BIG FLAG FLAP
We could have had a badly drawn beaver
To imagine the gong show that was the choosing of a modern Canadian flag, one need only look at our recent spat over the national anthem.
The simple change of “in all thy sons” to “in all of us” spawned days of House of Commons debate, frantic denunciation in the press and, just two weeks ago, an agonizing Senate debate over proper grammar.
And so it was in the 1960s. As the rest of the world descended into revolution and unrest, Canada ripped itself apart to pick a new banner.
Parliament immediately deadlocked over the debate. As did a special all- party flag committee. Meanwhile, fresh from losing his seat in the prime minister’s office, John Diefenbaker vowed to make the whole process as painful as possible. A call for public submissions of flag proposals only seemed to make things worse. Canadians were obsessed with ensuring that French and English symbols got equal billing on the flag, resulting in horrifying mash- ups of Fleur-de-lis and Union Jacks — with the occasional badly drawn beaver thrown in.
Across the country, citizens despaired that the final design would be anything but a horrifying totem to multicultural compromise.
But in the end, the iconic design owed its triumph to a whiff of skulduggery. At the last minute, a member of the flag committee invited a friend, historian George Stanley, to submit a simple design of a dead red maple leaf between two red bars. Liberal committee members then outfoxed their Tory opponents into obtaining a unanimous vote for the banner.
The process wasn’t exactly fair and it wasn’t particularly democratic. But Canada pulled off what few peacetime countries have managed: A simple, recognizable and tasteful flag that everyone now agrees on.
New Zealand, whose own flag reform efforts recently went down in flames, can only look on in envy.