Canada isn't a Real Country

Well, maybe it is, since it has its own currency, borders, anthem, beer, etc. But what I mean to say is that it is not a country in respect of all those secondary characteristics of nationhood.

Take, for example, its creation as a nation. Was the Canadian national character forged in the crucible of revolution or war? No. Unlike our neighbours in the rest of the Americas, there was no Canadian Revolution throwing off the shackles of foreign imperialism. A case might be made for the "rebellions" of 1837 and 1838 in which there were a mere handful of casualties and whose ringleaders were merely kicked out of the country for a few years as punishment. Instead, Canada was born around a meeting table of regional leaders in Prince Edward Island - all very civilized, refined and boring. No baptism of blood for our country, just tea and wine.

Was there a race of Canadians whose origins celebrated in myth and legend? No. Well actually "yes", but let's not mention our aboriginal populations who had their "special" day of lip-service celebration about a week and a half ago. No King Arthur here, no dynasties stretching back to the beginnings of time, no descendents of the gods - just those interested in beaver and bargain basement land prices.

Today is Canada Day, or "Dominion Day" as it was called in my youth. Legally and constitutionally, we still live in the Dominion of Canada, although 99.99% of the population would be surprised to learn that we still are.

But it being Canada Day, and since I only have to face this one time a year, I would like to reflect upon what it means to me to be Canadian. All I can think of are the words of the Quebecois poet/singer Gilles Vigneault:

Mon pays ce n'est pas un pays, c'est l'envers
D'un pays qui n'était ni pays ni patrie

(My country is not a country, it's the opposite
of a country being neither a state or nation)

Although the theme of this poem is comparing the poet's country to a season - winter, obviously - I like to think of my country as land: rock, river, lake, sea. Physical things, things you can touch, not ideas or ideals that come and go with time, that can become enflamed and then dwindle away. It is the quiet permanance of the pre-Cambrian shield, the Rockies, the tundra, things which change at a rate imperceptible to humans.

My country is not its population; indeed anyone living here is, by my definition, Canadian. Whether we wear a stetson, nassak, toque, turban or baseball cap, we merely occupy this country for a brief period of time. Our surnames change, indeed with my wife's people they only started to be assigned surnames half a century ago, and the verbal soundscape of our urban centres changes every decade or two, but the land remains unmoved and untouched by all this human morphosis. The leaves continue to rustle, the waves still lap the shores and the mosquitos will drone on and on for an eternity despite what we do.

At this point I find I'm rambling, so I'll end with an anecdote from some Canadian comedian who had toured extensively in other lands. He said the could tell the number of Canadians in the audience by the amount of laughs he got from this joke:

I saw a religious fanatic the other day walking around with a placard which read: "Repent, for the world ends tomorrow at 9:00PM - 9:30 in Newfoundland".

Did you get it, eh?