I recently attended an online conference, and as it began, I was reminded why I could never be an MC for such an event.
To begin with, many MCs or warm-up speakers fall into the trap of infantilising the audience. They greet a room full of accomplished adults as if they’re addressing a class of five-year-olds. “Let’s give ourselves a big clap!” they chirp, in the tone normally reserved for children who have successfully tied their shoelaces.
Often, for whatever reason, the person assigned this task is not naturally garrulous, nor particularly comfortable with a crowd. They appear to have been selected on other grounds. Perhaps they are a senior officer in the host organisation. Or, more plausibly, everyone else ran away from the role.
An audience can often sense when such a person is nervous, and while I would like to believe that most audiences are supportive and want to see the speaker succeed, some smell blood and refuse to make it any easier.
Meanwhile, they appear unaware that clichés, predictable phrases and painfully recycled wisdom have a remarkable ability to drain energy from a room. That was very much the effect this particular warm-up speaker had on me.
While I felt sorry for them as they fumbled in the dark, as one who dislikes having to speak to large crowds, I could appreciate this problem.
This warm-up ritual, which is supposed to build trust and prepare the audience for new information, often achieves the exact opposite. Instead of creating a connection, it simply highlights the MC’s complete inability to engage or amuse their audience.
At another conference I attended, when everything else seemed to be failing, the MC turned to a mix of prayer and patriotism.
Skirting around Kenya’s separation of church and state in the Constitution of Kenya (2010), which explicitly declares, “There shall be no State religion,” the MC attempted to get the audience to sing the National Anthem.
They were clever enough to know that while Kenya may be constitutionally secular, unlike many anthems that focus solely on historical triumphs, Kenya's national anthem specifically addresses God and seeks divine guidance for the country's future.
As I said, I would never volunteer to provide such a service. While I can be quite the chatterbox, I am uncomfortable with large, unfamiliar crowds.
I remember for the five minutes or so that I was a born-again Christian, I gave the briefest testimony: “Thanks, God, and with those few remarks, hallelujah!” The brevity should have been a sign that the phase wouldn’t last, but that’s a story for another day.
That said, I have the theory of what to do down to a T. The MC has to act as the "bridge" between the audience and the programme. They should use the first three minutes to set the tone for the proceedings. Don’t patronise or infantilise the audience. Acknowledge the mood and answer the ‘What’s in it for me?’ query by clearly stating what the audience will gain from the event. But most important of all, remember, you are not the star.
This last one is another reason I would be a disastrous MC. Once I got comfortable on the stage, I would immediately want to become the star.
To achieve this goal, I would start treating the stage as my personal spotlight, which would, of course, compromise the primary objective of the event, connecting the audience with the message.
I can just see myself delivering long, unscripted opening remarks or stories that focus on myself rather than the event's purpose. It has been whispered that I do that anyway.
If it were an evening event, I might have fortified myself with a shot or two of the strong stuff, and this might lead me to attempt stand-up comedy. Saying something in the style of Idi Amin, such as: “Ladies, under gentlemen, extinguished guests, thank you for letting me undress you.”
At which point it would be game over, as the audience would
start to boo and whoever hired me for the job would fire me on the spot.
Now then, without further delay, shall we meet again at the same place next week?
