By: Vanessa Martínez, SFU Student and Jessica Lo, SFU Student

Content warning: mentions of death and child neglect.

Editor’s note: The authors in this piece both use a pseudonym to protect the privacy of their families. 

Immigrants and refugees are often thought of as being happy and thankful for the opportunity to move to another country for a better life. Less spoken about, however, are the times people are forced to migrate due conditions in their homelands, and are often forbidden from grieving their past lives without judgement. 

Vanessa: My parents moved to Canada largely due to the unfolding economic crisis in Venezuela during the late ‘80s and ‘90s. They were excited to come here and diligently studied English. When Canada accepted them, they packed up some luggage and left. They always thought they would return to Venezuela eventually, at least to visit family. However, the inflation, crime, and poverty has made it so that they haven’t gone back — my father in over 20 years, and my mother in over 10 years. They were the first in the family to leave Venezuela and my mother’s side protested this. However, over time, most of them left, too. We tried to have my grandmother immigrate here, but she didn’t want to. She was in poor health and hungry, and we attempted to persuade her for around 15 years. She always insisted on living and dying in her homeland. My family is grateful to be here, but they often talk about going back and enjoying the good parts of Venezuela before its economic collapse. I know they would visit more frequently if they could, and I know some of my family would relocate entirely. 

Jessica: My parents had been applying to migrate to Canada for a decade before they finally succeeded when we moved to Vancouver in 2008. We had moved away from Sabah in Malaysia, my hometown. This is where many of my family live, so I was heartbroken. I remember showing my parents videos and photos of landmarks at home for three months straight, and sulking all the time. Now, as an adult, I think of everything they gave up to be here. Between raising three children and working full-time, my father had been working to get his Master’s in Malaysia, studying 16 hours a day to expedite the process. I can’t imagine how it felt to have the hard work he put in rendered irrelevant in the eyes of the Canadian government and education system. But as you noted, our move was about the economic opportunity they saw in Canada, and there are so many things we miss about our home countries. My mom and dad went from an environment where they could fluently and easily switch between four dialects and Malay, to one where their coworkers poke fun at their English, as if those people could ever conceptualize how much they had to give up to be here. Of course, there are always people who will read this and respond, “Oh, then just go back,” which is so ignorant. 

Vanessa: Immigration is so misunderstood. Some people assume you should just be happy to have relocated, which ignores so many of the complex emotions about leaving home. Then, the moment immigrants dare to talk about their difficulties, “just go back” is thrown back at them — as if this is viable in all cases. Even worse, is when backpackers and travellers get the opportunity to explore your home from a tourist’s point of view — enjoying all the beautiful scenery, and engaging in all of the “good” parts of the country, while being able to avoid all the reasons people left there. They travel back to North America and ask why you don’t return or why you ever left since it’s so “beautiful.” While it might be pure ignorance, it’s unfair and privileged for tourists to handpick their experiences just because they were able to turn away from crime and poverty, in many cases. 

Jessica: Exactly — when they travel to these countries as tourists, it’s often framed as a part of their individual self-growth journeys. They get the privilege of calling the experience healing, because they can easily leave. Worse, sometimes these journeys and vacations aggravate the exploitation of citizens at home. Coming from Southeast Asia, and witnessing it myself in high school here, there are large industries built on tourists’ goodwill to address crises, which have been coined as voluntourism. For example, the Guardian details how a US religious organization built an orphanage in Haiti, and “kept children malnourished and living in filth” after the 2010 earthquake. According to some former staff, this organization “collected donations averaging $10,000 a year per child — much of which ended up in the director’s bank account.” Of course I’m not suggesting that you aggravate these industries by visiting the countries alone, but travellers must be aware that, when they’re on vacation, the tourism industry is very capable of curating a skewed perception of the country they’re visiting. It’s never as simple as going back. I think what people don’t understand is that there are so many nuances in leaving your family and your career. Home can be complex, but still be home. Also, migration is a difficult and long process. For my parents, it took a decade. For some relatives, it’s been a process that has lasted two decades! 

Vanessa: Those who have the time and capacity to immigrate “legally” also come from a certain degree of privilege, and I can’t imagine how painful it is to have to leave everything behind on short notice and come to a new country with very little belongings. My parents came here with three trunks of belongings, and even then, I see them reminiscing about the places they had to leave behind. Trinkets can hold so much value for immigrants, because they are a little part of home, but it will never be the same as being able to visit again and breathe the same air as once before. As grateful as I am to be born in Canada, I always wonder what my life would have been like in Venezuela had the situation never deteriorated — like a little sense of grief over something that could have been. 

Jessica: I can agree. Before I was born, my family spent a decade in the US, accompanying my uncle while waiting for their documentation to go through. I remember my parents would tell me that my uncle back home would keep begging them to return, and despite the financial stress of raising two children alone without much support, they held strong. My family has moved to three different countries, each time to do what they could for a growing family. Nowadays, the most we see of my extended family is through WhatsApp calls . . . Not having the people and community that raised me, around me, is definitely a special kind of grief. Still, today, I see remnants of their hardship and joys in the trinkets my parents have collected that are older than me. It makes me appreciate how strong migrants have to be.

Vanessa: Whether it be documented or undocumented, alone or with family, moving homes to a whole new country is always hard. I hope with immigrant communities making up a large portion of BC, we can all give each other a bit of grace. Home will always be home for our parents, and I know it will never be the same again. But I hope migrants will be able to create a new sense of home here, too.