Vancouver Province

December 20, 2000

New Zealand, from which I have just returned, makes me reflect on my Canadianism. Kiwis, you see, are comfortable with their nationality and this Canadian isn’t comfortable with his. For one thing, I wouldn’t carry a New Zealand passport as well as a Canadian one if I was. (My father having been born in New Zealand I am a citizen by birthright.)

New Zealand has regions as we do, with two main islands and a geography every bit as diverse as ours. It has a very big aboriginals issue too, and though not contiguous with Australia, has a mouse to elephant relationship with her as we do with the United States. There’s terrific political polarization as well but Kiwis are very keenly and noisily nationalistic, irrespective of regional and political differences.

Maybe most Canadians are too but I decided, as I cast in favourite faraway waters that I am not a very good Canadian at all. In fact, the past election saw BC, for the ninth straight time – tenth of you count the 1992 referendum – demonstrated that as a province we see Canada through a much different prism than does the Central Canadian Establishment which, through the Liberal Party of Canada, rules this land.
I was born in B.C. and, with the exception of 6 months in Edmonton in my mid twenties, which I hated, have lived here all my life. That can’t help but make me as xenophobic as are, say, Lucien Bouchard, Jean Chretien, or Mike Harris. I grew up despising Toronto. I would not pull for a Toronto team (unless one of my grandchildren were on it and even then, well …) if they were playing against Beijing much less against another Canadian team. When the Toronto Maple Leafs used to win the occasional Stanley Cup (a habit they have, thank God, given up) I took it as a personal assault. It was like my side had lost the war to end all wars. When the east won the Grey Cup, back many moons ago when I cared about football, I hated it. I wanted to get even any way I could. It was not a game nor a friendly rivalry – it was bitter warfare. I loathed Foster Hewitt and his snotty nosed kid, Bill and as far as I was concerned Conn Smythe and his ilk deserved to be hung, drawn and quartered as in olden times just for their Toronto arrogance.

But it goes deeper. I do have a feeling for the coureurs-de-bois, those gallant French Canadian traders and explorers, and their Scots counterparts like Alexander Mackenzie and Simon Fraser, but absolutely none for the War of 1812, Isaac Brock, Laura Secord and the lot. I look upon the Battle of the Plains of Abraham with the same interested detachment I do the Battle of Trafalgar.

Let’s make it even worse – had I been a member of the B.C. Legislature in 1871 instead of 100 years later I would have voted against union with Canada. Nope, let’s go it alone would have been my answer and let’s take our chances that we can fend off the Yanks. I’d likely have been proved wrong but that’s how I’d have played it.

I’ve been badly put off by the Toronto-centric nature of Canadian arts because, be the money paid to the CBC or otherwise, the assumption is that Canada is either Toronto or Montreal looking out at the boonies. I can’t help but think of writers like Robertson Davies, Margaret Atwood, and Pierre Berton by conversion – and converts are bigger pains in the ass than naturals - as being not Canadian but Toronto writers.

When I see how tiny New Zealand does in Yachting, Rugby, Cricket, track and field I can’t get excited when Canada wins a bronze medal in the trampoline. Sorry, it just does nothing for me.

Am I then a separatist?

Not at all. I think the Canadian experiment is one of the great political events of history. I want it to work mostly because I don’t ever want to be an American. But it’s not much of an emotional thing to me. A bit emotional I suppose from time to time but not much.

There we have it, then - a British Columbian at heart and a Canadian by absence of other viable alternatives.

I suspect that I’m not alone.