My family immigrated to Canada two months before the towers fell in New York. That Tuesday morning, horrible as it was, has become a cultural landmark in more ways than one: a classic “where were you at that moment?” moment. The shock waves generated as the buildings crumbled to the street have been reverberating throughout the world for the last 12 years, with voluminous reasons obvious and cloudy and a breadth and scope that we can scarcely comprehend now — even as we’ve lived through it. But at that time I was too young and naive to truly understand the world would change at all, let alone the way it would change, and how my community, as a Muslim people, would be affected.
There is a concept within Islam termed the Ummah, meaning that as an individual one may enter a brotherhood (and sisterhood) of all believers in God, his apostles and teachings. The word can be loosely translated as ‘nation’ when we place it under terms of human construction: a collective focused towards a singular ideal.
The actual sentiment of the concept was a noble goal. Islam sought to unify the numerous warring tribes, bands and city-states in the Arabian Peninsula that existed then under a supra-national banner, fostering co-operation, acceptance, and peace; not at all dissimilar to the ancestral roots of Christianity or Judaism. However, this construction has the unfortunate side effect of creating a decisive wall between populations — those who believe versus those who do not. And it is this division that has been cherry-picked as the driving principle of modern Islamic extremism.
I’m not an Islamic scholar, nor do I want to turn this article into a puff piece or a religious debate, so I shan’t delve into too many details beyond this one. The term ‘unbelievers’ or ‘disbelievers’ in the Qur’an, is focused on those malicious or willfully antagonistic peoples, but is a handy and useful tool for Islamic anarchists and extremists to recruit agents to their ongoing and unfocused crusade against those that do not buy into their hardline religious interpretation.
This interpretation of ‘enemy agents’ is diffuse and imprecise, even reaching into pools within Islam, triggering pointless sectarian violence. But their scorn is chiefly reserved for the Western world, as they self-identify a right to inflict destruction upon those people they consider to be enemies of their faith.
Unfortunately, this intense distrust of alien cultures is not specific to radicals or moderates, or even Muslims alone. Upon arriving in Canada, I entered high school and was immediately slapped by the almost propagandic insistence that the nation was a melting pot of ideas, influences and cultures, acceptance a guarantee for all.
And I ate it up.
Why wouldn’t I? It’s a big part of the reason why my family came to Canada in the first place. We had the opportunity to have a better life in a society that respected us for who we were. That’s the immigrant’s dream, after all. But despite all the rhetoric about acceptance, inclusiveness and mutual respect, Canada was a far different place in reality than the one we’d been sold.
John Hughes made an empire by giving voice to teenage angst. Probably the most plowed thread in media is that of a kid going to a new school — having to ingratiate themselves into new social circles, learn new customs, hierarchies, what is socially acceptable versus what isn’t.
Immigrating to a new country for myself, especially at such a formative stage, was an intensely alienating experience, but one that wasn’t particularly unique. For immigrants, that experience isn’t limited to high school. It is an ongoing and exhaustive state that persists into adulthood.
As an immigrant you’re perceived as different and treated accordingly. Your accent, your food, your clothing, your appreciation of pop culture, your socio-religious identity — every facet of your personality — is treated with parts fawning curiosity, distrust, disinterest and / or disdain. Even those immigrants awarded citizenship (such as myself) or born in Canada as Canadians, are left needing to continually justify their value.
Much like LGBTQ people, society classifies us as a separate group — we are labeled. We are not allowed to simply be fellow Canadians. At heart, every individual desires to belong, to feel needed or irreplaceable. When confronted with a society that isolates familiarity above all else, it becomes difficult to pop that bubble.
For an immigrant, the choice comes to either sacrifice themselves to join that society, or retreat towards what is familiar, clustering into enclaves that offer safety and acceptance like droplets of water on a leaf. Persistence of a way of life becomes paramount, and then the walls go up.
