By Mike Renzella
The Haldimand Press
Growing up throughout the 80s and 90s, I had a strong sense of pride in my country. Being Canadian really meant something to me.
It was easy to love being Canadian in those days. The shared customs that we all observed; watching hockey on a Saturday night while our uncles trash talked each-other’s teams, the country-wide euphoria when the Toronto Blue Jays won back-to-back World Series in 1992-93, bringing the trophy north of the border for the first time ever. We all remember where we were when Sidney Crosby scored the golden goal in 2010, or when Jose Bautista flipped his bat in 2015.
We had our own unique cultural identity too. Beyond just hockey, Canada has a gigantic library of important art and culture from a wide range of artists. Personally, I was (and still am) a huge fan of the Canadian indie rock scene that flourished in the mid-90s. From the Barenaked Ladies gently harmonizing about Kraft Dinner, to the warm feelings of nostalgia when a classic Tragically Hip tune pops up on the radio, Canadian culture means a lot to my generation.
Today, Canadian culture continues to carve out a place for itself on the world stage. ‘We The North’ banners flew around the country in 2019 when the Toronto Raptors won the NBA Championship. ‘Schitt’s Creek’, a quintessentially Canadian show, cleaned up at the Emmys by showcasing the kind-heartedness that is so often associated with our country. And yes, even Justin Bieber has grown into a talented, versatile musician. Please, no hate mail for that.
So, why, in 2021, with all the great things that Canada is, was, and can be, do I find myself so conflicted about my cultural identity?
We, as a nation, have had to face some difficult truths in recent times. I felt an enormous amount of disappointment in myself recently, as news of the discovery of 215 children near a residential school in Kamloops, BC spread. This issue has been right in front of my face nearly my entire life, and I can honestly say I was largely uneducated about it until the recent discovery came to light.
As a child, I took class trips to the Woodland Cultural Centre, on the grounds of the former Mohawk Institute Residential School, where Indigenous children were forced to attend right up until 10 years before I was born. This history was built into my community, and I was ignorant of its existence, beyond a vague understanding that Woodland had at one point been some kind of boarding school.
This is just one example of the type of inequality that is baked into our cultural history, and in many ways, the spirit that led to the birth of the residential school system.
It can be seen in the way migrant workers are not granted the same rights and privileges as Canadian citizens when entering our country to work.
It can be seen in the adversity and hatred the LGBTQ+ community still faces today, even when our public officials publicly endorse the pride community.
It can be seen in the running down of a Muslim family in London, Ontario and the outcries from the Muslim community that they don’t feel safe where they live.
These truths clash with my perception of Canada, the home of Polka-Dot Door, being polite to your neighbour, and the all-dressed chip. How does one begin to process these truths?
It starts with accepting my own bias. For instance, when I was about 15, there was a youth club in a mall in downtown Brantford. I distinctly remember being told to run if a group of ‘angry kids from the reserve’ showed up or approached you. The warning was that they were out to fight, and they hated white kids. So, I feared them in return. Did I ever see a fight between a kid from town and a kid from Six Nations of the Grand River? Not once. But that fear was baked into me at a formative time in my development.
I once dated a girl from Caledonia and doing so meant often I would find myself driving alone across Six Nations at night. Every so often, a pickup truck would be driving along behind me and I would tense up as my brain automatically conjured the image of a gang of ‘angry kids from the reserve’ looking to fight.
Truths are revealed through the things you fear. I never understood the anger when I was younger. I do now.
I have to face that truth about myself and find a way to reconcile it with my desire to be all the things I love about my cultural identity and Canada. I truly believe we are a good country, filled to the brim with good people who care for each other and want to live in peace.
So, how do I begin to do the work of unravelling the myth of the ‘angry kid from the reserve’? It starts by listening and paying attention to the stories and history of the community I live in, and gaining perspective on what life was like for those kids, and how indifferent society was to their plight. It begins by digging a little deeper and understanding that if there were ‘angry kids from the reserve’ around when I was younger, their anger was based on real pain, and loss, and frustration, and it’s on me to understand that.
I think being Canadian in 2021 means I can accept that and begin to move forward with a new mindset, and be open to further changes, while at the same time still being furious that the Montreal Canadiens took out the Leafs in round one of the Stanley Cup Playoffs this year, while rage-texting Tim Hortons to bring back the Walnut Crunch already, and annoying my girlfriend with yet another beer-fueled rendition of ‘The Log Driver’s Waltz’.
It’s been a crazy two years. From the onset of COVID-19 to today, we have lived through a whirlwind of clashing opinions and cultural division on a scale we haven’t seen in our lifetimes, but through it all, universal truths remain – being polite to your neighbour is still in style, and even if we have some work to do as a nation and a dark history to reconcile, being Canadian is still something to be proud of.
