An Ode to Canada Day: From Fireworks to Fracture, and a Hope for Renewal

There was a time—not long ago, but it feels like a distant memory now—when Canada Day was magic. As kids, we’d wake up with excitement, toss on red-and-white shirts, and head to local parks where the government would roll out free events like clockwork. There were bouncy castles, concerts on makeshift stages, kids waving flags with sticky fingers from melted popsicles, and yes—always fireworks. Always. You could count on that final skyward explosion to bring a whole city to its feet, united in awe and celebration.

Canada Day used to feel simple. Not perfect—but simple.

Now, the day arrives heavy with questions. Do we cancel it? Do we celebrate it? Who gets to decide? What used to be a national birthday bash has turned into something more fraught. It’s a day under review—examined, protested, mourned, and sometimes still celebrated, but never again in that innocent, unifying way we once knew.

Let’s not pretend we didn’t have blind spots growing up. We did. Many of us were taught a curated version of Canada’s history that polished the edges, that skipped over or minimized the deeply painful experiences of Indigenous peoples. Residential schools were a footnote, if that. Colonization was framed as discovery. The flags waved over our heads, and we didn’t always stop to ask what they meant to everyone.

But now we know more—and we must face that. The unmarked graves. The trauma. The systemic inequities that persist. There’s no celebrating the erasure of Indigenous culture, the breaking of treaties, the ongoing social and economic injustices.

And yet—Canada Day shouldn’t be cancelled. Not because we want to ignore the past, but because we should use it to reflect on it. A day that once was only for fireworks and family photos now has a heavier, more meaningful role to play. It can’t be just about the good anymore, and it shouldn’t be. But neither should it be only about the pain.

Canada Day should be a mirror—where we look at who we are, what we’ve done, and what we still must become.

Yes, it’s harder now. Events are disrupted. Protesters are loud. Some politicians lean into performative patriotism while others shy away from the day entirely, unsure of how to handle its complexity. The once-unquestioned festivities are now caught in the crosshairs of a national identity crisis.

But here’s the thing: that tension is necessary. Uncomfortable, yes—but vital.

Because if this country is going to be worth celebrating at all, it has to be built on truth. Real truth. Truth that doesn’t excuse or ignore. That doesn’t paper over injustice with fireworks and face paint. A Canada Day that begins with a land acknowledgement, includes time for silence or ceremony, and then opens into celebration—that’s a Canada Day that can carry the weight of its past and still inspire hope for its future.

Let’s bring back the music, the laughter, the kids playing tag in the grass. Let’s bring back the joy—but not at the cost of erasing what we’ve learned. Let’s add space for grief and learning, for storytelling, for cultural exchange. Let’s fund Indigenous-led Canada Day events. Let’s teach kids not just to wave flags, but to understand why the land beneath them matters, and who was here first.

Canada Day doesn’t have to be either/or. It can be both/and. Both a celebration and a day of reflection. Both a time to come together and a time to reckon with our past. Because the truth is, we need each other more than ever.

This land has held centuries of history, joy, pain, perseverance, and renewal. It is complex—just like the people who call it home.

So this Canada Day, don’t cancel it. Don’t ignore it either. Don’t gloss it over with Instagrammable moments or bury it in rage. Mark it—honestly, humbly, and hopefully. Remember what it once was. Imagine what it could still be.

And maybe—just maybe—meet your neighbour at the park, stay for the fireworks, and look up at the sky with a little more awareness, a little more gratitude, and a whole lot more purpose.