The explosion regarding the Quebec Soccer Federation’s short-lived ban on turbans and its half-assed justification (fictitious safety concerns) is a perfect illustration. Ignoring allegations of ingrained prejudice and distrust of minority religious doctrines coupled with flat-out protectionism, the response of Quebecers depicts the fundamental schism in thought between sects within the same country.
Take a blog post published by Simon Delorme, a Master’s student at the University of Montreal, re-published in MacLean’s by Simon Wells. Delorme argues that a ban on turbans is necessary as it eliminates visual barriers that serve to define and differentiate individuals, which is an argument with merit. However, he insists that building tolerance via “the universality of sports” is an equitable principle with the sanctity of an individual’s freedom of religious expression and can, in cases, override it for the good of bridging communities — a claim that is utterly bogus.
He asks: “Is it so unreasonable to uphold the values of the sport first, for an hour and a half?” For an individual whose history, customs and traditions are tightly conjoined with a religious symbol that is incapable of causing bodily harm to others, it is an enormous request to ask them to dissociate from it for any length of time — whether it be the hijab, a skull-cap or a turban. But such an argument was never made in the press, nor forwarded by Sikh leaders who decried the move.
Constructive discussion over differences in opinion was shelved in favour of explosive accusations of blunt-force racism and hyper-aggression towards minorities. Political pressure is a powerful weapon when agitating for something you want, but it fails to bridge the gap between ideas, and fails to breach the walls between communities.
So why then do individuals, primarily young men, with all the benefits of a Western society ultimately reject it?
There was a heightened and panicked reaction when three young Canadians — all from immigrant families — were found either dead and / or implicated in a brutal and bloody terrorist attack on an Algerian gas plant this past January. Tinged with bewilderment, a popular refrain rose up from more than a few quarters, specifically with the revelation that CSIS had been keeping tabs on all three prior to the tragedy in which forty innocents lost their lives: “Does Canada have a homegrown terrorist problem?”
When asked for his opinion, John Baird, in typical John Baird fashion, avoided anything as productive as actually answering the question posed, preferring instead to highlight his visit to a Tim Horton’s in Abu Dhabi. Immigration Minister Jason Kenney also failed to provide a useful answer, but subsequently raised a far more interesting point while pontificating on the topic. He mused that the men involved in the Algerian attack as well as other typical radicals did not fit the classic pop-culture preconception of extremists.
They were not marginalized youths tucked away in society’s fringes; instead “they were often people who have grown up with very considerable advantages,” specifically the opportunity for secondary and higher education, economic stability and freedoms of expression and association. Such advantages are not unique to the Western world, but are far more of a sure thing than in other parts of the world.
It is more than likely that the society they wish to call home never fully embraced them, or flat-out rejected them, whether in actuality or perception, the latter of which is infinitely more dangerous. In an article for The Globe and Mail published on April 6, a friend of two of the extremists, Ali Medlej and Xristan Katsiroubas, from London who participated in the Algerian attacks gave voice to their disillusionment with the society that they were born into. “They felt that others had privileges and that the world was unfair,” said Basel Alsaadi, who knew Katsiroubas from childhood. We cannot know how much of this isolation was a construct of their own behavior, but it begs the question of how much Canadian society was involved in their alienation.
Earmarked for exemption, radicalized youths turn to other sources and avenues of self-expression, and fall victim to hostile rhetoric that blames a decadent Western society for all the ills they face. Yasir Qadhi, a published author and doctoral candidate in Islamic studies at Yale, proffers an interesting perception on why Muslim youth (converts and naturalized births) are fascinated by radical hate mongering. Living in a Western society with a pre-conceived and popular level of Islamophobia, young Muslim men feel isolated and starved for voices that speak to their own feelings of victimhood.
The London youths were upset with Lebanese conflicts in the Middle East, specifically with the war with Israel, an offensive installation considered a puppet of Western governments in the Arab World. The Woolwich duo that massacred an unarmed British soldier publicly railed about their people ‘back home’ having to witness such carnage on a daily basis.
