Dear Canada,
It’s July 1, the day that Canadians celebrate their country, for better or for worse. Also known as “Moving Day,” here in Montreal (obviously, a separatist plot to ruin the fun of the oppressor’s holiday; how much fun can you have lifting heavy things for yourself and ten of your closest friends while the meter runs on the rental truck? aaaaaaaand GO!), I’ve always been a bit ambivalent about this particular holiday.
Probably because I’m not really Canadian.
Oh, sure, I seem to “pass” pretty well, having lived here for the past 7 years. I may have even developed the distinctly Canadian accent, throwing in the occasional “eh?” for emphasis. But underneath it all, I’m just a damn Yank, straight out of enemy territory, and I am always willing to compare Canada to its southern neighbour when some Canuck starts to get all pointlessly patriotic on me, having assumed I was “one of us.”
See, here’s the thing: while I may not be the type of American that Canadians love to hate (you know the ones: the kids from Boston here for the legal drinking age of 18; the ones that refer to Canadian dollars as “funny money”; the bastards who make a point of always saying, at any given moment, “Well, back home we do it like this!”), and I’ve certainly never been the flag-waving American who loves her country enough to defend it against all criticisms, Bush big and small. Still, when Canadians start to get all uppity with their generalizations, waving their Canadian flags and taunting the U.S. like a giant bull, I start to feel my nostrils flare and my inner Brooklynite rise to the surface. And then, beware!
During my time in Canada, I’ve found that there’s a lot of truth to the concept of Canada as “U.S.A. lite.” Want to get your hands on some of the latest technology? I’m sorry, that’s not available in Canada. Want to see the arty film from that hot American director? Sorry, you’ll have to wait about a month (or longer) for its Canadian release. Want products that are cheap yet well made? Tough luck, honey, you live in Canada. And god forbid you might want to enter a contest if you live in Quebec, the epicenter of all bureaucratic red tape!
Don’t get me wrong: I [heart] Canada, the little country that could. I admire the way your socialist forefathers set up a national healthcare system that, for the most part, seems to work. I enjoy your indie arts scene, which often gives America’s a run for its money. I like the way even big cities here can feel like small towns. But hot damn, Canada, get with the times! Why aren’t you making a fuss about this NAFTA crap and how you always get the short end of the stick? Why don’t you ever stand up to an American leader and tell him his foreign policies are just plain wrong? Why won’t you admit that your healthcare program is as imperfect as any other government-run system and get some kind of committee together to try to fix it already?
I could go on, because no nation is perfect, but I won’t, because today is supposed to be a day of celebration. Canada, you’ve come a long way, baby. You’ve (mostly) put an end to all the nature writing that once passed for literature here; you’ve been making a name for yourself as a country of environmentalists; you’re starting to get the hang of viewing yourself as a player in the world economy.
There’s just one final question I’d like to ask you, Canada: when are you gonna grow up and be a REAL nation, and give that Queen of England the boot? I mean, it’s not like she’s your mom or something. Can’t you say no to her? You’re not afraid of her, are you? Or do you just really like having an intermediary, with this whole Governor General thing? Seriously, Canada, are you really gonna be a protectorate forever?
Anyway, happy birthday, Canada. For better or for worse.
Cheers,
Laura
P.S. For an interesting take on the Canadian identity, and its relationship with the national literature (popularly known as “CanLit”), check out Steven W. Beattie’s latest blog post, “Like a big book club,” over at That Shakespearean Rag.