. Unlike industries where the workforce is concentrated in a small area, and consequently has a greater degree of influence, truckers in Canada are a mile wide and an inch deep. Every town in the land has its share of truck drivers — from my home, driving the four blocks to the supermarket, I see a dozen owner-operator and company trucks parked in various driveways. It’s no different in Salmon Arm, The Pas, or Dartmouth. Truck drivers are tightly woven into the fabric of their community, but are a loose, frayed thread whenever legislation is written.

It’s frustrating. For instance, just imagine what might happen if the parliamentary standing committee reviewing hours-of-service rules got 10,000 letters endorsing the proposal, or if 5000 owner-operators in Alberta decided to withhold their WCB premiums because they don’t approve of a portion of that money being funneled into the Alberta Motor Transport Association. Can you imagine what might happen if 5000 owner-operators decided to become members of the Ontario Trucking Association?

I’ll tell you what’d happen: those politicians and lobbyists would start to listen.

If half the mail I get was copied to the right desk in Ottawa or St. John’s or Victoria or wherever, I dare say we’d have the right people listening by now. Whether it’s the meal tax-deduction issue, hours of service, rest stops, or non-paid hours of work, there’s no shortage of important things to write about. Even a few hundred letters would bring a new voice to the debate.

A lot of owner-operators read this magazine, and company drivers, too. Next time you’re gathered around a table at the coffee shop, bitching about this or that, appoint someone to take notes, and then mail the whole works off to your MP, or to your provincial representative. Seeing your buddy across the table nodding his head and saying, “Damn straight!” might pump you up about your views on the plight of the truck driver in Canada. Unfortunately, he’s not the guy who needs convincing.