But that’s kind of the point. When something genuinely authored appears, it feels like an exception. Quietly released. Modestly promoted. Quickly absorbed into the library as proof that the system works. One spark held up as evidence of a functioning engine. An exception is not a strategy. What bothers me about the “proudly Canadian” line isn’t nationalism — I dearly want Canadian companies to succeed. It’s that we’ve slowly replaced ambition with branding. We’ve come to believe that ownership equals contribution, that compliance equals creativity, and that saying the word “Canadian” often enough will somehow conjure culture out of thin air. Pride is supposed to follow effort. Authorship. Risk. Skin in the game. What Crave is proud of, whether they admit it or not, is their place inside a protected ecosystem — one that limits competition, circulates public and quasi-public money, and asks very little in return beyond meeting minimum requirements. That may be good business. But let’s not confuse it with cultural leadership. If public support is part of the equation — and it is — then outcomes matter. Not intentions. Not slogans. Not how warmly the ad copy smiles at us. Until we stop mistaking regulation for creativity and paperwork for patriotism, we’ll keep funding access to other people’s culture — and congratulating ourselves for it. Canadian in name only.
T here’s a Crave ad running right now that leans hard on the phrase “proudly Canadian.” It’s delivered with that familiar, earnest tone — the one that suggests questioning it would be vaguely unpatriotic, or at least bad manners. I keep watching it and thinking: what, exactly, are you proud of here? Crave is a streaming service. It doesn’t build cars or planes or even TV sets. It doesn’t manufacture culture so much as warehouse it. And most of what’s on those shelves — the shows people actually sign up for — was conceived, written, cast, and proven in the United States. So when Crave says “proudly Canadian,” they’re not talking about creation. They’re talking about paperwork. They’re Canadian in the way a holding company is Canadian: incorporated here, regulated here, protected here. Owned by Bell. Overseen by the CRTC. Operating inside a system designed to keep foreign competitors at bay while guaranteeing domestic incumbents a seat at the table. And yes — before anyone jumps in — Bell does receive public money. Directly, through broadband and infrastructure programs. Indirectly, through regulatory privileges that carry enormous monetary value. This isn’t a conspiracy; it’s just how
the system works. We’ve decided, as a country, that telecoms are quasi-public utilities, and we treat them accordingly. Which makes the slogan harder to swallow, not easier. Because what are we getting for that support? A platform whose flagship appeal is access to HBO. Showtime. Prestige American television that already succeeded elsewhere. The Canadian contribution isn’t risk or authorship — it’s middle-manning. Licensing. Compliance. Now, to be fair — and because I always prefer to argue honestly — there are flashes of real Canadian authorship on Crave. Heated Rivalry is a good example. It’s unapologetically Canadian, aimed at a real audience, and not pretending to be Los Angeles content with a maple leaf sticker slapped on it.
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