Let’s unchain our political sense of humour

Why must we always react to insults with moral indignance and not a joke?

Two months have passed since a crowd stood at the Alberta legislature to listen to a few speeches about carbon taxes, including from politicians, who are never so dull as when they are earnest.

Given the anniversary, but also because a journalist recently wrote of how his shout-out joke that day might have prompted the “lock her up” chant aimed at Premier Rachel Notley, let’s review a chronic problem in Canadian public life: the almost universal absence of humour.

In his recent mea culpa of sorts, C2C Journal editor Paul Bunner wondered if he unwittingly had a verbal hand in what transpired that day.

Bunner, whom I know, recounts how he stopped by the legislature that December afternoon.

He listened to several speakers (quite properly) fulminate against the govern- ment’s carbon tax, and then: “After one of the speakers hurled a particularly sharp piece of invective at Notley and her tax,” writes Bunner, “I yelled what seemed to me an obvious and funny response: ‘Lock her up!’”

Bunner, of course, was mimicking the recent American election campaign, where supporters of Donald Trump and Bernie Sanders chanted “lock her up” with reference to Hillary Clinton.

After his verbal throwaway gag, and “tired of the repetitive rhetoric,” Bunner and a buddy hopped on their bikes to pedal around Edmonton’s river valley.

Only later, did he read of how, when Conservative leadership candidate Chris Alexander spoke, the crowd interrupted with “lock her up!”

That’s the one that went viral.

Alexander, flummoxed, didn’t know what to say. But many in the chattering classes did.

A few opportunistic politicians, most editorials, very serious television anchors and guests with sullen demeanours, all condemned the chant. It was if they were discussing Syrian dictator Bashar al-Assad’s war on civilians.

Here, is it really necessary to offer up the usual disclaimer, that no person of sober thought, or even half drunk, would really think the Alberta premier should be locked up?

That obviousness aside, equally dull legal and political science preachers showed up on our screens to remind Canadians that we are a rule-of-law democracy, we do not lock up people unless convicted, etcetera, ad nauseam. They, too, lack wit.

For lessons on humour, it always helps to jump across the pond to Great Britain.

Last week, after Opposition Labour Leader Jeremy Corbyn demanded that British Prime Minister Theresa May disinvite the odious American president, Donald Trump, May responded with reference to the dour Corbyn: “He can lead a protest; I’m leading a country.”

Or ponder any of Winston Churchill’s witticisms.

Here’s one about the 1950s-era U.S. secretary of state, John Foster Dulles, who left the British prime minister bored: “Dull, Duller, Dulles,” remarked Churchill.

Canadian political life often lacks humour because too many pretend we are morally superior to other countries — in some policy, or in how we conduct ourselves.

It’s a myth, buttressed by the luck of a secure southern border with a neighbour that hasn’t invaded in two centuries.

That and other factors shelter us from harsh crosswinds with which many other countries and their politicians must grapple.

For relief from issues that actually are serious, their politicians often reach for humour, not moral disinfectant.

Back to Alberta. This lack of 21st-century Canadian political humour was evident even from the stage two months ago. Past politicians skilled in rhetoric, especially our earliest prime ministers, but including Pierre Trudeau and Jean Chretien, could work a crowd with a wink, a nod and occasional jibe.

In contrast, Chris Alexander bungled his response when the “lock her up” chant arose.

The proper way to handle a crowd that interrupts your speech? Raise an eyebrow, offer a wry smile and this response: “Interrupt my speech again and I’ll lock you up. Now, back to what I was saying ... ”