The Toronto 18 were radicalized by the brutal violence apparently misdirected by American and coalition forces on innocent villagers in Afghanistan and the faulty war in Iraq. They were angered by the blase attitude of the Western media towards foreign deaths connected to military action; another day, and another nameless, faceless villager in Pakistan is blown up while trying to herd his goats by an American drone strike while the world spins unawared. It is a powerful feeling, a sense of injustice, and it demands to be fed.
In an article for Muslim Matters, Qadhi imagines the internal monologue of conflicted young men: “[The youth] wishes to hear fiery and angry rhetoric, charging the ‘free and democratic’ nations with hypocrisy, double standards and flouting of human rights.” Such a passionate world view is not placated by sermons preaching peaceful action and patience, which the majority of imams in the West deliver.
The youth then actively seeks out the more explosive vitriol, and devours it whole. “He finds people who see the world his way . . . [making] our young man feel at home . . . [feeling] that he was right all along in his assessment.” Radical action is, then, the next logical step.
However, acknowledging society’s potential for disillusionment and isolation would be putting a human face on terrorists, which isn’t a popular idea in any society, be it the Western or Arab world. Acceptance of blame, however minimal, would allow us to examine how we may mitigate harm or the proclivity of these young men towards radicalization; but all people tend to characterize things in absolutes, and color terrorists and terrorism suspects as an absolute evil sprung from the Earth. It’s a pattern where tough talk, especially in the political arena, always trumps conciliatory dialog.
Justin Trudeau’s response to the bombings in Boston this year were admirable, especially given the wake of political blowback and criticism he must have anticipated he would face. Hours after the attack, Trudeau issued a statement of solidarity and consolation to the US and the families affected, before embarking on a lengthy muse: “We have to look at the root causes [here]. There is no question that this happened because there is someone who feels completely excluded.” He concluded in a bold self-analysis “our approach has to be, okay, where do these tensions come from?”
It was an incredible statement, stunning in its openness to self-scrutiny, echoing the hammering then PM Jean Chretien leveled towards America after 9/11, accusing them in part of inciting foreign attacks on their soil. Harper, unsurprisingly, slammed Trudeau’s approach, exasperated that the Liberal upstart would “sit around trying to rationalize it . . . or figure out its root causes.” He asserted his categorical condemnation and pledged that, if in Obama’s shoes, he would “deal with [the perpetrators] as harshly as possible” along with Canada’s unwavering support. Don Newman of Open Canada labeled Trudeau’s comments as “tone deaf.” Mitch Wolfe of The Huffington Post preferred to call the comments “appallingly stupid.”
But isn’t it this the same “tough on crime” approach that has done nothing but fan the flame of anti-Western sentiment in Arab countries? Already sensitive to religious fanaticism, such an aggressive bullets first, infrastructure later approach doesn’t dampen the effectiveness of Al Qaeda’s principal message of uniting the Muslim ‘Ummah’ in their violent vision. If anything, it has aroused further radical enthusiasm, and the voluntary enlistment of men with Western passports.
Apart from an immediate and temporary feeling of justice, what point does harsh punishment serve when it is clear that these men are unafraid of the consequences? When they are unafraid of death? But in the Canadian Ummah, what is a culture? More specifically, what does it mean to have one?
Canada is a young country, and as such has not defined a true sense of pan-national culture. There are regional pockets to be sure, such as an outdoorsy west coast that embraces First Nations symbolism and a lapsed Catholic Quebec with distinctly European tastes. Alberta styles itself as an oil pumping heartland while Ontario embraces its roots as the founder province of the nation where real legislative power is concentrated.
However, there is no true sense of what it is to be a Canadian from an encompassing cultural perspective. Defining a nation of people based on a coffee shop, a sport and a law enforcement officer’s uniform is painfully unimpressive. As such, it isn’t surprising that Canada harbours a bit of an inferiority complex when it comes to our southern neighbor.
