Illustration by Christine Wei
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My sister and I became Canadian citizens when we were in our teens. Though we weren’t required to take a test at that age, our mother still made us study the citizenship guide and grilled us on sample questions that would have stumped most people born here.
I was nervous. Was cattle farming more important than lumber or cheese? Was Canada a constitutional monarchy, a federal democracy or a dictatorship? I knew it wasn’t the latter, but the rest… I wasn’t sure, so I just memorized the whole thing.
We brought the required papers to a scheduled interview – social insurance number, birth certificate, landed immigrant status – and my mother made us take our report cards to prove we were straight-A students, just in case. A citizenship officer asked us a few questions then verified that all was in order. There wasn’t the pomp and circumstance of a formal citizenship ceremony, but it was an important day, nonetheless. My mum made us a special Canadian dinner – steak, Sheriff mashed potatoes with Green Giant peas – and framed our new certificates. We all felt very patriotic.
In Canada I found hard work, but also hope
I never told my friends. They had no clue what my status had been before, or what it was now, and that was fine with me. The name of the game was to blend in, not draw attention to anything that made me different. But I was proud I could finally say I was Canadian, if asked.
My teacher at the time was an American named Kelly Green. He felt Canada was the best country on Earth, a place of extraordinary natural beauty, exceptional freedoms and honourable values. His wife was Indigenous and visited our classroom occasionally to teach us about her heritage and traditions. But it was Mr. Green who taught us that the explorers were actually colonizers, that there‘d been a rich history in our land prior to their arrival, and that there were many here who suffered inequities, even atrocities, as a result. We discussed national news and he introduced us to Canadian authors like W. O. Mitchell and Farley Mowat, but also Joy Kogawa and Gabrielle Roy. Critical thinking not bound by conformism was his mantra.
Mr. Green gave us journals that we wrote in daily. On one occasion, his prompt was “talk about something that made you proud.” Knowing only he would see it, I wrote about becoming a citizen and being relieved to belong after feeling like an outsider for so long. The next day, he asked me to stay after class – the kiss of death for any teen. With a huge grin, he said, “Your entry was wonderful. I’m so happy you and Canada have chosen each other. This is a big deal.” He handed me two books with such pride, I squirmed. One was Pierre Berton’s Why We Act Like Canadians. A compilation of personal letters to an American friend on what defines our national character, it had taught him a lot about his adopted country. The other was a copy of that year’s Writer’s Market, signed, “With confidence and hope.” He said I had a great future ahead of me.
The Canadian Dream is colder than I expected it to be
Mr. Green’s wife gave birth to their first child that year. He was thrilled his son was Canadian and spoke to us about what it meant to be a good citizen – whether born here or not – reminding us of our civic duty to shape and improve things for all. He warned us never to take democracy for granted, calling it the sine qua non of freedom. When we looked at him, confused, he wrote three words on the board in his bold cursive script: “Without which, not.”
In his view, Canada was “God’s country,” a beacon of light for the free world. And when he said it was a place you could do whatever you put your mind to, I believed him. I learned over time, it doesn’t work that way for everyone. Canada’s a complex mosaic, a wonderful work-in-progress with far to go. No country is perfect – each is ever-evolving. But during my career in government, I was fortunate to see the breadth and scope of our country’s economic, geopolitical and human diversity and to work on critical initiatives, including humanitarian and international crises. Through it all, I often remembered Kelly Green’s words and felt proud to be working for my province and country on issues that mattered to many.
I never imagined Canadians would be thinking so much about sovereignty, about how much we love this place and how fiercely we must protect it, but here we are. I know there are many pressing issues currently, both domestic international, that must be addressed. But I also know that Canadian sovereignty is primordial at this time – the sine qua non of our moment.
Mr. Green likely strayed from the curriculum, but he was a courageous and inspiring educator. I think back on that year as magical and revelatory. In these troubled times, I’m grateful, not just for the gifts he gave me in honour of my newfound citizenship, but for the insights he shared with us all. As an American who saw what made this country so unique and precious, he made a class full of teenagers better Canadians.
Shirley Phillips lives in Toronto.