Because they have so few roadblocks or referenda on sovereignty under their belts, many assume that this country’s vibrant Anglo-Canadian community lacks the impassioned national aspirations of their indigenous and French-speaking countrypersons. On the surface, it does seem that the wild and raucous face-paintery of St. Jean Baptiste and the staid, pleasant, conservative firework displays of Canada Day (formerly Dominion Day) are separated by more than the mere week-long gulf between June 24 and July 1.

To many, it seems that “Canadian identity” is nothing more than a fleeting catchphrase on a four-year cycle, appearing either as a federal Liberal policy plank or else at the Olympic Games, as athletes — hand-picked from countries too crippled by debt to produce their own comprehensive Olympic programs — gather around their adoptive maple leaf which represents the national health care system by which all their performance-enhancement needs are covered — though as the case of the Jamaican-born Ben Johnson illustrates, should any foul play come to light, they can be symbolically repatriated faster than you can say “Head tax.”

For years, in a media environment totally bereft of good, WASPy patriotic sentiment (Michael Moore’s ersatz-Canadiana socialism notwithstanding), the Molson family has been as a beacon unto a lost nation. While we’ve been drowned in a sea of American programming like so much privatized water, the “I am Canadian” ad campaign has continued to remind us what makes this country truly great. It’s no surprise that the Molson clan — who, as wealthy, English-speaking Montreal capitalists have bravely resisted the assimilationist tide of French-Canadian nationalism from the Patriotes through to the sponsorship scandal — should become synonymous with the patriotic zeal of the little guy.

Remember Joe, the Canadian? He was “not a lumberjack, or a fur trader, and [he didn’t] live in an igloo or eat blubber, or own a dogsled.” Like the Palestinians and the Cubans, Joe stood up in the face of Yanqui arrogance and espoused the dignity of the wretched of the Earth: “A toque is a hat, a chesterfield is a couch, and it’s pronounced ‘zed,’ not ‘zee’âe¦ ‘ZED’!” Joe’s signing-off line became an instant classic: “My name is Joe, and I am Canadian!”

In the wake of Joe the Canadian, the Molson family brought us other young, white male patriots. There’s the guy who won’t snap his fingers to order a beer because, he explains, flushing the toilet while your roommate is showering just isn’t the Canadian way. And remember the unshaved guy, who was incensed by your suggestion that he drink American beer? “Why don’t I wear Jamaican snowshoes?” he asked snidely, with contempt. Jamaican snowshoes — what’s next, Nicaraguan socialism? “Why don’t I eat a Japanese hot dog?” he scoffed (Actually, to be honest, this one kind of lost me; I assume that, if indeed the Japanese do make hot dogs, they probably come in a variety of colours and neat rectangular shapes).

Well, for those of you emboldened by Molson’s half-true North campaign, this week’s business news bears bad tidings. It seems that the maple leaf wunderkind brewers are very well into merger talks with American brewing giant Coors. At 5:34 p.m. on Monday, the Wall Street Journal online stated that the two brewers had “confirmed that they are in ‘advanced’ merger talks, creating the potential for a North American brewing giant.” Though the idea of Molson and Coors coming together is at first disturbing only to those who enjoy the taste of quality beer, the question of “Canadian Values” must surely arise for all those who’ve looked to Molson to define them in the past.

Coors is another enterprise which has long been synonymous with a certain set of values. The far-right leaning Adolph Coors and his progeny have made the Colorado-based company famous for union busting (the figure tossed around is 19 unions busted in 20 years), environmental devastation and the financing of racist and virulently homophobic politics. The company — which has recently tried to Queer Eye itself to combat the reputation that has made it the centre of massive gay boycott campaigns — is currently trying to distance itself from the anti-gay rights senatorial campaign of one of its board members, Pete Coors. For decades, Coors has been synonymous with corporate America’s grossest transgressions against decency and equality.

When Joe the Canadian told audiences that he “can proudly sew my country’s flag on my backpack, I believe in peacekeeping, not policing, diversity not assimilationâe¦” he made clear that his creators at Molson were attempting to cash in on the kinder, gentler image of Canadian capitalism. Like Paul Martin — who can campaign on “Canadian” values of peace and equality, then govern in line with Washington’s draconian security priorities and participate in plundering adventures in Haiti — Molson has no problem peddling a fake national ethos on the one hand, all the while pursuing cooperation with the most despicable layer of the American ruling class.

In the end, Molson’s national pride might turn out to be just as hollow as the symbols to which its advertising men make reference. A cynic might further point out that any country so desperate for a “national identity” that they allow a major corporation to define it as part of a focus-group tested ad campaign has bigger problems than beer choice; if so, call me a cynic. Besides, everybody knows that real anti-imperialists drink Guiness anyway.