A lone figure takes to the stage, a giant maple leaf flag rippling on a screen behind him as he gingerly approaches the microphone.
“I’m not a lumberjack, or a fur trader,” he tells the crowd. “I have a prime minister, not a president. I speak English and French, not American. And I pronounce it ‘about’ – not ‘a boot’.”
The crowd, indifferent at first, grows increasingly enthusiastic as the man works his way through a catalogue of Canadian stereotypes, passing from diffidence to defiance before the climactic cry: “Canada is the second largest landmass! The first nation of hockey! And the best part of North America! My name is Joe! And I am Canadian!”
In response, Canadians have taken to acts of patriotism, small and large: one pilot flew his small plane in the shape of a maple leaf; sports fans have booed US teams; hats insisting “Canada is not for sale” have gone viral; consumers have pledged to buy only Canadian-made products – a pledge skewered in a viral sketch in which one shopper berates another for buying American ketchup.
If the “way I’m approaching this” is the problem, then what you’re really saying is that discomfort is the enemy, not injustice. The divide you speak of isn’t created by rhetoric—it’s been there all along, carved by centuries of exploitation and denial. Pretending that softer words will bridge it is a delusion.
This isn’t about “fighting for more than it helps”; it’s about refusing to sanitize truth for the sake of palatability. If calling out systemic rot feels divisive, maybe it’s because you’re standing on the wrong side of the fracture. Solutions don’t come from coddling; they come from confrontation.