Posted on 07/05/2004 2:53:26 PM PDT by Forgiven_Sinner
Happy Canada Day. In the United States, they have Independence Day; in Ireland, St. Patrick’s Day; in France, Bastille Day; in Serbia, Genocidal Whacko Appreciation Day. But here in Canada we need a Day to remind us that we’re in Canada.
We’ve had Canada Day for two decades now, and most Canadians will have no difficulty agreeing on which was the greatest Canada Day of all: July 1, 1989. It was 15 years ago today that Hugh Hefner, who’s always been partial to maple babes, wed Canuck Playmate Kimberley Conrad. Romance had sparked a few months earlier when Hef had come up to Conrad in the Playboy Mansion and said, “I looked at your data sheet, I think it’s wonderful.” If you’re a non-subscriber, the data sheet is on the reverse of the centre spread. It’s where Kimberley had listed her likes (blue jeans, midnight walks on the beach, G-strings) and dislikes (gossip, pretentious people).
Sadly, despite a wonderful data sheet, the landmark Canada Day marriage didn’t last. But then that too is quintessentially Canadian: Dominion Day didn’t last, the Red Ensign didn’t last, the Oath of Allegiance our new citizens will take today is good for maybe another half-decade … Last year, some professor proposed strengthening our heritage by renaming Victoria Day Heritage Day: we strengthen our heritage by obliterating it, by doing a Hef and turning it in for a younger model.
So, as every Canadian symbol is permanently up for grabs I’d like to propose - in honour of Kimberly, Shannon Tweed, Pamela Anderson and our other glorious centerfolds, changing Canada Day to Playmate Day. For what else is modern Canadian identity but a non-stop ongoing Playboy shoot? Once upon a time, we were a simple, wholesome farm girl, fresh-faced and freckle-cheeked. But then we were advised, if we really wanted to get on in the world, we ought to get some work done - a shot of collagen here, a little electrolysis there, and maybe change that clunky “Dominion” name to something a bit sexier. We had flag surgery in 1965, an anthem augmentation job in 1980, and of course, in 1982, those fabulous double C-cup implants – the Constitution and Charter. Like Kimberley we had fallen under the spell of a wrinkly old swinger (Pierre Trudeau). “Sure, an 1867 BNA size is fine if you wanna do wet T-shirt contests in Thunder Bay for the rest of your life,” he said. “But the guys won’t be able to take their eyes off your low-cut plunging Charter.”
But somehow it didn’t work out quite like that. They’ve leaked everywhere, the Quebec nipple is pointing in a different direction from the ROC one and, no matter what you do to it, it’s impossible to arouse. Occasionally, like Pamela, we look in the mirror and wonder whether we shouldn’t just have ‘em taken out. But once you start with plastic surgery, it’s hard to stop. We’ve reached that stage now where, when we’re filling in the data sheet, we fudge the age question. At the Jacques Cartier pier in Montreal a couple of Canada Days ago, I heard Lucienne Robillard address a group of new citizens: “Fifty years ago, we were British subjects,” she said. “We forget how young a country we really are.”
Do we? Actually Lucienne Robillard seems to have forgotten how old a country we really are. A few days earlier, the nation had marked the 500th anniversary of Cabot’s landing – half a millennium of history, centuries of constitutional evolution. But we persist in lying about our age. Like a professional virgin, we flutter our lids and tell Hef that sometimes we forget how young we really are.
“And how young are you?”
"Oh, sixteen going on seventeen.”
“And how long has that been going on?”
“Er, since 1497.”
Around the Cabot anniversary, my colleague Andrew Coyne wrote a paean to the mystique of our ancient kingdom. Excellent stuff - except that, in modern Canadian terms, Andrew sounds a bit of a nutcake. Ours is a present-tense culture: We have no use for the past, except to rewrite it: we declare Louis Riel a Father of Confederation, which is true in the sense that Sir John A. Macdonald was a trailblazing gay. Even those little lavishly funded “heritage minutes” they show on the CBC aren’t averse to peddling bunk. Take that one where Queen Victoria, on the eve of July 1, 1867, expresses herself amazed that her Governor-General will apparently be responsible to the Canadian Parliament. Give me a break: insofar as they were responsible to anyone, they were the representatives of the British government for the first half-century of Confederation.
