The Homogeneity of Our Heterogeneous Neighbourhood
I love Canada. This is my country, my home. I've no doubt I could adapt myself handily enough to live in almost any country that is at peace with its neighbours, has a reasonable standard of living, values its citizens and takes full responsibility for its place in the world. I have, indeed, lived in several countries other than Canada for several years at a time. I have valued the experience, enjoyed living in those countries, felt the privilege of being able to do so, but was more than glad to return to the country of my birth, the country I trust and feel pride in.Yes, there are things about this country that sometimes don't seem as well adjusted as they should be, but these are small irritations, and not insurmountable obstacles toward striving to become a better place. Canadians are basically fair-minded people. We take pride, justifiably, in our collective ability to absorb people from other cultures, other countries, other religions. Where not all that long ago in historical terms this country had its share of rabid xenophobia resulting in maltreatment of visible-minority immigrants and even citizens of the country whose provenance did not echo that of the two founding majorities, the country and its population has long turned its back on that embarrassment.
My parents' countries of origin were Poland and Russia. They arrived in Canada in the late 1920s desperately seeking a better life than what was available to them in their countries of origin as Jews, abused stepchildren of the countries of their birth. When I was a child my father instructed me at an early age to consider myself first and foremost a Canadian. Any other identifying designations would flow from that first identity post. As I grew into a teen, then a young adult, I was puzzled when so often complete strangers would ask "where I came from", never satisfied with my responding "Canada". That was then, this is now.
We have many neighbours with whom we share warm relations, cordial recognitions of shared citizenship. I find comfort in the fact that where I live reflects a mini-focus of Canada at large, as this country is today. Everyone is welcome, everyone is accepted, everyone valued for the contributions they bring to society at large. Notably excluding those disaffected relatively few who view with suspicion any whose features don't reflect those of the slowly-dissolving majority; those whose allegiance is to a fond memory of religious, social and racial homogeneity where caucasian appearance and Sunday worship was the order of the day.
On our street live East Indian Sikhs, Hong Kong Christians, Bangladeshi-Indian Muslims, Egyptian Christians, French atheists, French-Canadian Catholics, British Anglicans, Jewish secularists, and Russian expatriats. There are our neighbours of Polish, Italian and German extraction whose friendship we also value. They are all Canadians, their children absorbed in Canadian schools, sports, summer camps, churches and community associations. We are assured when we stroll the street that we will be greeted with waves and smiles and small talk of weather, community and sometimes world affairs.
When I was looking for someone to accompany me to a downtown peace rally in the dead of winter, it was our Egyptian neighbour who agreed to accompany me. My Bangladeshi Muslim neighbour is not someone to be trifled with; if he sees a wrong he works to rectify it. The neighbourhood dollar store we frequent is owned by a Lebanese-Christian family whose hard work and pleasant manner, friendly interest and love of Lebanon does them credit.
Oops, I've forgotten the families whose origins were in Ireland or Scotland, or England and France, long-time Canadians of storied struggle from the early days of settlement in Canada's far reaches. Alas, these seem to be the people least interested in those others who now surround them. They seem not to be inclined to ignore, as much as be disinterested in the lives, characters, personalities and values of the many others among whom they live.
The neighbourhood doctor to whom we have entrusted our health and that of our growing family for the past 34 years, who has seen us through times of stress, times of calm, times of frightening uncertainty, is a small, quick gracious man with a huge capacity to commiserate, and he is Syrian-born, another Canadian. The physician to whom my Egyptian neighbour entrusts the disturbingly frail health of his son is Jewish. This is the Canadian way.
Who would ever have it otherwise?
posted by Pieface @ Wednesday, July 26, 2006
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