Why, then, would they waste time on something already self-evident?
The result is that the British, despite being one of the critical supply sources for the elusive Canadian identity, are a people rather more interested in other parts of the anatomy than the odd little scar where the umbilical cord was once attached.
Not so in Canada.
More than four decades after Hutchison published The Unknown Country, Andrew H. Malcolm produced The Canadians . Malcolm had been the Canadian correspondent for The New York Times from 1978 to 1982 and spent those four years getting out and around this nation far more than any comparable Canadian journalist. An enthusiastic, adventuresome Teddy Roosevelt look-alike, he fell in love with the country of his grandparents, which he took to calling the âEagle Scoutâ of nations.
After four years Malcolm began to think that âfor many Canadians perhaps their unfortunate identity was to search forever for an identity, a Sisyphean task guaranteed to ensure eternal angst. The search itself had become the identity.â¦â
And yet he, too, found contradiction in those seeking that elusive identity. There was, Malcolm discovered, reserved shyness, self-deprecating humour, a worrying sense of not mattering to the world at large, but alsoâas Walter Stewart had earlier suggestedâan occasional but undeniable moral smugness, a condescension toward many things, mostly American. âWhat is it in Canadaâs history and character,â Malcolm asked, âthat explains its superior inferiority complexâ¦?â
Iâve often thought myself that Canadians ingeniously use this endless âsearchâ for identity as a handy excuse to wallow in their own self-righteousnessâparticularly at those moments when America has put the stuck-up Canadian nose out of joint. It could be construed as a sort of verbal party trick to turn the conversation around to oneself and all the comforting goodness of being Canadian.
Or it might be, as Malcolm suggested, superiority and inferiority at the same time. That, at least, would be in keeping with the endless contradictions of Canada.
The case for an inferiority complex has been made so often that itâs by far the more accepted of the two possibilities. CBC radio ran a contest several years ago challenging listeners to complete the sentence âAs Canadian asâ¦.â The winner, to wide general approval, was âAs Canadian as possible ⦠under the circumstances.â
No wonder we get called the Clark Kent and the Woody Allen of Nations. The metaphors, appropriately, are from American culture; insecure Canadians would never make a national icon out of an awkward weakling. (They might, on the other hand, make him prime minister.)
Several people have suggested that this inferiority mindset has its source in the colonial mentality found throughout the former British Empire, a deep-rooted sense that whatever is Canadian or Indian or Australian or South African is not quite up to standard. The sun never set on the British Empire, but not much light shone down upon it. A sense of unworthiness was just one of the struggles Commonwealth nations had to overcome as they came into their own. âMy generation of Canadians,â culture critic Robert Fulford told Malcolm, âgrew up believing that, if we were very good or very smart, or both, we would someday graduate from Canada.â
Canadian heroes seem almost missing from the national canvas. There are some, of course, but hardly in the numbers Americans celebrate. âDuring my time in Canada,â Malcolm told me in an email from California, where he now works for the Los Angeles Times, âI was struck by the postage stampsâlacking heroes like Davy Crockett and Babe Ruth who are shared coast to coast generation after generation, the stamps in that era contained pictures of such things as antique furniture.
âNot exactly a stirring call to
The result is that the British, despite being one of the critical supply sources for the elusive Canadian identity, are a people rather more interested in other parts of the anatomy than the odd little scar where the umbilical cord was once attached.
Not so in Canada.
More than four decades after Hutchison published The Unknown Country, Andrew H. Malcolm produced The Canadians . Malcolm had been the Canadian correspondent for The New York Times from 1978 to 1982 and spent those four years getting out and around this nation far more than any comparable Canadian journalist. An enthusiastic, adventuresome Teddy Roosevelt look-alike, he fell in love with the country of his grandparents, which he took to calling the âEagle Scoutâ of nations.
After four years Malcolm began to think that âfor many Canadians perhaps their unfortunate identity was to search forever for an identity, a Sisyphean task guaranteed to ensure eternal angst. The search itself had become the identity.â¦â
And yet he, too, found contradiction in those seeking that elusive identity. There was, Malcolm discovered, reserved shyness, self-deprecating humour, a worrying sense of not mattering to the world at large, but alsoâas Walter Stewart had earlier suggestedâan occasional but undeniable moral smugness, a condescension toward many things, mostly American. âWhat is it in Canadaâs history and character,â Malcolm asked, âthat explains its superior inferiority complexâ¦?â
Iâve often thought myself that Canadians ingeniously use this endless âsearchâ for identity as a handy excuse to wallow in their own self-righteousnessâparticularly at those moments when America has put the stuck-up Canadian nose out of joint. It could be construed as a sort of verbal party trick to turn the conversation around to oneself and all the comforting goodness of being Canadian.
Or it might be, as Malcolm suggested, superiority and inferiority at the same time. That, at least, would be in keeping with the endless contradictions of Canada.
The case for an inferiority complex has been made so often that itâs by far the more accepted of the two possibilities. CBC radio ran a contest several years ago challenging listeners to complete the sentence âAs Canadian asâ¦.â The winner, to wide general approval, was âAs Canadian as possible ⦠under the circumstances.â
No wonder we get called the Clark Kent and the Woody Allen of Nations. The metaphors, appropriately, are from American culture; insecure Canadians would never make a national icon out of an awkward weakling. (They might, on the other hand, make him prime minister.)
Several people have suggested that this inferiority mindset has its source in the colonial mentality found throughout the former British Empire, a deep-rooted sense that whatever is Canadian or Indian or Australian or South African is not quite up to standard. The sun never set on the British Empire, but not much light shone down upon it. A sense of unworthiness was just one of the struggles Commonwealth nations had to overcome as they came into their own. âMy generation of Canadians,â culture critic Robert Fulford told Malcolm, âgrew up believing that, if we were very good or very smart, or both, we would someday graduate from Canada.â
Canadian heroes seem almost missing from the national canvas. There are some, of course, but hardly in the numbers Americans celebrate. âDuring my time in Canada,â Malcolm told me in an email from California, where he now works for the Los Angeles Times, âI was struck by the postage stampsâlacking heroes like Davy Crockett and Babe Ruth who are shared coast to coast generation after generation, the stamps in that era contained pictures of such things as antique furniture.
âNot exactly a stirring call to
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