"She called me a capitalist scumbag."

"She makes snide comments about my Mexican immigrant maid."

"She hides it, and calls us friends, but I know the truth, she hates us all."

"Because we're beautiful."

I don't hate Americans; I have many American friends. I liked them enough that I married one for a while. Woke up in a red satin Las Vegas hotel room with a splitting headache and a ring on my finger.

Hate's not a big part of the Canadian national character. So why is it that we've chosen, as a common target, the biggest, fastest, most powerful and good intentioned empire that ever strode the face of the Earth?

Beset by internal divisiveness that we're doing our best to smooth out in a non-violent and understanding manner, it's natural to want a big pillowy target. Accept the First Nations. Accept the French. Accept the Asians. Even accept the Albertans! But please, we need somebody to hate! Thank God for the Americans! Thank God for a neighbor so rich, so huge, that even the collected hate of an entire race couldn't raise a boil on his backside.

Give us something nice at Christmas, Uncle Sam. Keep bombarding us with McDonalds and Wal-Mart. Assimilate our hockey teams and the Mounties. Flood our teevees with your programs and our newspapers with your politics.

We'll go on resenting you, which will keep puzzling you, and go on accepting whatever you bestow. We'll keep hating you, Uncle Sam, like a courtesan with a rich sleazy patron, because you've given us a nice lifestyle and all the strings that go with it. Cultural identity is one thing. Convenience is another.

© Gabrielle Taylor 1997-2001. All rights reserved. Contact: gtaylor@hypercube.org