lue eyes twinkling in his ruddy face, His Excellency the Right Honourable David Johnston exudes grandfatherly benevolence as he submits to yet another interview about his role as Governor General. He is smaller in person than I expected from photos, and radiates a vigour impressive in a white-haired man of seventy. He also excels at viceregal non-answers.

Does the Canadian representative of the Crown feel locked in a gilded cage? Johnston parries the idea that his position is merely ornamental — a sort of constitutional appendix that only flares up occasionally: “The constraints here are appropriate. And the opportunities to speak to Canadians, to bring Canadians together, are somewhat unconstrained.”

Yawn.

I’ve been told I have exactly thirty minutes for this interview. Across the pale Persian rug of Rideau Hall’s small drawing room, Johnston’s communications adviser sits with her ankles neatly crossed, eyes flickering between watch and BlackBerry. I’m only a third of the way through my prepared questions, but Johnston’s ability to spin out platitudes is gobbling up the time, and he is too smart to step into any minefields. “I don’t have an opinion on that,” he replied to one close-to-the-line question, “because I don’t have an opinion on political matters.” I try marshmallow softball. How would he finish a sentence beginning with the words “A Canadian is…”? His answer is beyond bland: “A Canadian is one who believes in both equality of opportunity and excellence.”

I’m sure we can all subscribe to that.

I begin to wonder if the viceregal office reduces even the brainiest individual to a dull figurehead, sandwiched between the lofty prerogatives of the monarch on the other side of the Atlantic, and the ferociously guarded power of the prime minister on the other side of Ottawa’s Sussex Drive. Smothered in protocol and throttled by correctness, maybe all a Governor General can do is act as a kind of mute maître d’ to the nation — until, that is, a constitutional crisis arises. But we won’t likely see one in the remaining years of Johnston’s term, now that Prime Minister Stephen Harper heads a majority government.

Summer sunlight streams through the sash windows. Outside, a fat black squirrel scrambles through the branches of a maple tree amid Rideau Hall’s beautifully kept thirty-two hectares of lawns and woods. The half-empty bookshelves, tastefully upholstered chesterfield, and glossy coffee-table books remind me of a comfortable hotel somewhere in the English Home Counties. Johnston himself fits the decor: in his sober tie and square-cut navy suit, he could have walked out of a Brooks Brothers advertisement, circa 1970. He often mentions that he has been married forty-six years. Whenever he has an audience of schoolchildren in front of him, he chuckles as he refers to his grandchildren’s nickname for him: “Grampa Book.”

In our interview, Johnston has moved on to philanthropy. “I think the notion of caring for the community, of looking after a neighbour, is implicit in the Canadian experience,” he says, “and I think it’s something we want to magnify and reinforce as we see Canada evolving.” I wonder if I should write down these bromides.

A voice interrupts: “I’m afraid your next appointment is waiting, Your Excellency.” The trim figure bounces quickly to his feet. Thirty minutes after he entered the room, he is out the door. The kabuki theatre of this interview is over. He has smiled and said little of consequence. I have nodded and heard little of note.

Does it have to be this way? What do Canadians want from our Governor General? And, more immediately, what does the government that appointed Johnston want from him? While he carries out his duties with buttoned-down charm, the Harper government is quietly ensuring that every morsel of substance is sucked out of the viceregal role. In an extraordinary return to the Canada of yesteryear, the government is engineering a comeback for the monarchy. Johnston, consciously or not, has been recruited into the prime minister’s campaign to restore the symbols of an older, whiter Canada.

he only time most of us will see Johnston doing his job is at the televised opening of a parliamentary session, where the GG (as the office is known around Ottawa) reads a speech outlining the government’s program. He may turn up at a community celebration (provided the community has requested His Excellency’s presence several months in advance), or a natural disaster (the GG will likely hover in a helicopter over the flood, fire, or drought before offering solace to survivors.) He receives daffodils when he appears at the launch of the Canadian Cancer Society’s Daffodil Days campaign in Ottawa, and he shakes premiers’ hands when he makes official visits to provinces and territories. Otherwise, sightings are rare.

Yet the office deserves more attention; it is deeply rooted in our past and forms an integral part of our government. Since the pre-1759 French regime, someone has functioned in that capacity, which makes it older than our nation and the oldest continuous institution on Canadian soil. Only a country as neglectful of its own history as Canada is could be so ignorant of a national role that is (on paper, at least) crucial to our Constitution.