Earlier this week, on New Year’s day, while most of us were standing in our kitchens staring into the fridge like it personally betrayed us, something very Canadian was happening in a handful of places.

It’s called a New Year’s Levée. And no, it has nothing to do with floods or sandbags.

A levee is an open house. That’s it. A very polite, slightly ceremonial open house where some person in charge of something important says, “Come on in, shake my hand, have a snack, and let’s all agree not to talk about politics for at least thirty seconds.”

The tradition comes from France in the 1600s. Which means it predates Canada, electricity, and the idea that January 1 is a terrible day to socialize.

Back then, French nobles would line up to pay their respects to the king on New Year’s Day. You’d bow, exchange pleasantries, and hopefully not get beheaded later.

When the French brought the custom to New France, it shifted. Instead of kings, it was governors. Instead of velvet and intrigue, it was mittens and frostbite. But the point stayed the same. A new year starts, everyone’s equal for a moment, let’s be civil.

The first recorded levees in what is now Canada happened in the 1600s. They survived the British takeover, the War of 1812, and Confederation. In Quebec, New Year’s levees became a big deal. Governors hosted them. Later, lieutenant governors did. People lined up in their Sunday best to shake hands and exchange wishes.

It was formal, but approachable. Power, briefly brought down to human height.

The tradition spread. Ottawa adopted it. Provinces adopted it. Cities got in on it. Mayors, premiers, and lieutenant governors all hosting open houses on January 1, offering coffee, cookies, and the chance to say, “Happy New Year,” to someone whose photo usually lives behind glass.

In Ottawa, the Governor General still hosts a New Year’s levee. It’s one of the rare moments where you can wander into Rideau Hall without a tour guide or a school permission slip.

This survives in Canada, but in most other places, it’s gone. France largely dropped it. Britain never really took to it. The United States, predictably, replaced it with brunch. But Canada kept it.

We like the idea that power should be visible, accessible, and mildly uncomfortable. We like rituals that don’t require tickets, VIP lists, or wristbands. We like a tradition where the head of state stands there for two hours, smiling politely, while someone’s uncle tells them about the parking.

Attendance is smaller now. But the fact that it still exists at all says something.

Canada kept a 400-year-old tradition that says leadership starts with showing up, shaking hands, and wishing people well, even when everyone smells faintly like champagne and regret.

So if you ever find yourself on January 1 wondering what kind of country answers emails from Santa and invites you over to say hello to the Governor General, this is part of the answer.

We start the year by opening the door. Then we offer you a cookie. Then we quietly hope you don’t stay too long, because someone else is waiting to come in.

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