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While the neighborhood
seems similar,
the next-door neighbors
are strikingly different.
Editor's Note: As Americans celebrate their nation's birthday, we asked writer Karynne Naftolin, a Canadian by birth, to speak of her experience as a part of the
huddled masses and the differences between local color and local colour.
n the surprisingly lengthy list (created,
edited and maintained by me) titled,
"Facts About Canada that Americans
Have No Clue About," sits a piece of
Canadian broadcasting policy that
stipulates 35 percent of all music aired
each week on Canadian radio stations must be of
Canadian origin (i.e., written by a Canadian, sung by a
Canadian, etc.).
According to the Media Awareness Network — an
Ottawa-based media literacy nonprofit organization,
the "Canton" rules, as the content regulations are
dubbed, were "devised to stimulate Canada's cultural
production by ensuring greater exposure for Canadian
artists in Canada's marketplace."
To this day, I am uncertain how my immersion in
Canadian culture was enhanced by being forced to
listen to Corey Hart, Bryan Adams and Celine Dion 35
percent of the time; but, apparently, the effort failed
— at least on me, since it has been three years since
my husband and I, who were both born and raised in
Toronto, renounced our allegiances to foreign princes,
potentates and states and vowed that we would take up
arms for the United States should it become necessary.
On July 1, 2009, one year after I became an American
citizen, my email inbox was flooded with links sent by
friends and relatives to a New York Times article titled,
"Our True North." In honor of Canada Day (that's
Canada's birthday — July 1 for those unfamiliar), the
Times asked 11 Canadian expatriates residing in the
United States what they miss most about Canada.
One of the people interviewed happened to be my first
cousin, who replied that what she missed most was the
"Li" in color.
Tickled to see my cousin's quote in the paper, and
amused by her flippant, four-word response, I won-
dered what my answer might have been if the New York
Times had approached me.
Butter tarts undoubtedly would have figured promi-
nently in my response (if you don't know what one of
these deliciously gooey, oozy baked treats is, drive to
Windsor immediately and get one!). Or party sand-
wiches, although those may be specific to Toronto. For
those unfamiliar with the crust-less, savory delicious-
ness that is a party sandwich, imagine a heartier version
of the English tea sandwich. Of course, Strub's pickles
and Western Creamery cottage cheese would make the
list. I quickly began to realize that my stomach actually
missed Canada more than my heart or my mind did.
It also dawned on me that the list of things that I was
happy to leave behind in Canada was at least as long as
what I missed. Don't get me wrong; I am proud to have
been born and raised a Canadian. I believe there are
wonderful (even non-gastronomically speaking) things
about Canada. For example, in my decidedly nonscien-
tific opinion, and perhaps exacerbated by a decade of
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I ItED MAD
living in one of the most racially segregated cities in the
Uniteti States, I-believe that the racial divide is far less
profound in Canadian cities than in American cities (at
least the ones I've lived in).
As we approach the month in which both the United
States and its good friend to the north celebrate their
respective birthdays, I got to thinking about my own
path to American citizenship and why it is that I cher-
ish my new passport — and the benefits that come with
it — so much.
As a child, and even as a young adult, I felt no partic-
ular desire to emigrate. The daughter and granddaugh-
ter of Canadian immigrants (my maternal grandparents
were born in Poland; my mother, in Germany), I had
the privilege of being born in a free, democratic country,
where I was well educated and afforded opportunities
that my preceding generations only could have dreamed
about.
And yet, on a steamy summer morning in 1996, the
very day of my first wedding anniversary, my husband,
Eric, and I stuffed all our worldly possessions into a
U-Haul and headed east on the New York State Thru-
way to Boston for grad school, a noble reason to make a
temporary move; and, yes, we truly believed at the time
that it was temporary because, when you're Canadian,
you don't really think seriously about living elsewhere.
Growing up in Toronto, Canadian kids like me talked
about "the States" with an equal mixture of disdain and
awe, much in the same way teenage girls talk about the
captain of the cheerleading squad — they can't stand
her, but my, oh my, how they want to be her.
Backpacking in Europe and elsewhere in the world,
Canadian travelers make sure to emblazon the Cana-
dian flag prominently on their gear — hoping not to be
mistaken for (who are, in their perception) arrogant,
rude Americans.
While I have certainly encountered my fair share of
Americans who have not failed to disappoint (see afore-
mentioned traits), I find it both hilarious and ironic
that anyone could believe those negative characteristics
are unique to citizens of the United States.
And while it has, at times, been difficult for me to
put my finger on exactly what it is that made me want
not only to remain in the U.S. but become a full-fledged
citizen — at the cost of many thousands of dollars, years
without permission to work in this country and the
gripping fear that struck every time we approached a
border crossing — certain experiences do provide clarity
about why becoming an American was such a seminal
event in my life.
A few weeks ago, I watched the entirety of the United
States Congress jump to its collective feet and wel-
come Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu with
thunderous applause. I instantaneously knew why my
instinct was to throw my lot in with the Yanks. Ameri-
cans get it. This was not a polite reception for a foreign
leader, or, as some have said, a nod to Jewish voters as
an election nears. It was the visceral reaction of a coun-
try that celebrates liberty over everything.
It was a depth of reaction I doubt ever could be
elicited in Canada, not because I think Canadians
dislike either Israel or the idea of liberty but because
the ideals of freedom and self-determination are not
woven into the fabric of the country the way they are in
the United States. With the best of intentions, Canadian
law places limits on free speech in order to deter hate —
limits to free speech that would be deemed
unacceptable and unconstitutional here.
Three years ago, at my naturalization ceremony, I
was acutely aware that mine was not the Ellis Island
experience to which so many American Jews can trace
their roots. I was not fleeing a life of subjugation and
poverty, the way my not-too-distant relatives had, for
the Goldene Medina. It was a very moving experience ...
but the tears that welled up in my eyes in that Detroit
courthouse were not for myself but for those I stood
shoulder to shoulder with, many from countries where
the freedoms granted in both the United States and
Canada are not constitutionally protected.
My husband and I often say that the greatest gift we
could have given our children is American citizenship,
and when I see my sons recite the Pledge of Allegiance,
my heart swells with pride. Especially when my young-
est says, hand over his heart and with as much earnest-
ness as a 5-year-old can muster: "and to the republicans
for which it stands?'
God bless America and Canada — and keep both our
lands glorious and free. RT
-1 It's not as if Canadians dislike the idea of liberty,
but the ideals of freedom and self-determination
are not woven into the fabric of the country the
way they are in the United States.
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