In this video, Tod Maffin of the Far and Wide newsletter demystifies the Canadian "writ"—the term used when an election is called. He explains that the writ is not a physical object but a series of constitutional documents: the Prime Minister’s Instrument of Advice to the Governor General, the Governor General’s proclamation signed with the Great Seal, the election notices to ridings, and the proclamation summoning a new Parliament. Maffin outlines the Governor General’s constitutional discretion to refuse dissolution, noting the sole historical instance in 1926 when Lord Byng refused Prime Minister King’s request. He then traces the phrase "dropping the writ" from a likely mis‑hearing of "draw up the writ," describing how it became entrenched in Canadian political slang, even provoking correction from former Lieutenant Governor David Onley. Throughout, he uses humor and analogies to illustrate how the term, while linguistically inaccurate, signals the start of the election campaign to Canadians.
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Well, the writ dropped this morning, which might lead you to wonder, uh, what the hell is the writ? Why does everyone keep dropping it? And what happened this morning behind closed doors in Ottawa? I'm Tod Maffin from the Far and Wide newsletter. Let's dig in and let's get this out of the way first of all: it's all a lie. There is no writ. The writ's not a piece of paper, it's not a fancy staff that the Governor General carries around. It's like the last Timbit in the box. Everyone talks about it, Nobody sees it, and yet somehow it starts a full-blown family feud. Instead, what politicians and media mean when they say a writ is something even more Canadian than hockey. Yes, soul-crushing bureaucratic paperwork. It is that thing though, uniquely Canadian. No other country uses the term. The writ is more like a, a process, sequence of actions. It starts with the Prime Minister presenting what's officially called an Instrument of Advice to the Governor General. Now it's a fancy name basically for a written document with the Prime Minister's personal recommendation that the Governor General, well really the King, authorize a constitutional or legislative act of government, in this case the dissolution of Parliament. And if they agree, they sign a proclamation in the name of the King. It's basically a piece of very heavy paper. The Governor General signs it and then stamps it with the Great Seal of Canada. Then they sign a second document, one that directs the Privy Council to issue election notices to each of the ridings, letting them know that, hey, we're gonna have an election on April 28th, in case they don't have TV or the internet, I guess. So if we assume that the writ is an actual thing, I guess it's a swarm of writs. A writ-nado? Then a third document is signed on behalf of the King, this one a Proclamation for the Summoning of a New Parliament. Now one important thing to note: the King, through the Governor General, has the constitutional discretion to refuse the advice of the Prime Minister to dissolve Parliament. Has it ever happened? Yes, once. In 1926, Lord Byng of Vimy, the Governor General at the time, refused Prime Minister King's request to dissolve Parliament, and he refused it because it had become clear that the Conservative leader could could form a government instead. Since then, no Canadian Governor General has refused a request for dissolution. Now certainly there's been a lot of heated debate about it, particularly during the 2008 prorogation crisis, but in almost all cases the Governor General does what the Prime Minister asks. So that's the writ, but what is all this dropping about? Some people believe that the phrase started as "draw up the writ," as in to write it up. Over time, like a kid's game of telephone, draw up became drop, and that phrase, accurate or not, has become deeply entrenched in Canadian political culture. The late David Onley, formerly Ontario's Lieutenant Governor, was so offended by the term he actually would call reporters every time they used it to correct them and ask them to stop saying it. Because nothing says democracy in action like getting a lecture on syntax from a vice-regal with a thesaurus. In reality, dropping the writ just tells Canadians that the political circus has officially begun. The signs are going up, the debates are scheduled, and the parties are suddenly pretending that they care very deeply about your local pothole problem. After all, if Parliament can collapse and bounce back faster than a Leafs playoff run, surely a little poetic license isn't the end of the world? It's linguistically nonsense. But it's our nonsense.