As an immigrant looking in, the effect is stark, with Canadian professionals, businesses and politicians continually comparing themselves to their American counterparts. A report by John Ivison of The National Post in 2010 documented a set of cables from the US Embassy in Ottawa that were leaked during the Wikileaks scandal, in which American diplomats reported that CBC-produced television shows, notably The Border, packed a heavy anti-American bias, affirming the institutional nature of this ‘cultural cringe.’
Worse yet, we bicker within our diaspora. The public consternation over when a Canadian hockey team will finally hoist the Stanley Cup festers every year, only to give way to bickering over which team best represents all of Canada by the time the playoffs begin.
The West begrudges the government’s heavier investment on the East Coast, especially as the two economic powerhouse western provinces fork over a portion of earned profits in an equalization scheme that benefits Eastern provinces and Northern territories — despite ballooning provincial and personal debt loads. Quebec is a perpetual basket case with paranoid assumptions of creeping Anglo-annexation. Ottawa often looks like a frustrated single mother at the head of a squabbling family dinner table.
So factionalism exists. But does Canada have a truly unifying sense of self? If there is one, it is not outwardly apparent. But it is clear to anyone living here that Canadians have a strong sense of personal identity as a Canadian and a patriotic commitment to Canada, not the Crown. So what does it mean to be Canadian?
To take a stab: a feeling of cohesiveness borne by identification with non-violent sensibilities and a respect for others irrespective of religious, societal and political leanings, as well as our historical standing as a neutral global arbiter and peacekeeper. As Canadians, we like to envision ourselves as champions of equality and human rights, even though our own record is questionable. But this embrace has a caveat, and it’s tied back to that wonderful, mythical and utterly flawed concept of a melting pot.
Salim Mansur, a political scientist at the University of Western Ontario, passionately bemoans that Canada has allowed itself to jettison its core identity to embrace a multiplicity of cultures, thereby leaving “a void in the centre.” He insists that, as Canadians, we have “trashed our core value system,” specifically our identity as a liberal democracy where individuals immigrating into the country were not simply expected to assimilate, but forced to do so at the risk of exclusion from economic, social and political opportunities. But why the impetus on assimilation? And have we as Canadians truly moved on from that expectation?
We can look at, as a cautionary tale, the institutionalized abuse of First Nations individuals in the name of integration, which has had profound and devastating side effects that still echo. It is difficult, conceptually, to relate the systematic and machine-like murder of people in Syria, Rwanda and Europe in the 40s to the policies of Canada’s government over the last century and a bit, but Canada, as recently as the 60s, waged an open and unchecked campaign of cultural genocide.
First Nations children were forcibly confined in residential schools where they were bullied and abused into renouncing their culture — where up to three thousand children died, many while trying to escape back to their homes. Others were forcibly removed from these homes and placed in transracial adoptions, leading to an overwhelming loss and deprivation of cultural identity and individuality.
This generation still suffers today as a group of people caught between two worlds: the one they were inserted into and never fully accepted within, and the one they never knew. This is a profound and traumatic loss, one that can never truly be quantified in terms of the emotional anguish caused to both parents and displaced children.
This is where the concept of a melting pot is so crude and troubling. Within its definition it demands the assimilation of various cultures into a dominant whole in the interest of homogeneity, generating an artificial inclusiveness and a false sense of equality at the expense of individuality and social freedom. Minorities are, hence, expected to kowtow to the dominant majority, sacrificing everything they’ve ever known and everything unique about themselves just to earn a spot at the table.
Of course, there are plenty of individuals who would retort that immigrants unable to assimilate into Canada’s pre-defined morals and culture are free to leave. Many more may still resent Trudeau the elder for bringing multiculturalism to Canada in the first place, thereby holding the majority ‘hostage’ to minorities and ‘special interests.’
