Let’s engage in some American-style reflection and atonement.
I no longer use Twitter (do I have to call it X now?) because I have other responsibilities to attend to, but I do check my mentions from time to time. The most recent tweet I received was from a fellow Canadian (as per their user bio) who was displeased with a recent article I wrote about Hillary Clinton. They said, “For a Canadian observing your views, and with protected tweets… How about getting involved in a true democracy in the lower 50?”
It’s a valid point! Being a Canadian with permanent residency in New York, I often feel like an outsider trying to understand the happenings down here. Higher education? Extremely costly. Deductibles? A term and idea that shouldn’t be so common. Taxes? Higher than in Ontario, with fewer services provided. Stepping on my toes? Not appreciated.
This year marks my fifth Fourth of July. I never join in the celebrations — because one of the beauties of America is the freedom to criticize it, even on its own birthday. However, I have developed a sort of annual tradition. Every July 4th, I ponder the same question: Why doesn’t anyone wish me a happy Canada Day?
Surprisingly, Canada Day falls on July 1st every year, just a few days before the Fourth of July. Yet, it always goes unnoticed by every American I encounter. My decision to reside in the United States is a conscious choice. Nonetheless, it compels me to acknowledge an undeniable truth — that you folks can be vexing. America tends to do things in a more boisterous, less refined manner compared to Canada. What hurts the most — even more than the crime against cheese that is cheese in a can or your pronunciation of pasta — is the tendency to overlook our existence completely.
As another Canada Day has passed without any acknowledgment, I call for redemption this Fourth of July. I call for introspection. Just once, be a bit more Canadian and feel a tinge of remorse!
Criticism towards America’s Independence Day is consistent; it commemorates a nation that remains divided, indebted, with systemic racial disparities ingrained in national life. However, were you aware that on July 1, Canadians also indulge in fireworks, police surveillance drones, outdoor barbecues, debates with conservative relatives on the true dangers of right-wing politicians, local street festivals, miniature flags for waving, all while conveniently disregarding the fact that Indigenous populations inhabited our land before succumbing to diseases we introduced like smallpox? We simply don’t exhibit the same flamboyance as Americans do. You believe you hold the patent on nationalistic fervor for a holiday rooted in colonialism and the suppression of indigenous populations? Think again! Our traditions date back to John Cabot’s disruptive expedition in Newfoundland during the 1490s. The disgraceful legacy runs so deep that in 2022, my former school had to rebrand itself upon the discovery of murdered Indigenous children buried beneath a school the prior year, revealing it was named after a figure involved in developing Canada’s residential school system.
I’m not seeking much, merely a recognition that the United States isn’t exclusive in embodying a deteriorating society constructed upon the atrocities of genocide and oppression. Perhaps serve some ketchup-flavored chips at your Fourth of July gathering. Learn to craft a Caesar cocktail (exquisite) instead of a Bloody Mary (vegetable juice). A small gesture to evoke memories of life in my homeland. It’s ironic how we share so many similarities without even making a conscious effort.
However, I will concede one thing: You Americans do excel in preparing a delightful hot dog. I adore the hot dog culture in this country. One bite of that savory dog, and I find myself searching for the lyrics to “The Star-Spangled Banner,” passionately supporting those steadfast ramparts. Everyone has their weak spot.
