Canada's Cultural Complex: Growing Up and Away From the Border
Written February 3, 2005

Nobody likes a little brother.

You know the stigma I’m referring to, right? I’m talking about the little brother who follows you around incessantly, reverently, doggedly worshipful. An eager lad who would eat the hot dog that’s been under the couch since ’97 if you told him to. He’s a mimic, silently watching and then crudely modeling his own behaviour, attitudes and language after yours with blind dedication. The kid’s a spaz and you probably want to throw him in a dumpster, at least until he starts to develop his own personality.

Welcome to the exciting world of Canadian identity because, like it or not, we’re the spaz kid and America is our haloed sibling. Think about it. We’re heavily reliant on the States; economically, militarily and culturally. We eagerly chow down their media, learning the intricacies of the USA way while they shove Canadian contribution aside under the moniker of America Junior and a host of embarrassing stereotypes. They say “Missile defense system!” and we say “Hmmm… that might be aight,” despite the fact that nobody wants to kill us with the vehemence they have for our behemoth neighbour.

This national mimicry even extends into subculture. At a recent Globalization of Hip-Hop panel discussion, the authenticity of the Canadian sphere was called into question. Toronto youth leader Gavin Shepherd noted that “our main thing is that we aren’t America ” and other panelists – artists from Africa – called our hip-hop scene stagnant, a hollow reflection of American groundbreaking. At this I winced, but had to concede that it was probably true.

In a lot of ways, Canada acts and seems like a capital-T Tool, a shoddy copy of the United States ’ shining pinnacle of civilization (under God). But we aren’t stupid. Oh my, no.

We’re fully aware of the comparisons, the stupid jokes about igloos, the scorn. When insane conservative radicals like Ann Coulter and Tucker Carlson blather about Canada ’s insignificance on CNN and tell Americans that we’re all avid dogsled racers, we bristle. When pop culture like Saturday Night Live depicts Canadians in the age-old lumberjack shtick, we complain. But secretly we’re happy just to be acknowledged in the foreign media which so often denies us a voice.

Our relationship with American culture is a vastly complex and convoluted one, caught between desire for attention and hatred of their tired misrepresentation. We’re upset – angry that our global identity is a half-assed American construction, sick of the assumption that we’ll stay under the stars-and-stripes umbrella where we can keep doing ‘whatever it is that Canadians do’ in safety and obscurity.

Perhaps this resentment is the underlying reason for the immense popularity of those Molson commercials pitting stupid Americana against Canadian cool. Maybe this is why we eagerly ring around the hockey game and take such pride in besting the USA , when the vast majority of their population couldn’t give a fuck. We take what we can get.

More than anything, emerging Canadian identity seems to be rooted in two words: “Not America.” We look for distinctions between our duel homogenized cultures and pry them open: “Look! We have public health care! They have private health care! See? See? We’re different and unique and totally rad!”

It’s not much, but it’s a start. The little brother is starting to grow out of his infatuation, to look elsewhere for influence. As the USA starts to slide further towards the conservative right, contrasting Canadian initiatives to legalize gay marriage and decriminalize marijuana become more than just rights advancements – they’re statements of our independence, a symbol of our tear away from the American shadow.

And maybe, someday soon, the words “Not America” will fade, replaced by a true sense of Canadian identity. Because it’s finally time for us to grow up and face the world as ourselves.

This version of the column might differ subtly from the one that appeared in the Cord. This is mostly because I pulled a masterful piece of trickery and used it as both a Cord submission and as an assignment for my Politics of Publishing and Writing class. In class, my two esteemed colleagues Jenny Assy and Selene pried and pulled away at my grammar and syntax, editing and actually finding a few key subject inconsistencies in my original piece (which I changed, obviously).

If I learnt anything from writing this column, it's that you can never hurt yourself by editing something one more time. As perfect as you may think your article is, someone else will find a place where you fucked up - a blind spot. And it might sting the pride a little when your 'flawless' work is exposed as 'needs improvement' work, but it really does help you improve.