Don Cherry recently announced that, at 91 years old, he’s stepping back from his long-running podcast and the public domain more generally. It’s a milestone moment for a Canadian icon who has been an enduring voice in the country’s cultural and sporting life. It raises a timely question: why hasn’t he been named to the Order of Canada?
His exclusion from the ranks of one of the country’s highest civilian honours is more than just a puzzling oversight. It speaks to something deeper about the evolving character of Canadian society and the persistent gap between our governing class and the people they ostensibly serve.
The Order of Canada, which was created in 1967 to recognize “outstanding achievement, dedication to the community and service to the nation,” has gradually come to reflect the sensibilities of Canada’s cultural industrial complex. It’s too often a consolation prize for obscure bureaucrats, partisan apparatchiks, and forgettable academics. These choices aren’t always without merit. But they’re indicative of a narrow, insular view of Canadian life.
Cherry’s omission in particular is glaring. He was the voice of a generation of Canadian hockey fans. He championed Canadian veterans. He embodied a form of affirmative, positive nationalism that’s resonated with millions of Canadians. If anything, he’s the people’s nominee for the Order of Canada. Appointing him would be a rare instance of the award reflecting the actual tastes and values of ordinary citizens.
There’s a cultural analogue to this dynamic. It’s what I’ve previously called the “Rotten Tomatoes Divide.” Look at film reviews and you’ll often see a yawning gap between critic and audience scores. Critics lean toward indulgent, niche fare. Audiences want something compelling and authentic. The same divide increasingly defines public honours in Canada.
Consider the 2004 CBC miniseries, The Greatest Canadian. Canadians voted on the most significant figures in our history. Cherry came in seventh behind only names like Terry Fox, Frederick Banting, and Pierre Trudeau and ahead of prime ministers, Nobel laureates, and renowned artists.
The gap between that list and the Order of Canada recipients illustrates two different Canadas: one defined by what John Ibbitson and Darrell Bricker famously called the “Laurentian elite,” and the other by the rest of us.
Some may argue that giving Cherry the Order of Canada would be a populist concession. A kind of sop to the Tim Hortons crowd. But that gets it backward. It isn’t a pandering gesture. It’s a substantive recognition of his real contributions to our civic and cultural life.
Cherry has already received honours that reflect these contributions. He was named, for instance, a Dominion Command Honorary Life Member of the Royal Canadian Legion for his “longstanding and unswerving support of… Canadians in uniform.” He’s passionately used his platform to elevate their sacrifices and honour their service.
But for me, Cherry’s most enduring legacy is his vision of Canadian nationalism. It wasn’t cerebral or literary. It was visceral, intuitive, and proud. He never apologized for Canada. He celebrated it.
His nationalism stood in contrast to the defensive, pessimistic strands that have historically shaped elite culture. It wasn’t the parochial anti-Americanism of the Waffle movement. Nor was it the mournful lament of George Grant. Cherry didn’t fear that Canada was being lost. He was proud of what it was—and what it could be.
His was a nationalism of aspiration. An egalitarian belief that Canada was a place where someone like him—a working-class kid from Kingston—could build a life and a legacy. That kind of meritocratic optimism is the foundation for a confident, inclusive patriotism. It speaks to something that resonates with both old-stock and new Canadians.
The Order of Canada has three ranks. A Companion is reserved for “outstanding achievement and merit of the highest degree.” An Officer is for those with “achievement and merit of a high degree.” And a Member is for “distinguished service in or to a particular community, group or field of activity.”
By any of these standards, Cherry qualifies. His decades-long presence on Hockey Night in Canada made him one of the most recognized and influential cultural figures in the country. Add to that his service to veterans, his unique contribution to Canadian nationalism, and his connection to millions of Canadians across generations, and the case becomes unassailable.
Correcting this oversight wouldn’t just be a symbolic act. It would be a meaningful bridge between different parts of Canadian society. Between the Ottawa-Montreal-Toronto corridor and everyone outside it. Between elites and ordinary citizens. Between, if you’ll permit the analogy, critics and audiences.
But, more importantly, it would elevate a form of Canadian nationalism that we ought to affirm: confident, meritocratic, inclusive, and proud. That’s the Canada Cherry has represented. It’s a Canada that deserves a place in our highest honours.
Sean Speer is The Hub's Editor-at-Large. He is also a university lecturer at the University of Toronto and Carleton University, as well…
