Most of my readers know that I grew up in that country to the south. You know the one. One of the first things we little Americans learned, in first days of the first grade, was to say the Pledge of Allegiance to the flag. Yes, we talked to a flag. At the same time, we learned which hand was our right hand and how to place it over our hearts as we cast our eyes to the front of the classroom where an American flag hung from a pole in the corner. (Only 48 stars then, which just goes to show…) After a few weeks, we could proudly recite it in unison “…with liberty and justice for all.” For the next twelve years, this was the opening ritual of every school day. Aside from a moment of awkwardness at about age eleven when the right-hand-on-heart bit collided with my newly pubescent body, it was a ritual void of thought. These were the years of the Red Scare, the Cold War, the Space Race.
When I was in high school, the American Legion sponsored an 500-word essay contest. The topic: Why I Believe in America. Everyone in my English class was required to submit. The topic begged the question, of course, and by then some of us were cynical enough to venture a protest. Ban the Bomb was becoming a thing. The civil rights movement was in its infancy. We were beginning to ask some questions about America.
It goes without saying that the protest failed. I have no recollection of my own essay submission, but I’m sure it was just compliant enough to escape serious rebuke. I do remember one of the more openly rebellious boys writing the following: I believe in America because it is [216 adjectives] and conversely, because America is [same 216 adjectives in reverse order], I believe in it. (500 words. Check my math.) I’m sure some students gave serious thought to the question, and someone no doubt won a prize. Among my friends, though, the attempt to foster patriotism only increased our contempt for what was becoming known as the establishment.
I’ve been thinking about patriotism lately. I left the land of flag pledges and exceptionalism many years ago. I’ve been a citizen of Canada for exactly fifty years this month—a country stereotyped as modestly proud of its lack of overt pride. That suits me. I am proud of my country, but I’m no more comfortable with chauvinism now than I was then. Even in this moment of national indignation and resolve—which I join and applaud—I squirm a bit about the flag-waving, hat-wearing, and chest-thumping that passes for patriotism. Yesterday I was asked to like a Facebook post claiming that Canada is “The Best Country in the World!” Really? Doesn’t that sound a lot like…um…those other people? Canada uber alles? I am very happy to call myself Canadian, and I do feel a rising sense of pride in the country’s response to current threats. But I didn’t click the like button. I’ve signed petitions to defend our sovereignty and stand up to the bully. I will happily boycott American products and have no interest in travelling there. But—maybe remembering the pledge of allegiance and that dreadful essay assignment—I cringe when I’m asked to crow.
And yet…
What may seem like mere goading to the rest of the world is feeling like a serious threat to Canadians. Trump’s almost daily insistence that Canada should become the fifty-first state, his casual use of words like annex and subsidize, has Canadians rushing to wrap themselves in the flag. For all I know, someone in Ottawa is busy writing a pledge of allegiance to the maple leaf. While it is ludicrous to suggest that Canada is not a viable country, it is also clear that the thug to the south could exert economic pressure to weaken it, and to anxious Canadians, that seems to be his plan.
As pundits are now pointing out daily, perhaps this is a gift. Perhaps it will finally push this country to tighten its federation and to lessen its dependence on our large and powerful neighbour, as a market for our exports and a guarantor of our security. These are not new challenges, but this is certainly a new level of alert.
Is it the best country in the world? Who knows? It suits me, but I’ve also heard really good things about Denmark. (Oh yeah, he’s after them too.) As much as chest-thumping isn’t my thing, and I don’t think I’ll wear a “Canada is not for sale” hat, I am buoyed by the tidal wave of patriotism surging across the country. It feels a little uncomfortable, but I hope it lasts. At least until the wheels fall off the bus down there.
Meanwhile, maybe I’ll buy a flag.