Pop 89: Not Your Next State
By Madonna Hamel
I am not surprised by Trump’s latest verbiage concerning Canada. I’m not surprised by anything he says. His unpredictability is predictable. He’s like the explosive teenager in the room who blames everyone for everything, resorting to outlandish threats. Sometimes, he disguises them as promises. Sometimes, he issues warnings. You can almost hear the “Oh yeah? Well, maybe I’ll just …” You wait for the adults in the room to do an intervention but realize there aren’t any - they are all too busy adapting to his latest demands in the hopes of becoming his new best friend.
The assumption that we Canadians would do well to become American is not limited to the president-elect alone. I’ve spent a lot of time in the States as a student and as a touring musician. I’ve dated a few fine American fellows and spent time with their friends and family. And I will say, right off the top, that even the finest and most well-travelled and informed Americans still believe that everybody would become American if they could.
I’m not referring to pride in one’s country - I’m talking about a form of paternalism, a pity for any poor slob who lost the lottery when they were born anywhere but the U. S. of A.
We hear it every American election, pronounced with almost manic excitement: “We are the envy of all,” “a beacon to every nation,” and, most gratingly, “The world looks up to us!” It’s the language of empires on the take - proclaimed in the past by the Romans and The Brits. To believe otherwise is to be UnAmerican, even if you don’t live there. As was the case for me when I arrived in Memphis in 1991 and made the mistake of critiquing the Gulf War.
In 2010, I made a music documentary called “The Portrait of Lincoln with the Wart.” I went to Nashville in search of an answer to a question: what exactly is this new category of music called Americana? The name was decided upon by music industry types and was meant to embrace all kinds of North American music, including country, folk, ballads, blues, jazz, and zydeco. I had a great time in Nashville; I loved the energy of the musicians, and every interviewee gave fully of their time. But underneath every conversation lay an unspoken assumption - this was American music. Whether it began as an Irish ballad or, an Acadian lament or a West African rhythm or a Haitian chant - once it landed on American shores, it became and “always was” and always be - Americana.
Americans know how to sell things. They are kings at packaging, promoting, and propagandizing. They may not have invented “everything,” but they claim it as theirs through their giant PR machinery, the biggest being Hollywood. Hollywood has reshaped reality to fit the American dream that says: good-looking, hard-working, underdogs will always win, because that’s the American way. Perhaps that is why, when the old, mean-mouthed, crotch-grabbing bombast won over the articulate, underdog woman, so many were in shock. Again. They failed to comprehend: America is not a movie with a guaranteed happy ending.
What America is, is the biggest purveyor of bread and circuses since Marie Antoinette gave the people cake. Make ‘em laugh, make ‘em cry, make it up, but keep ‘em busy and keep it entertaining. That way they won’t know what hit them.
Some of my best friends are American, as the saying goes. But far too many of them drank the Kool-aid of American exceptionalism. I get they love their country. I love my country. But I count my lucky maple leaves. I am a Canadian. I treasure Canada for how different it is from the States, not how the same. Shall I count the ways?
Safe streets. Yes, every city has its crime, but Canadians don’t view mass shootings as a given. In Toronto, I felt free to walk home alone at night. One Memphis night, while walking with a friend, we passed a couple of guys arguing. Suddenly, we heard gunshots. (I thought they were fireworks.) In certain states, freedom is defined as being allowed to show off your “piece”; “freedom” to threaten each other is a form of crime prevention.
Health Care. Over the last year, our family has been through heart attacks, surgeries, strokes, dozens of cat scans and MRIs. I myself have had a battery of blood tests and x-rays. We never opened our wallets. Sometimes, we wait for appointments or surgeries, but at least we have them. I know far too many Americans who don’t go to the doctor because they can’t afford it.
Bilingualism. To lose one’s language is to lose your keys. Through bilingualism we have maintained our founding mothers and fathers language and culture. Learning French hands me another set of keys, throws open more doors on the world.
Truth and Reconciliation Commission. We have a long way to go as a nation accepting the truth of our first mothers and fathers. The treatment of Indigenous people in this country is everyone’s truth. The Indigenous story is our story. We are all treaty people. We can’t go back and the Commission makes that a certainty.
We’re not number one. We don’t need to be number one. Being number one is not the goal. Are we “nice”? Maybe just polite. I’m not apologizing for apologizing if I bump into someone in a crowded space - even if it wasn’t my fault. It’s a good precedent - keeping the peace is not easy. We have a history of peace-keeping, like a mom trying to quell the noisy, aggressive drunk in the family.
We don’t care if, or feel the need to insist that, everyone wants to be us. And I suspect other nations feel the same way. We are doing just fine thank you. Maybe the next time the “greatest nation in the world” starts bellowing we all need to remind them: We define “great” differently.