No conga lines or hospitality suites

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 09/03/2015 (4045 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

Every 32 years, I like to drop in on a political convention to reassure myself democracy is functioning effectively.

For instance, in 1983, as a rookie reporter, I helped cover the Progressive Conservatives’ national convention in Winnipeg, wherein leader Joe Clark shot himself in the foot and called for a full leadership review, which resulted in Brian Mulroney eventually becoming prime minister.

I spent most of my time at that convention secretly trailing legendary Canadian writer Mordecai Richler in the hopes I would bump into him and some of his talent would rub off on me. That didn’t happen, but I learned an important journalistic lesson concerning the vital role spontaneous conga lines, confetti cannons and helium-filled balloons play in preserving our system of government.

Back then, such conventions were a chance for stodgy politicians and their supporters to kick off their shoes while we crusading journalists spent our time in a humanitarian effort to talk our way into hospitality suites to get free booze.

So I was mildly disappointed Sunday morning when I dragged myself down to the NDP leadership convention and there wasn’t a conga line in sight. What I did find were long lines to get coffee and muffins.

I was at the convention because my editors decided it would be amusing to see this big-stakes event though the eyes of someone with the same level of political expertise as a propane barbecue.

So instead of a wild party, the atmosphere reminded me of going to an overcrowded shopping mall on Boxing Day to return a gift you don’t want and realizing you’d better go with the flow or risk being trampled in a sea of stressed-out shoppers.

I was not surprised because, before showing up, I had chatted with Paul Thomas, professor emeritus of political studies at the University of Manitoba, who warned me the fun has gone out of conventions. “I think it has changed,” Thomas told me. “It’s more controlled and more orchestrated now. It’s more about winning. I think politics, in some ways, has become more shallow and more competitive.”

It also doesn’t lighten the mood when there is an excellent chance that, no matter who you elect to be the driver, the party bus is probably going to veer off the road, plummet into a ravine and catch fire.

The fashion divisions within the party were on display in the sense that Steve Ashton’s supporters were decked out in orange T-shirts that had white writing, while Theresa Oswald’s backers countered with white T-shirts that had orange writing. Premier Greg Selinger’s team eschewed T-shirts entirely in favour of stylish orange bandanas.

Even though it had been more than three decades between conventions, I was thrilled to dip my toes in the roiling political waters. The party faithful were happy to see me, too, because they all greeted me exactly the same way: “Hey, Doug, what the (bad word) are you doing here?”

For instance, when I bumped into Family Services Minister Kerri Irvin-Ross, her eyes went as wide as manhole covers as she chirped: “Ohmygawd! What are you doing here? Now I’m afraid.”

Asked by a humour columnist whether she was having an acceptable level of convention-related fun, she replied: “Every day. I’m living the dream. There’s an energy in this room that’s positive. There’s an excitement. You can feel it.”

For me, the electric moment came when, just before the big speeches, Ashton stopped by to take a selfie with responsible members of the political media and, at the last second, I leaned in so my oversized head would fill up most of the frame.

The way these conventions work is that a couple of people get up to formally nominate each candidate, then you watch an inspiring video or slide show about the candidate’s humble roots, then, finally, the candidate takes the stage and explains how they are in favour of hope, change, the future, and children before warning the leader of the Opposition is in league with the devil and kicks puppies. Also, the candidates march on or off stage to the thumping strains of loud rock music, such as Serena Ryder’s hit Stompa for Theresa Oswald, and Randy Bachman’s You Ain’t Seen Nothin Yet for Ashton. A huge mystery erupted when no one in the media was able to identify the song Selinger’s handlers had selected.

Some journalists were willing to let this mystery slide, but my colleague Bruce Owen and I are not “some journalists,” so we wandered around aimlessly until we found a Selinger staffer who agreed to contact someone on his hands-free headset.

“It was We’re All in This Together by the Sam Roberts Band,” he finally revealed in what we considered a victory for the people’s right to know.

Speaking of your right to know, I have no idea how the voting turned out because I had to leave early to host a pre-show chat for the Royal Winnipeg Ballet at its afternoon performance of Swan Lake.

I hate to rub it in, but ballet people really know how to conga!

doug.speirs@freepress.mb.ca