All those pent-up forces of envy and disbelief finally showed their true colours instead of masquerading in the deceitful fashion they have used since I took over at Argus... there is something about the Canadian mentality that cannot stand an unbroken string of successes, unless it comes after a long life or after evident ordeal. No one begrudged Terry Fox getting the Order of Canada and no one boos any more when E.P. Taylor wins the Queen's Plate. But present Canadians with too much success too soon and it's just unbearable. That's how it works in this country.
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What has stayed constant is a certain chippiness. Canadians feel both superior to and dependent on America, thus resenting it; they often get mistaken for Americans, and are afraid of being culturally subsumed. They feel the rest of the world ignores them, which is a pretty accurate perception. And they're always trying to define who they are (not American, not British, not boring) and not quite succeeding, being presented with the daunting challenge of a country that covers five-and-a-half time zones, speaks two languages and contains a province that periodically wishes to secede (and if it did so would set the four Atlantic provinces adrift).
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What does it mean to be a Canadian? Not only is it a wildly pretentious way to start a book, it is also a question that has beguiled us since day one.
Canada has been called a lot of things. We have been called one of the world's greatest democracies. We have been called a shining beacon of hope for those fleeing tyranny. Readers of the Toronto Star will know us as an evil construct built on the shame that is colonialism.
And, of course, we have been called stunningly beautiful and a terrible place to winter.
We are nothing if not self-deprecating. We pride ourselves on not taking ourselves too seriously.
We believe in our hearts that this country’s unique diversity is a blessing bestowed upon us by previous generations of Canadians, Canadians who stared down prejudice and fought discrimination in all its forms. We know that our enviable, inclusive society didn’t happen by accident and won’t continue without effort. ... Have faith in your fellow citizens, my friends. They are kind and generous. They are openminded and optimistic. And they know in their heart of hearts that a Canadian is a Canadian is a Canadian.
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I found Toronto an immensely likeable city, spacious and gentle and slightly dignified, but in a low-key, friendly way. The only people who didn’t seem to think much of it were its inhabitants, who could hardly wait for you to ask directions, because that gave them the perfect opportunity to apologise for it. What they were apologising for I never understood. I think they felt uninteresting, compared with America. I took the opposite view; I remember reading about the doctrine of American “Exceptionalism” and thinking that what I liked so much about Canadians was that they consider themselves unexceptional. This modest, unthreatening attitude seems to produce a nation that is stable, safe, decent and well respected. It’s just a shame that for seven months of the year it’s so cold that only Canadians would put up with it.
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