The gift shop in the North Atlantic Aviation Museum in Gander, Newfoundland, sells a T-shirt emblazoned with the numbers nine and 11. The ones evoke the twin towers of the World Trade Center and are shaded in with flags: one American, one Canadian. Below is written “Beyond Words,” and below that “Gander – Canada.”
It’s a jarring image to encounter so far from ground zero. Gander sits some 1,100 miles northeast by air of New York City, yet the attacks that happened 25 years ago on Friday hit this tiny slice of Canada profoundly. When the airspace over the United States was shut down that day, 38 passenger planes that were in transit over the Atlantic landed here, nearly doubling the population of the town in a few short hours. Residents rallied and housed and fed close to 7,000 stranded and scared passengers over the following days. It was — and remains — an inspiring show of unconditional generosity and support from one country toward its closest ally in a time of crisis. The tale was even turned into a Tony Award-winning musical, “Come From Away.”
Things feel very different today. I landed in Newfoundland just as news broke that Prime Minister Mark Carney had pulled out of tariff negotiations with the United States, later telling reporters, “You’re at war when you’re attacked, and we got attacked.” The good will and unity celebrated in Gander suddenly seemed a distant relic.
President Trump’s trade war with America’s northern neighbor has produced innumerable headlines on Canadian rage — compelling because they are so at odds with Canada’s reputation for being nice. Canadians are famous for starting sentences with “sorry.” But nice is too often mistaken for being easygoing, and Canadians have not taken Mr. Trump’s insults lightly. And while the anger is real, Canadian feelings toward the States are more complicated than the rage narrative suggests.
Perhaps no place captures the unique, lopsided intensity of this relationship, nor the strange turn it’s taken, like Gander. These days, instead of Americans seeking shelter, the people in Gander have been encountering, according to almost everyone I spoke with, an entirely new phenomenon: apologizing Americans.
No one comes to Gander accidentally. The town is in the northeastern part of the province of Newfoundland, which is so far east into the North Atlantic that it occupies its own time zone: one hour and a half ahead of Eastern Standard Time. Gander’s airport, a marvel of midcentury architecture, was once the largest in the world. Before jet travel advanced to longer-haul flights, planes routinely landed there to refuel, and the airport hosted a glamorous array of stars including Marilyn Monroe, James Dean, Elvis Presley, Albert Einstein and Muhammad Ali.
These days there are only about five daily flights into Gander. The more reliable way to arrive is to drive the more than three hours up from the provincial capital, St. John’s, along the Trans-Canada Highway, past signs for towns with names like Come By Chance and Little Heart’s Ease and glimpses of the ocean along the wild Newfoundland coast. I was cautioned not to make the trip at night for fear of hitting a moose.
Even on a Saturday afternoon in August, the height of tourist season, Gander evinces a drowsy small-town energy. On Sundays, locals congregate at Rosie’s Restaurant and Bakery, which serves both a Jiggs dinner, a traditional Newfoundland boiled meal of salted beef and vegetables, and a cookie called Moose Farts. The arts and culture center is home to an annual production of “Come From Away,” which draws visitors from across Canada and around the world. Each year the town commemorates Sept. 11, a bigger event this year because of the 25th anniversary. Local schoolchildren are part of the production.
Size notwithstanding, Gander has long been more accustomed to taking in people from “away” than many other places. In addition to the town’s history as a fuel stopover, its residents have assisted stranded passengers on other, less storied occasions.
During my weekend there, at the height of trade war talk, there remained no question that the citizens of Gander would still be willing to help Americans in a time of crisis.
“We would probably do the same thing,” said Brian Day, who works as a porter at Sinbad’s Hotel. On Sept. 11, he was working at the KFC, where he spent 22 straight hours making food for the stranded passengers. “You help your fellow man. Newfies are good people,” he said, using a nickname for Newfoundlanders. “We would treat a stranger like we knew them all our lives.”
“Trump is a bully,” Mr. Day added. “Time for him just to go away.” I heard versions of Mr. Day’s comments from those who had been teenagers and adults, and even babies, that day: It’s the president, not the people.
“I don’t think people have anything against people from America,” Amanda MacPherson told me as I was waiting at the theater to buy a ticket to that night’s performance of “Come From Away.” Ms. MacPherson was a teenager in 2001. She helped turn her high school into a temporary shelter and served stranded passengers food for days.
Canadians may have an easier time than citizens of other countries separating Americans from their government. That’s partly because many Canadians, until this administration at least, spent a lot of time in the States. A short list of reasons to cross the border (used to) include: grocery shopping, visiting family, sports events. There’s also the television connection: Canadians get their American TV through local affiliates. As a child growing up in southern Ontario, where more than a third of the country’s population lives, I had a strangely extensive knowledge of Buffalo.
Even so, Canadians were not quite prepared for the sudden change among Americans now landing in their midst.
Charlotte Brown, who works at a coffee shop and is too young to remember Sept. 11, told me it’s not unusual these days for visitors from the States to lead with something like: “I’m American. I promise I’m not with them. I’m so sorry. It’s not our fault.” Brooke Gidge and Tamara Oxford, who were working the desk at the Gander Information Center when I arrived, confirmed the “American apology tour” was now the norm.
It’s a strange experience for Canadians, citizens of a country accustomed to being left out of America’s perception of itself and of history. Despite the close cultural and physical ties, America’s general obliviousness toward its northern neighbors has long been a source of exasperation, frustration, insecurity, identity crises and comedy. (Though it’s doubtful even Canada’s long-running satire show “This Hour Has 22 Minutes” or “South Park” in its “Blame Canada” heyday could have dreamed up “Lake America.”) Canadians, despite fighting heroically alongside the Americans and the British on D-Day, helping rescue Americans during the Iran hostage crisis and joining the U.S. forces in Afghanistan, are rarely noted in America’s retelling of these events.
If Mr. Trump has turned America into a nation of apologizers, he’s also making it an object of pity for the next generation of Canadians — a far more dangerous emotion in the long run than rage.
“I feel sorry for all the young women who have to live there,” said Ms. Oxford, referring to women’s shrinking reproductive rights in the United States. For Ms. Oxford and Ms. Gidge, who were both born after Sept. 11, the date has become a historical footnote. (“It’s big for the older generation,” Ms. Oxford told me with a shrug.) They have spent more than half their lives next door to an America dominated by Mr. Trump, she said: “Last summer you guys had fires, and we were the first people to send over aid, and now you’re complaining about the Canadian wildfire smoke.”
It’s a reflection of how diminished the idea of America has become outside its borders. While older Canadians have stronger memories of a different United States, and sometimes seem to be operating under the belief (or hope) that bygone America will return after Mr. Trump’s term ends, the younger people I talked to in Gander have no such experience to return to.
These days expectations have begun to shift: Americans are moving into a future where they will have to earn the good will that used to come so easily. That’s as true in Gander as it is elsewhere in Canada.
But Ms. Gidge still extended a hand. “If you actually respect our country,” she said, “and you’re kind and talking to us, we would, in my opinion, love to have you.”
Glynnis MacNicol is a contributing Opinion writer. She is the author of “I’m Mostly Here to Enjoy Myself.”
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