With this concept in mind, it is hard to fault Quebec, the rest of Canada’s perennial whipping boy, for vehemently protecting its own unique if decaying culture. To be an island of French in a sea of English is stressful, while maintenance of a way of life slowly eroded by waves of immigration and a presumed enmity with Anglo-Canada is a frightening prospect. However, Quebec’s domineering insistence that outsiders rigidly conform to their way of life if they want to jump in is a failed idea, and is itself a microcosm of Canada’s broader issues.
Providing individuals with a passport is only a small part of the process in their becoming Canadian. But the paternalistic attitude adopted by many Canadians (and majority groups in all countries, to be fair), in that we tolerate minorities within ‘reasonable accommodations,’ is harmful and reductive. It further re-enforces an ‘us against them’ mentality and makes it impossible to co-exist in a truly equal manner.
Why embrace a race to the bottom? Why compare ourselves to the worst offenders of human rights in a bid to mitigate our own flaws? We should never stray from aiming to be the absolute acme of our global society. Enthusiastically rallying around a single set of values at the exclusion of others is the worst kind of obtuse xenophobia.
Is this to say that all blame related to culture shock and immigrant isolation should be laid at the feet of majority Canadians or the government? Absolutely not. An immense onus is on immigrants to successfully meld their lifestyle into the greater society, and carve out a niche for themselves in their new home. However, from the perspective of an immigrant, the time necessary for successful integration is an enormous hurdle that often cannot be leapt, and one that is often underestimated or written off prior to immigration.
My family and I were awarded citizenship in 2008, and I still remember the day quite vividly. My mother insisted my brother and I wear suits, and we had our pictures snapped with a judge in an informal ceremony for us and a number of other successful immigrants. The most vivid part of that memory is how disaffected I felt by the whole process. I didn’t feel Canadian, nor did I have any overwhelming affinity for Canada.
I self-identified as a Sri Lankan Muslim and, perhaps a little aggressively, clung to that portion of myself at the expense of any Canadian identity I could build. A large part of that unwillingness to embrace Canada was fuelled by the heavy doses of Islamophobia and racism we faced on a day-to-day basis, in manners both overt and apocryphal, which left me disconnected from the country I now called home.
But a large part of that bubble was of my own making. I’d made friends here, but I was far too quick to reject and shut people out than I was to open myself to new experiences and new perspectives on life, religion and social and moral orders — a massive failing on my part that I still regret as I let innumerable opportunities slip. I felt different from everyone else, like that one piece of a puzzle that can’t find a home.
Obviously I cannot speak to the experiences of all immigrants entering the country. But it took me almost 10 years to finally become comfortable in my own skin and status as a Canadian — to have enough confidence in my place in society to shrug off the judgmental looks of locals when I’m out with friends, co-workers or my partner, a white Anglican woman. I still self-identify as a Sri Lankan Muslim, but feel now that on a cultural level I am a naturalized Vancouverite.
The ideas of integration and assimilation need to be divided, with the latter tossed in the trash bin. Integration, linguistically speaking, encourages the cohesion of multiple disparate viewpoints towards building a unified whole that maintains individuality in a respectful sense. However, building societies based on healthy co-operation and equal voicing of communities is often met with firm resistance on the grounds of morals and values, which are extraordinarily abstract concepts that we cannot allow to dictate nation building.
Canada may not have an affixed or primary culture, but we can and should embrace that aspect of ourselves. Arthur Erickson, a renowned Canadian architect, phrased it best when he predicted the eventual global shift towards a “humanity-wide consciousness.” Co-operation and fruitful relationships supersede the need to have a core set of enshrined values and morals derived from any sort of religious or geographical perspective beyond the basest values: respect and acceptance. By liberating ourselves from a rigidly national viewpoint, we can fully embrace global perspectives and identify our nation as one of a global body, a global Ummah, divorced from any singular dictation.
I am a Sri Lankan Muslim, with a rich cultural history steeped in religious and geographical identity, but I’m also a Canadian. And I’m pretty bloody proud of that.
