O Canada (Where Art Thou?)

Happy Canada Day.

Many things occurred to me during the course of this day:

1. Here they just call it July 1st.

2. I don't know the words to my national anthem in full in either official language. Thanks to Hockey Night in Canada, I am only fluent in the bilingual version.

3. I haven't spent Canada Day in Canada in three years. How embarassing is that?

In 2003 I spent Canada Day in Moab, Utah drinking "three-two beer". At first I thought this meant that it contained 3.2% alcohol. I've since been informed that it means 3/2% alcohol. Yes, 1.5%. No wonder I couldn't get rowdy. Utah is 70% Mormon, and the legislature is 90% Mormon and Mormons don't drink alcohol. Ergo, alcohol is practically banned in the whole state. This made for an atypical Canada Day.

In 2004 I spent Canada Day cross-border shopping in Massena, NY. I am a BAD Canadian.

In 2005, my first year as an expatriate and US immigrant (pending status), I spent Canada Day surrounded by friends in funny red and white hats drinking Labatt's Blue, Molson Canadian, and Moosehead -- the only Canadian beers exported to the US. We barbequed, and I served up Poutine as our national food. It was my most Canadian Canada Day in years. Ironic, n'est ce pas?

This got me to thinking about how we Canadians define ourselves in opposition to Americans. Or even just in opposition to that which is not Canadian. Allow me to explain myself. Canadians are most stereotypically Canadian when they are either a) not in Canada, or b) comparing themselves to Americans.

Let's take hockey. Hockey is widely believed to be Canada's National Sport. Let's leave aside the truth, which is that Lacrosse holds this position officially -- no one really watches it anyway. It is Hockey which defines us, which differentiates us, which binds us. At least it does when we're out of the country.

Has Hockey really been that popular? I'd feel confident stating that there are more people in Canada who don't follow hockey than who do. We do, however, tend to get pretty darned excited about it when it's a world championship, and even more excited when we're beating the Yanks. I think the recent hockey revival I have observed in myself and my friends (present non-season excepted) is largely due to clever beer ads. And expatriatism. All my friends who have moved south of the border have clung to hockey as a symbol of Canada.

What makes Canadians Canadian, anyway? How much of our cultural heritage could we explain using only affirmative statements and no comparisons to our Southern neighbours? The famous Molson ad campaign featuring "Joe Canadian" rallied Canadians and enhanced national pride, but every point made was a direct contrast with an element of American culture.

Why is it that we love so much to hate Americans? Why do we look upon their culture with such disdain? Well, I'm sure this is a topic I could never in a million words fully explain, but I'll illustrate the point with one famous example: Rick Mercer's "Talking to Americans". Most of my Canadian readers will be familiar with the show. This TV special attracted 2.7 million Canadian viewers making it the highest rated comedy special in the history of the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation. To summarize for my American readers, Rick Mercer travelled around the United States asking Americans questions about Canada to show their ignorance of our country's politics, geography and culture. His sample group was diverse, ranging from university (Harvard!) professors to politicians to average joes on the street. The response was almost universally complete ignorance. We Canadians think it's hilarious. I sent the video to my now-husband who didn't find it as funny.

Sure, we Canadians know much much more about the United States of America than they know about us, but what does that really say? It says we don't matter to them. Why would we? Perhaps in all our disparaging remarks and condescending banter we're merely paying them a large, strange compliment: We're watching you; you matter.

Or maybe I should just have another beer.