A lot happened in British Columbian politics last week—so much so that grand words like "monumental," "seismic" and "groundbreaking" were wheeled out into the lexicon.
With an election around the corner, there are going to be a lot of people more learned than I talking about all the issues, and I look forward to listening to them all speak. As a plug, there will be an all-candidates forum in Whistler for those vying to win West Vancouver-Sea to Sky. That will take place on Oct. 1, co-hosted by the Whistler Chamber of Commerce, Arts Whistler, and Pique Newsmagazine. Be there, it will be enlightening for all, if anything just to see how the candidates interact with each other.
But I’ve already wandered too close to the fires of the election and I am getting a tan, so for this slab of writing I am going to retreat into safe territory and ask: Why do all the ridings in this part of the world have such long names? This is topical, they just changed them all, and skipped the opportunity to save some ink.
Here in Whistler we have the pleasure of living in West Vancouver-Sea to Sky, but we also have the honour of living in the big daddy of stupidly-long riding names: The federal riding of West Vancouver-Sunshine Coast-Sea to Sky Country. Pour one out for the Members of Parliament that have to say that every sentence.
That is eight words, or 12 syllables, or 41 letters and two hyphens: Sure to give everyone saying it a workout.
Even better, there doesn’t appear to be any settled or accepted abbreviation of the federal riding’s name that everyone understands, with an acronym devolving into something even harder to say like "WVSCSTSC."
Now this riding isn’t alone in being a triple-barrelled, double-hyphenated riding name (there’s another five in British Columbia), but it has the distinction of being the longest overall in the province, with the second-longest being Prince George-Peace River-Northern Rockies (six words, eight syllables, 37 letters).
Our riding isn’t even the worst offender. I wasn’t keen on counting letters for the ridings of every province in the country, but it’s safe to say we’re not alone here in BC: There’s Beauport–Côte-de-Beaupré–Île d’Orléans–Charlevoix, and Abitibi–Baie-James–Nunavik–Eeyou in Quebec. Which is worse? Longer names with fewer hyphens or more, shorter names with more hyphens? There’s also Leeds–Grenville–Thousand Islands and Rideau Lakes in Ontario, Charleswood–St. James–Assiniboia–Headingley in Manitoba and so on.
Meanwhile, there’s the delightfully succinct Victoria (guess where that is) and Yukon. The title of shortest name for a riding is held between Ajax, in Ontario, and Vimy, in Quebec. Clearly, Elections Canada knows how to be brief when it wants to be.
The naming convention applied to Canadian ridings, and by extension British Columbian ridings is that it is meant to describe the area that it includes. Fair enough. Simple in theory, but ultimately distorted when you have large or convoluted ridings that need to follow human as well as physical geography.
Nationally, there are some hangups that don’t make it into British Columbia, such as historical names in Alberta and Quebec. In the last electoral boundary review in this province, it was noted that public feedback had revealed interest in incorporating more indigenous names into the system, but the commission kiboshed that in the same paragraph it brought it up (not due to opposition, but lack of scope and authority).
Looking at the conventions in peer federations, Canada is relatively unique in keeping to a geographic naming convention no matter how tortured it can become.
To the south, the Americans name their congressional districts by state name and then number. The more people in a state, the more districts. It’s all quite sterile.
On the other end of the spectrum, you’ve got the Australians. They give their federal electoral divisions names that are rarely connected to place, but rather historical figures. Compared to the Americans, the Australians are being creative rather than utilitarian. It’s cute, but creates a barrier for those not well-versed in electoral geography. Example: I grew up in the division of Jagajaga. Not even another Australian would be able to tell you what city that is in, let alone the state.
But back to Canada, where the naming convention is both straight-forward and convoluted at the same time.
For the sake of the ink spilled in writing out the laboriously long riding names, and those that have to repeat them all the time, a suggestion: Brevity.
West Vancouver-Sunshine Coast-Sea to Sky Country could just be… Sea to Sky.
Provincially, West Vancouver-Sea to Sky could just be Howe Sound.
In other parts of the province, larger geographic areas are picked for names of ridings that are diverse and include more than one locale, like North Island (which includes part of the mainland), or Kootenay Rockies (which includes Cranbrook, excluded from the name but included under "Kootenay," though that name also appears in two other riding names). In short, not every place has to be included in a name.
The most recent report on the provincial ridings is worth a read, if anything just to understand the process. Next time around, I’d hope they consider or ask for greater power to rename ridings with some more creativity than slapping on another hyphen.
But, at least we always know where a riding is just based on its name.
