The Long, Strange, Psychosexual History of Canada and the United States

Things have been good for ages, America. Don't make it weird again.

From the beginning of the United States, and for a century and a half, Americans cast covetous eyes north. Sometimes they did more than look.

In 1775, in the earliest days of the American Revolution — or as we Canadian monarchists know it, the First Slave-Owners Rebellion — Americans invaded Quebec to bring liberation and hook up with French girls. They promptly left with frostbite, bullet holes, and the clap. The US Marine Corps was founded that same year, in part to capture Halifax, a plan apparently abandoned when American scouts slipped into Halifax and discovered Haligonians are much too nice to shoot.

During the War of 1812, the United States launched three invasions of Canada. One ended in the British capture of Detroit, which Britain returned over American protests. The other two were as impressive as the first. Our side also burned Washington DC, including the first United States Capitol building, which, I believe, makes us the original January 6 patriots. We await pardons and the Presidential Medal of Freedom.

A side note for my American friends: The standard story told to American schoolchildren about the War of 1812 — a successful rebuff of British power that confirmed American independence — is a tale that would make Baghdad Bob groan. In 1812, the British Empire was locked in a titanic struggle with Napoleon so your leaders thought they could do a quick smash-and-grab while Britannia was distracted. It is a “mere matter of marching,” insisted rebellious slave-owner Thomas Jefferson. You got nothing from the war but a chance to rebuild DC. Spinning that into a victory is slightly less plausible than Vladimir Putin insisting the war in Ukraine has gone gloriously to plan, but centuries of propaganda are hard to shake. Once, in a pub at Harvard, I explained these facts to a group of America’s most elite students, who looked at me like I’d told them the moon landing was faked.

Having had their hands slapped away repeatedly, Americans then mostly leered at Canada without touching. This was the era of “manifest destiny,” when America was like the horny high school nerd who told all his friends it was only a matter of time before he banged the cheerleader but, to push the metaphor to the breaking point, the cheerleader’s boyfriend had the world’s biggest navy so the sex pest mostly talked smack at school and wanked at home. And kept wanking for the better part of a century.

By the 1890s, the American economy had surpassed Britain’s to become the world’s largest. Like a scrawny high schooler who hits the weights hard and goes from sex pest to horny stud, the United States beat up Spain and screwed Cuba, Puerto Rico, and the Philippines. Consent was not sought because, thought Americans, who wouldn’t be flattered by America’s attention? “While Americans remembered the [Spanish-American War] war as something done for Cubans and expected Cuba to show gratitude,” wrote American historian George C. Herring, “Cubans saw it as something done to them.” That is as much a recurring theme of American history as the duh-duh-duh-DUH is in Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony.

This new imperialism was embodied in the form of Teddy Roosevelt. A dynamo who couldn’t shut up or stop working, Roosevelt embodied America in other important ways, too.

Fun facts for the Americans who recently learned that America built the Panama Canal and who think, therefore, it only makes sense that America own it: What is now Panama was a province of Colombia and in 1903 the US government negotiated a treaty with Colombia to allow the construction of the canal, including a 100-year-lease for the strip of territory the canal would run through. But the Colombians held out for more money. So the US fomented a rebellion in Panama, then signed a treaty with the Panamanian rebel leader for a perpetual lease in exchange for money and a guarantee of Panamanian sovereignty. Thus, if President Trump were to seize the Canal as he has suggested, he would violate not only the 1977 treaty signed by President Jimmy Carter that returned the canal territory to Panama, he would violate the original treaty which was itself the product of a sleazy end-run around the deal before that. That’s a whole lot of violating. Even by Russian standards. It would also violate core international law, much of it drafted and put into force by the United States, but if you say “international law,” Republicans hear “Communism,” so who cares, amirite?

In the first decades of the twentieth century, Americans continued to check out Canada’s cleavage, to return to my already exhausted metaphor, but nothing untoward was attempted. As late as the 1930s, the US military had elaborate plans for war with Britain that included an invasion of Canada. This was "War Plan Red.” It included a surprise attack on Halifax with poison gas, presumably so Haligonians would choke and American soldiers wouldn’t realize they’re too nice to shoot. But we Canadians can’t be too offended by these plans as we had a plan for a pre-emptive invasion of the United States. It was called “Defence Scheme No. 1” — which conclusively proves we Canadians really are more boring than Americans, and, by spelling it “defence,” superior at passive aggression.

