UNAPOLOGETIC
Judith Timson reflects on what it means to her to be Canadian,
How did I know as a little girl that I was Canadian?
No, this is not the start of a good joke, with the answer being: “My first full sentence was ‘I’m sorry.’ ” Or “When I learned the alphabet it was eh, b, c. . .”
I am saying that I, born and raised in Canada, really don’t remember being overtly told I was Canadian, or even questioning what it meant to be Canadian. I just somehow knew it meant me.
I tell you this for obvious reasons: We’re celebrating Canada Day this weekend, and a special one at that. The red and white merchandise is everywhere — including Canada 150 wine bags.
I’ve recently read some pretty assertive pieces, in both local and international media, telling me that as a Canadian I am grumpy, modest, maybe more racist than I used to be, that I lack pride in my country, and that like everyone else here I find the whole idea of overt patriotism distasteful. None of which is true for me. What about you? Maybe the writers of these declarative Canada pieces can be gently reminded about cultural appropriation: Please don’t tell me what it means for me to be Canadian. That is not a job for outsourcing, thanks very much.
My thoughts about Canada are pretty simple: I love being Canadian, and feel incredibly grateful to be a citizen of one of the most diverse and peaceable nations in the world.
I also feel relieved and happy that we’re not roiling with misery and distrust of each other, like our friends to the south. Why wouldn’t I celebrate that? This week I found myself in an elementary school, perusing some bright and happy Canada Daythemed art work on a bulletin board — a whole month of days devoted to “Canadian” activities.
My three favourites were “get a bever” (sic). (Was that the animal or short for beverage?) Also: “Go canoeing.” And “eat red and white cupcakes.” All of which sound perfectly splendid. There was no Canada Day holiday when I grew up — it only came into being in 1982, after the Canada Act proclaimed us a sovereign nation.
Before that it was Dominion Day, which didn’t lend itself to much partying in my Toronto neighbourhood. However, lining a main street to see the Royals on tour? That I remember.
The immigrants on our street and in our schools then were Latvians, Macedonians and Italians. It never occurred to me to question whether they belonged. They were there, just like I was.
But it would have been nice to have gotten together with our families and waved the flag, so to speak. Kids are lucky today to be invited to think and talk about this country we all inhabit. And to know there is a special day to celebrate it.
What is a foreigner by the way? I recently engaged with that question on a whole new level when I was talking to a dinner guest in my home, a young Chinese woman who apologized to me for her English.
I asked about her friends here. “Well, I don’t have many foreigners as friends,” she replied.
After a pause I said, “Wait, am I a foreigner?” And we both laughed because that is exactly what she meant.
That seems to me to be a helpful concept — we are all foreigners to each other until we get to know each other on a more than superficial level.
Who gets to tell our stories? At a recent Canadian Journalism Foundation (CJF) gala celebrating journalistic excellence, two Indigenous journalists, Julian Brave NoiseCat, a member of the Canim Lake Band Tsq’escen in B.C. and a graduate of Columbia University, and Lenard Monkman, co-founder of Red Rising Magazine and a CBC associate producer, accepted Indigenous journalism fellowships that will help them pursue stories about issues that matter to them.
As Monkman pointed out in his acceptance speech, “There is a growing class of Indigenous youth that are articulate, that are brilliant, that are beautiful and we’re here to tell our own stories.”
His words — proud, celebratory, hopeful, defiant — stuck in my mind. I hope we are as ready to hear those stories as they are to tell them.
My own story of what it means to be Canadian is continually evolving. For years, I never questioned our national anthem. Now I will not sing it the way it’s currently written.
A group of senators this week held up the bill to change the lyrics in our national anthem to make them gender neutral. Instead of “True patriot love/in all they sons command,” the changed line would have read “In all of us com- mand.”
As I suggested in a 2013 column, no daughter refers to herself as a son, and women are fighting and dying for this country as well as holding up half its economy. Give me a break. Acknowledge our patriot love, too. It is unprogressive and sexist to deny the change, which was already approved by the House of Commons.
I think of that little girl I was who barely gave a thought to being Canadian. Now a grown woman, I am aware of being Canadian all the time.
I may not see a “bever” on Canada Day but I would love to eat red and white cupcakes. And our bright yellow canoe stands ready.
Onward. Judith Timson writes weekly about cultural, social and political issues. You can reach her at judith.timson@sympatico.ca and follow her on Twitter @judithtimson.