Acclamation Station: How Toronto's 1932 Election Became the Snooze Fest of the Century In the grand tapestry of municipal democracy, there are vibrant threads of scandal, drama, and warring factions, all vying for the attention of the public. And then, there’s the moment when an election requires no campaigning, no debate, and absolutely no excitement. Welcome to Toronto's 1932 municipal election, where the political landscape resembled the surface of a very calm lake—so calm, in fact, that one could easily mistake it for a sheet of glass. Yes, dear reader, we are talking about the delightful event that was less like a raucous carnival and more like standing in line at the DMV: welcome to Acclamation Station, where the only ticket you need is familiarity! William James Stewart, our illustrious mayor from the previous year, had savvily mastered the ancient art of “who needs the hassle?” and strolled into his second term without so much as a polite knock at the door from the opposition. One might wonder: How does one become acclaimed as mayor without a single challenger? Was there a secret handshake involved? Perhaps a round of charades gone awry? Or maybe the citizens of Toronto simply ran out of curiosity, quietly shrugging, “Eh, who cares?” By the time January 1, 1932, rolled around, the anticipation was palpable. Not. The only hype around this date was whether the town’s bakery would run out of doughnuts by morning. The citizens of Toronto must have been busy working on their New Year’s resolutions, as no one thought to resolve to actually run against Stewart. Instead, they decided en masse to let their collective apathy shine brighter than the glittering New Year’s ball that had just dropped. With no rival to stir the pot, the municipal election turned into a sedate gathering—more like an afternoon tea party with some stale biscuits than an election. Stewart's campaign strategy could be boiled down to a simple message: “Why bother?” It was political genius! Who needs charisma, a compelling vision, or even a hint of passion when you can simply rely on a sense of ‘meh’? In an era where politicians scrambled to at least pretend to care, Stewart had broken the mold by summoning the great Canadian ethos of “Let’s just avoid any unnecessary fuss.” Imagine if you will, the scene at city hall. As the clock struck noon, cities far and wide braced for the political thrill of the century! Meanwhile, in Toronto, one could almost hear a collective yawn echoing through the streets as the electoral process became a cardio workout of stretching and quintessentially Canadian sighing. Voters casually ambled in for the big announcement—should they bring confetti? Did anyone save a spare drumroll from Christmas? No? Well, that’s just fine, as the audience settled in for a thrilling rollick through the mundane. As Stewart was acclaimed as mayor—through what can only be described as a political snooze button—some immediate questions sprang to mind. Was the absence of candidates a sign of political apathy, or did the populace conveniently misplace their “How to Run for Mayor” pamphlets? Perhaps the city’s unemployment rate was inspiring individuals toward safer, more achievable goals, like mastering the fine art of indoor potato-sack races (though, to be fair, that is a worthy pursuit). Furthermore, can we talk about the media coverage? Newspapers had a field day trying to fill the pages with any scrap of excitement they could muster. “Mayor Stewart Approved by No One!" read one headline, both celebratory and utterly devoid of flair. Features were fabricated like it was an off-Broadway play rehearsing for a cramped venue—“Stewart: The Man Who Did Not Even Have a Rival, Again!” Surely, the journalists curled up on their typewriters, dreaming of stories to tell, but instead found themselves inventing colorful accounts of Stewart’s eternal love affair with non-competitiveness. Futile attempts to add intrigue only led to more yawns. As the day wore on, surely the question on everyone’s mind became: What does this mean for democracy? Yet, in Toronto, where winter was solidifying its claim and snowflakes twinkled like disgruntled politicians, the answer had frozen faster than the lakes. Perhaps there is wisdom in being the lone captain on a ship made of ice—no waves, no storms, just a smooth transition into the realm of absolute tranquility. So, here’s to Toronto in 1932, the year of the acclaimed snooze-fest, where voters wholeheartedly embraced the art of non-eventfulness. In the grand scheme of municipal elections, this may very well have been the moment that set the bar for achieved indifference. With Stewart waving his metaphorical flag of “Whatever,” it’s clear that true political movement does not occur by shaking the boat; sometimes, it simply means enjoying the serene silence that drapes over Acclamation Station. Surely, there’s a lesson there for all of us: When in doubt about democracy, why not just take a little nap instead?