Conventioneering: Day 1 (speeches)

Here is a simple fact: if you are committed to universal respect, if you value the dignity of every human being, if you seek consilience and chase the elusive middle-ground so that everyone can feel well-treated, you will not be funny. For a reason I cannot fathom, they began the convention by bringing out two MPs - one anglophone, Kennedy Stewart, and one francophone, I can't remember her name - who, alternating language, delivered what seemed like a stand up routine, but minus all of the punch lines. The most hilarious exchange between the two:

Anglo: In Quebec, it's very cold.

Franco: But here in Vancouver it rains more.

Anglo: But we have the Rocky mountains

Franco: ....

Anglo: We did very well in the last election.

If there were any hint of edge, this could have been a wickedly dark discomfort anti-comedy routine. Instead, it was just two of the more photogenic MPs exchange lines that seem drawn from an unsuccessful Mormon first date. Or an undiscovered Beckett play, set for some reason in the furthest Canadas.

Then there was a First Nations welcome ceremony. I snickered when it was first introduced - Kennedy Stewart reminded us that we were on unceded Aboriginal land, and that he was grateful for the hospitality and welcome of the local First Nations. I then realized I was the only one who thought it strange, and felt immediately guilty, especially when the ceremony - delivered by a local chief of a band whose name I cannot remember (take better notes tomorrow) turned out to be very lovely, a musical chant in his people's language expressing welcome, long enough to be mesmerizing and memorable but not so long as to drag. He had great teeth, and the kind of glow that happy old men carry when they've outlived their enemies. Really commanded the stage too.

We then got the deputy mayor of Vancouver, who tried some words in French earning the muttered contempt of the Quebec table, and a greeting in Chinese that only the BC people cheered. The real mayor was busy apologizing for the riots.

The head of the BC NDP delivered a speech-shaped pitch for our labour and money. I didn't like him.

And then Jack Layton spoke. He came in without a cane, smiling, waving, springing across the stage. His energy was there, he ad libbed some improvements to the text on the telepropter, and he nailed it. He's the show - the charisma and the charm and the gravitas of the NDP, all of it, while the others on stage were gavel wielding would-be tyrants who couldn't quell a revolt of rules dorks or some vanilla-flavored rice cakes talking about the weather. I'm worried about what happens when he's gone, because he can't last forever - he's already old and, you know, cancer. Oh well, maybe we can get the Native chief. I bet he smells good, like sage and saddle leather.