“Banal” Nationalism: America, Canada and Quebec

Henry Srebrnik, [Charlottetown, PEI] Guardian

Why has the United States been able to inculcate a sense of nationhood in its citizenry in ways that Canadians can only envy?

I’d like to address this by comparing two songs, written at about the same time: “The City of New Orleans,” by Steve Goodman, and “Canadian Railroad Trilogy,” by Gordon Lightfoot. Both deal with the important role railways have played in shaping the two countries.

The American song, composed in 1972, is about “the train they call The City of New Orleans,” as it travels down through the heart of the country from Chicago to the Gulf of Mexico.

It is rather sad, because it laments the passing of passenger rail travel: “This train's got the disappearing railroad blues.” But this somewhat melancholy and nostalgic song resonates with Americans and reminds them of their history.

Lightfoot’s song, by contrast, is upbeat: written for Canada’s centennial in 1967, it describes the building of the Canadian Pacific Railway in the late 19th century.

“For there was a time in this fair land when the railroad did not run,” sings Lightfoot. But those who would build “this mighty land” were not daunted: “For they looked in the future and what did they see. They saw an iron road running from sea to the sea.”

So why do Lightfoot’s lyrics not have the same ability as do Goodman’s to inculcate a spirit of nationhood? They are certainly just as well written, the melody just as beautiful.

The answer is simple. The song speaks only to English Canada, and might as well be a foreign tune to most francophone Québécois. And therein lies the problem.

Apropos Quebec nationalism: I drove from Charlottetown to Montreal and then on to Toronto last spring, taking the route through New Brunswick and then along the Saint Lawrence River.

Quebec is truly its own nation. Most highway numbers are distinct to the province. For example, the main east-west artery, route 20, becomes the 401 as it enters Ontario. (American interstates retain the same number from one end to the other.) As one nears Quebec City, one is informed that this is the “national capital region.”

Also interesting are the weather maps in many of the smaller provincial French-language newspapers: they show only Quebec, rather than Canada. In the rest of Canada, the illustrations are of the entire country, at the very least, and sometimes even all of North America.

Another thing that struck me: on downtown office buildings, hotels, and other major sites in Montreal, there are usually three flags flying side by side, with the Quebec one in the middle, and the Canadian and American ones on either side of it -- even though protocol dictates that a national flag, not that of a sub-jurisdiction, should be placed in the centre.

Also, by having the Canadian and American flags on each side of the fleur-de-lis, Quebec announces, in a subtle way, that these are two friendly (but equally foreign?) neighbours.

You would never see an Ontario flag on the middle pole, with a Canadian maple leaf and an American stars and stripes on either side, in Toronto.

Also, since to name is to claim, many streets that once honoured British officials now pay tribute to francophone politicians – for example, Dorchester Blvd., a main downtown artery, was renamed Blvd. René-Lévesque.

All of these things may seem unimportant on the surface, but they are “signifiers,” elements of what the British social psychologist Michael Billig refers to as “everyday” nationalism.

The thesis of his 1995 study “Banal Nationalism” is that there is a continual “flagging” of nationhood all around us that helps “locate” us politically. This is “so familiar, so continual,” he asserts, “that it is not consciously registered as reminding” and so often goes unnoticed.

The image of banal nationalism “is not a flag which is being consciously waved with fervent passion; it is the flag hanging unnoticed on the public building.”

It is such everyday symbols that socially construct a sense of collective identity – and in Quebec, they are mostly those of the Québécois “homeland,” rather than of the larger federation.

I drove back to Prince Edward Island via Vermont, New Hampshire and Maine – and of course the little towns along the way in most cases flew only the U.S. flag. If a state flag was present, it was on the same flagpole, but smaller and below the American one. The national flag always had pride of place.

No issues of nationhood there!