I have not written anything for a while; but … My Internet is down, so instead of surfing the digital waves this is an opportunity not to surf and put finger to keyboard.
I was talking to a friend about illegal immigration. My friend was complaining about immigrants by-passing the system and getting entry into Canada. Getting across the border and asking for refugee status. This may well be legal and though it does an end run around the more systematic application processes that are in place in the various countries around the world.
I was born in Canada, but conceived elsewhere. My Mum was a recent immigrant to Canada. So, what makes me Canadian? My geographical place of birth? There are countries that exclude this happenstance type of event. Similarly, I likely could apply for European Union citizenship because of the lottery of my parent’s nationality; other than holidays I have never lived in Europe. Does this make sense?
Is it the ritual of stamping of papers and issuing of identity cards and certificates that make me a Canadian? It is almost magical, some bureaucratic shaman in some passport office deems me Canadian. Some fifty-five years ago this was more or less chosen for me. I was to go on a school trip to Switzerland. I needed a passport. All my sentient life up to that point had been in England. I felt English, although my name is far from English or Commonwealth. My first language was not English. Many of my traditions were not English. It was just way easier to get a Canadian passport than a British one. At the tender age of twelve I went down the path of being Canadian.
Fast forward twenty years I return to Canada. Do I feel pride in being Canadian? Why would I? I have never participated in anything that makes Canada a wonderful place to live. Similarly, I don’t really feel guilt in the actions that our Canadian ancestors participated in with respect to the First Nations people. These past actions also made Canada a wonderful place to live. At least for some people. Here I must state I don’t have a good sense of the trials and tribulations they have faced in Canada during my tenure here and before. But I have no problem with trying to redress the issues materially and symbolically.
All this preamble brings me to the point. What rights do I have to live in Canada compared to say a First Nations person? Or what about my neighbours of European heritage who can trace back some of their ancestors in Canada a couple centuries or more? What about a person who skipped across the border last week? If we analysed this person’s DNA we will see the person is human, we will likely be able to trace their lineage back some. But then we can all trace our lineages back and collectively if we go back far enough to somewhere in Africa, a good starting point for Homo Sapiens. Should we all go back to where we came from?
The patterns of atoms that make up our DNA are similar to one another. The atoms of carbon, hydrogen, oxygen and nitrogen that make me or an alleged illegal immigrant are identical to all intents and purposes.
My friend argues that the illegal immigration is not sustainable. He may well be right. If we stem the illegal immigrants in their home country is that sustainable? It certainly becomes an SEP (somebody else’s problem).
Who has more right to be in Canada:
- A First Nations person whose ancestry likely goes back more than twenty thousand years?
- A European Canadian whose ancestors, for better or worse, shaped Canada into what it is today?
- Or someone who just popped across the border last week, looking for a better life?
When we speak of these rights, again are speaking of these magical documents, or perhaps with a squiggle of ink by knowledgeable representatives? I am not claiming to know the answers; but I do think the answers to these problems are not straightforward. I hope when we discuss these things, we are honest with ourselves. What we are doing is protecting our lifestyles and not worrying about the other.
Ultimately, the question I am asking how these rights on a piece of paper are bestowed on one person and not another.
rom's corner 