There’s something a little totalitarian about this. In Cambodia, Pol Pot ushered in Year Zero: history began with him. But, in fairness to the old mass murderer, he did not intend to halt history itself, to deny the passage of time, to establish a permanent Year Zero. That’s been left to Canada the lo-cal, easy-listening “Cambodia of the frozen north”. The symbols of our national identity are banal and evasive, beginning with the federally funded cardboard hats emblazoned “La fete du Canada, affichez votre sourire!” – a message from “Patrimoine Canadien” which, roughly translated, means “Smile! You’re in non-candid Canada!”
So we have one of the most recognizable flags in the world, but, unlike other recognizable flags, ours says nothing: It’s a logo. By contrast, Britain’s and America’s flags say: this is whence we came and who we are. The Maple Leaf, unlike the old Red Ensign ducks that question. Admittedly, the Red Ensign was a boring flag, but one of the signs of a nation secure in itself is the confidence to have a boring flag - like France. The best logo in the world won’t compensate for a wobbly product.
If only in that sense, Canada’s flag is an apt national symbol: the first of our great evasions, from which all others have followed. Sure, millions of people love it, just as millions of people love those Playmate centrefolds, air-brushed to perfection, dunked in a vat of industrial strength depilator, with every little awkward distinctive characteristic removed. What’s not to love? But isn’t it also a little bland, sterile, plastic?
Years ago they used to say: “What’s the difference between Dominion Day and Independence Day? About 48 hours.” Cute. But, if it was ever true, it isn’t now: Can you imagine Washington changing the Fourth of July to America Day? Federally funding the parades and fireworks? Distributing cardboard hats saying “Smile – it’s America Day!”? Saying “Hey, that old Uncle Sam guy’s gotta go. He’s not inclusive enough. And who wears tails with those striped pants these days?” Americans are novelty junkies when it comes to the Flavour of the Day at Starbuck’s (decaf-hazelnut-raspberry-Eurasian milfoil-latte), but not about what counts: flags, constitutions, anthems, Pledges of Allegiance.
We have, in the main, Pierre Trudeau to thank for this unconvincing makeover. In essence, he imposed his own image on the whole country: He was prime minister in his 50s and 60s, but determined to be the oldest swinger in town. Eventually, he moved on, as swingers always do, but he left us with the inane rictus grin of our medicare-funded face-lift. Pace Mme. Robillard, we are not a young country, but we are an immature one. Happy Playmate Day.
Yikes. I think you need Canadian genes to get all of the jokes in this one.
ha! Hefner probably liked Canada because the national animal is the Beaver! *L*
Anyone know anything about the Red Ensign?
I admittedly know little about Canada.
My ancestors left Canada over 100 years ago. Some were decendants of the original 30 families in Acadia. I think they made the right move.
My eternal Canadian question: Why, if they hate the USA, do they all (okay, most of them) huddle so close to our border?
FMCDH(BITS)
The flags of Ontario and Manitoba retain the Canadian Red Ensign with the provincial coat of arms in the fly.
Thanks.
I see whay Steyn meant -- looks like it has a bit of history there.
Tough for kids to draw, though.
Because it's cold farther North. And they have extremely expensive gun control, and lots of Polar Bears.
Interesting.
Thanks
(Man, Steyn sounds a little upset in this one!)
Much too simple. Why aren't all Americans living in Florida ... or Texas.
They're up to something, I tell ya.
What? When?
Don't keep us guessing!
As a biologist, I suggest that someone needs to PhotoShop some fangs on that photo of the tiger/rabbit. Just what the whacko fringe would rally 'round - a sabre toothed bunny!
It would be the perfect center piece of every Liberal Easter Egg hunt. A rabbit that could endanger them - they'll love it, I tell you.
You are terrible for saying such a thing!
Can't trust 'em. We're guarding the wrong border, you bet...
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