But those frictions ebbed as the 20th century proceeded and Americans and Canadians discovered they had much in common, particularly a shared passion for killing Germans. As a result, the relationship changed fundamentally.

Since the end of the Second World War, all that sexual tension is gone.

Canada effectively became America’s little sister, a metaphor I deploy mostly out of a desire to anger my Canadian readers at least as much as the Americans. But also because it’s true. Canada is the little sister mostly ignored but tolerated by her Camaro-driving older brother — who is a bit of a douchebag but he does give Canada the occasional ride to school or the mall. Like most familial relationships, there’s the occasional slammed door, but it works well enough. And on balance we’re both better off for having each other.

Which is a huge improvement on the era of war and wanking.

Canada (L) and the United States (R) in the modern era.

Which brings me to the present, and the occasional American weirdo who still wants to bang Canada. People like Ross Douthat. And that Trump fellow.

What I don’t get about these people is why?

In the 21st century, what would the United States get by making Canada part of the United States? More specifically, what would the US get that it wants and doesn’t already have and cannot otherwise obtain by making a phone call or two? Security? Resources? Hockey players? Native English speakers who insist on spelling it “humour”? Aging monarchists who lose their shit when someone insults Queen Elizabeth?

Canadians being Canadians, we are utterly cooperative on all fronts.

You want our economy to be branch plants and resource extraction overwhelmingly for your benefit? Done! You want to integrate North American air defence? It’s called “NORAD.” We even have pre-clearance in the airports, so when I fly to the States I get grilled by American customs officers in my own country.

You want our best hockey players? Sidney Crosby spent his whole career in bloody Pittsburgh.

And if you really insist, this Canuck will personally undertake a long lecture tour of the United States for the purpose of explaining to Americans why they’re wrong to spell it “humor.” At the end of each lecture I will invite members of the audience to badmouth Her Late Majesty and be punched out.

What more could Americans want?

I still haven’t seen an answer to that simple question. Yesterday in The New York Times, Ross Douthat urged Canada to join the United States. He put his mighty brain to the task of understanding the Canadian psyche, and Canadians’ bizarre reluctance to become American, without offering so much as a syllable in answer to the screamingly obvious question: Why are you talking about fucking your sister, Ross?

The same goes for the incoming president, although the creepy sexual overtones of my metaphor seem like a more natural fit in that particular instance.

Why? That’s the question that matters.

What do the few Americans who want Canada to join the United States hope to get that they can’t already get simply by being polite and refraining from “eh” and “aboot” jokes?

When Elon Musk came to Canada, we Canadians said, “no, Elon, go be magnificent — also loud and insane — in the United States.” You’re welcome, America.

Then we gave you the entrepreneurial genius that is Kevin O’Leary. And we just sent you the towering intellectual awesomeness of Jordan Peterson. You want Connor McDavid in Florida? Let’s talk. (This is my calculated effort to rouse the patriotic ire of Albertans, whose premier is sounding suspiciously like maybe she wouldn’t mind if her older brother made a move. She needs a wellness check. And unemployment.)

It’s all so mystifying. When you have a relationship that works well for all, and has for the better part of a century, why would you even consider changing it? I really don’t get it.

Honestly, my American friends, no Canadian wants to go back to the days of Defence Scheme No. 1., but if you force us, we will.

And, yes, we will spell “defence” with a “c.” To preserve our honour. And keep our colours red and white. As God is my witness, America, we will spell it with a “c.”

Don’t tread on you? OK. Done. But don’t you tread on us, either.

And if you really can’t stop talking about banging your sister, maybe see a therapist.

Postscript: a brief note of assurance for my regular readers.

I am writing far too much about Donald Trump. I know this. I also know that thinking about Donald Trump is slowly driving me mad and I need to spend more time with healthier pursuits, like recreational meth, slap fighting, and staring into the abyss.

In short, I fully intend to write much, much less about Donald Trump in the near future.

Right now, I’m wrapping up the new book (to be flung into the world next October), travelling far more than I want (my itinerary so far in 2025 is Norway, Abu Dhabi, Norway, so it’s a relief that I love pickled herring), and mulling next steps. PastPresentFeature will feature prominently in the latter, I suspect. It’s mostly been a hobby, something I write when procrastinating. But I may make it much more than that. Mulling…

In the meantime, thanks for sticking with me. Especially you wonderful people who pay for something I give away for free. Economists would say you can’t exist. But you do. That makes you a living rebuke to the whole profession, and God knows economists need a good rebuke now and then. Well done, you.