I’m Not an Alien. I’m Just Canadian.

In the 1920s, Canada had a problem: fears of an American invasion.

Their solution? Defence Scheme No. 1, a pre-emptive battle plan devised by Lieutenant Colonel James “Buster” Sutherland Brown. (Covertly dispatched to Vermont, he observed that his American adversaries were surprisingly affable and harbored a Prohibition-fueled thirst for Canadian beer.)

A century later, tensions are once again flaring. Last month, President-elect Donald Trump threatened a 25 percent tariff on all Canadian goods. And, as a Canadian who’s spent two and a half years navigating the States, I feel struck by the same calling that must have driven Buster.

Consider me a modern-day reconnaissance agent, embedded among Cantabrigians in their natural habitats: Trader Joe’s, bleak General Education classes, and brain breaks. My verdict? Americans have no idea what Canada really is.

Look no further than Harvard’s campus, where Canadians exist in a bizarre liminal space: too familiar to be intriguing, yet just foreign enough to prompt weird questions. We blend in seamlessly until someone hears us pronounce “pasta” or “been” (or, God forbid, “garburator”), and suddenly our Canadian identity is revealed.

“What’s poutine like?” “Imagine still having a monarch…” “Why is your milk in a bag?” And we answer politely, while calculating whether it’s worth explaining the metric system or that Toronto is not, in fact, a province.

The real insult, however, is Harvard’s course catalog. A search for “Canada” yields a paltry 11 results, including a course featuring Geoffrey Canada (great guy, different Canada).

By comparison, Brazil boasts 32 results, and Turkey gets 13 if you chuck in results for Ottoman too. Among G7 nations, Canada ranks dead last in Harvard course search results. That’s on par with lowly Australia, which is basically just a distant, warmer, and less populated Canada.

Despite these meager academic offerings, Canadians are only growing more ubiquitous on campus. In the class of 2027, 44 Canadians were admitted. By 2028, that number skyrocketed to 78. Look to your left. Look to your right. Do this 10 times, and odds are you’ll spot someone daydreaming of the Great White North. At this rate, we’ll eclipse the American portion of the student body by 2030.

But misconceptions about Canada aren’t limited to the ivory tower. The right imagines us as a socialist hellscape where Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau — Fidel Castro’s long-lost son — confiscates guns, bans free speech, and doles out low-quality universal healthcare while euthanizing so-called free thinkers en masse.

And the left, who periodically threaten to escape northward when things don’t go their way, sees us as an aspirational utopia where guns, capitalism, and anything remotely resembling freedom have long gone extinct.

Neither depiction is accurate. Canada is largely a normal, functional country with more coastline than every other nation combined.

So how can Americans better understand their sparsely-populated northern neighbor? Perhaps Harvard, the People’s University, is the perfect place to start. It’s time we offer courses like “What Aboot Canada, Eh?” or “Garrison Mentality: Examining U.S.-Canada Relations.”

If courses aren’t your thing, do not fear — there are plenty of ways to get your Canada fix. Watch Vancouverite YouTuber J.J. McCullough, road trip to the Maritimes with friends, or try sneaking across the northern border (brush up on your curling slang to blend in). In fact, you might have already accidentally befriended a Canadian — they’re the one who walks into Dunkin’ and wistfully asks for a double-double.

Of course, there’s always plan B: annexation. The US could easily become the 11th province. Consider the perks — mediocre universal healthcare, territorial contiguity with Alaska, and hockey rivalries that actually make sense. Sure, you’d have to give up gallons for liters and Fahrenheit for Celsius, but isn’t that a small price to pay for cultural enlightenment?

Don’t worry, we’ll even throw in some Timbits.

Isaac R. Mansell ’26, a Crimson Editorial editor, is an Economics concentrator in Kirkland House and a nonresident alien authorized to work.