Genevieve Simms

This might or might not mean something, but you can now find Great Canadian Speeches: Words That Shaped a Nation, edited by Brian Busby, in the bargain bin at Chapters for just $12.99, less than a year since this handsome book was first published. Intrigued to find out why the oratories that formed our country have been discounted so quickly, I picked up a copy.

Well, I soon saw the problem. Canada, it seems, has been shaped almost exclusively by history’s infamous “dead white men.” Of the 37 speeches on display here, only three were delivered by women — one by former Governor General Adrienne Clarkson and two by Kim Campbell.

In case you’d forgotten, Campbell was prime minister briefly in the summer of 1993 and, as Canada’s first female leader, we might well wish to recall her thoughts on this historic event. Sadly, though, turning to her leadership victory speech of June that year, we’re treated to such bland insights as “This is a party with a past and a present, but above all, a party and a country with a future.” More to the point, Campbell was wrong, of course, for the Tories plummeted to the brink of extinction in that fall’s federal election.

The rest of the book’s speeches belong to all the usual suspects. Prime ministers Macdonald, Laurier, Borden, King, Meighen, Bennett, St. Laurent, Pearson, Trudeau, Mulroney and Chrétien account for well over half the total. Quebec separatists are represented (René Lévesque, Lucien Bouchard and Jacques Parizeau) and there are a few token “outsiders” as well (notably Louis Riel, Joey Smallwood and Tommy Douglas), but this only serves to underline the impression that Canada has been shaped almost exclusively by the words (and presumably thoughts) of white, male politicians.

Even if this were true, why has there been so little evidence of this grand tradition in recent times? Jean Chrétien managed to mangle even the shortest of declarations, while his successor Paul Martin was earnest but rarely inspiring. And whereas Barack Obama accepted his presidential victory with a speech that, if short on substance, was stirring in terms of its eloquence, hope and determination, Stephen Harper’s response to the current economic crisis was to mumble something about it being a good time to invest and how his mother was feeling the pain, too.

Finance Minister Jim Flaherty did little better, turning down the chance to deliver a history-making speech last November and instead dribbling out a bland statement of mean-spirited measures that served only to stimulate Stéphane Dion, Ignatieff et al. into action. As for Dion, his now infamous video reminded us just how far short of great his speech-making talents fall. His successor, Ignatieff, has potential, but so far appears to be impersonating a man who’s trying hard to appear comfortable in making public statements.

In short, we live in a political culture that’s largely bereft of polished oratory, of the well-crafted and finely honed verbal essay, of the desire and/or ability to motivate a people into action. No wonder, then, that Busby’s book ended up among the remainders. We wouldn’t recognize a great speech today if we heard one.

How did this happen? Why do our political leaders find it so hard to speak with the ease, confidence and assuredness that their American counterparts display so effortlessly? After all, even outgoing president George W. Bush discovered a form of eloquence in his sundry farewell addresses.

Let me offer four possible reasons for the oratorical gap between Canada and the U.S.

First: population. It’s a truism, I know, but in America, the basic assumption is that Americans are Americans, first and foremost. The metaphorical “melting pot” versus “mosaic” remains apt, for in Canada we’re much more likely to acknowledge the complexity of our identity along regional, cultural and ethnic lines, among others, thereby making it difficult for any speaker to start from the assumption that he or she can possibly speak to or for all Canadians at one go.

Second: sense of humour. Put bluntly, Americans prefer slapstick, Canadians prefer satire. The laugh track was invented in America, after all, to let you know just when to laugh; the individual viewer doesn’t have to work it out for themselves. So it goes for public speeches. Just watch any U.S. political address, and you’ll see a succession of “natural” pauses for the audience to fill with appropriate applause. In Canada, we’re always waiting for the punchline that undercuts the buildup that’s just gone before. As a result, we treat any extended speech with something like suspicion, not wishing to be caught out.

Third: history. Rightly or wrongly, most Americans believe they share a common history, one that reveals a series of triumphs over adversity (the Civil War, Pearl Harbor, 9/11, etc.) or the unfolding of God’s will (the Constitution, building the atom bomb, victory over communism, etc.). In Canada, we’re guilty of paying far too much attention to historical nuance and contingency (e.g. Louis Riel: hero or traitor?), with the result that we lack a shared body of myths to which any politician might readily appeal when seeking to mobilize public sentiment.

Fourth: politics. Above all, our different systems — parliamentary versus presidential — explains the different status the “great speech” enjoys in each country. Our system obliges us to talk through our differences — “parliament” comes from the French verb parler, to talk — rather than over the utterances of an opponent, as was manifest in the Obama-McCain debates last year.

None of this might matter. In fact, the dearth of pompous speeches in Canadian history is a testament to the strength of our democracy, inasmuch as normal people give little credence to the inflated words of their political leaders. Yet so far as a great speech reflects great thought, it’d be nice, once in awhile, for someone to aspire above the mundane level that sent Great Canadian Speeches right into the bargain bin of history.

David Bright has published widely on Canadian social, labour and criminal justice history. He currently teaches history and politics at Niagara College, Ontario.