Getting to know Canada

So, it feels weird to have a schedule for the blog, but to explain my choice more fully: the only thing on my mind seems to be my husband and how much I miss him. Since I can only afford to call him for about 10 minutes a day (no internet and no landline where he is) and since the blog is sort of our story (although obviously from my perspective), without setting some limits for myself, I would probably spend day and night chronicling all of that missing, longing, and heartbreak. Not only would that be awful reading for you guys, but it would also be a really bad start to grad school. So, the less time I spend blogging, the more time I assume I’ll spend doing my schoolwork. But a girl still needs an outlet, right?! So, the blog must go on! …But only once a week…

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Visas

What everyone wants to know: is there visa news. All I can give you is a resounding “not really!” Nothing from the Consulate, that is. Leo is still in Rio. I am still in Vancouver. But there has been some investigation and decisions on our part.

First, my Master’s here (my supervisor, the university, the program, the setting, etc…) as well as my desire to stay in Canada for a PhD means that if (God forbid) Leo gets denied, we’ll involve a lawyer and try again. The next 6 to 7 years here plus 3 years of permitted post-degree employment is just too good to pass up in terms of building a professional foundation, waiting out the Bar, etc… So, I have absolutely no idea where the money would come from to retain legal assistance, but it seems like a solid investment – especially since we’re depleting our life savings to get this far.

The good news is that it looks unlikely that we’ll need to involve a lawyer. I met with an international student advisor at the university, and he filled me in a bit more about the Consulate’s “process:” the Consulate relies on a database that US states are responsible for updating, he said. The Type-A states update regularly and the crisis-ridden, woefully understaffed states (California, I’m looking at you) update whenever Arnold Schwarzenegger gets around to doing it personally because the entire state government has been furloughed.

Canada, the advisor told me, waits for all of the States to send in their most up-to-the-minute information because it’s wholly possible that you could have an arrest for something minor but have skipped out on your court date and impending conviction (which makes the offense rather major, actually). Canada would only see the arrest on the record, therefore, and might not know that you’re presently a fugitive from justice.

Once Arnold updates Canada that you are not, in fact, a fugitive from justice, they have a process whereby they “equivalate” (their word, I was told) the offense in the country where it was committed with what it would have been if committed in Canada. A DUI in the US isn’t “a big deal” (it really, really is, but we’ve legally ranked it quite low on the list of ways you can majorly fuck up); Canada, on the other hand, treats the offense very seriously, and it could absolutely be grounds for denial. Leo’s “driving without a license” stop, however, is actually a lesser transgression in most Canadian provinces than in Massachusetts, but we still have to wait for this database to be updated, at which point they can actually begin “equivalating.”

Be patient, was the wisdom of the international student advisor.

“And if he gets denied,” I asked, “have you seen other international students in this situation who’ve sought the help of a lawyer and ultimately persevered?”

“Absolutely,” he said, “but in this case it seems like more of a delay than a denial.”

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The first week

I am still completely captivated by Vancouver, excited about UBC, fascinated by my classes, impressed by my classmates, and delighted by my supervisor. Once Leo gets here (I’m still talking “when,” not “if” -- will I ever learn?!), I think the only word to describe this will be “perfect.”

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Friends!

During my first week here, there were a number of orientation events. I went to basically all of them since I know very little about how to “do grad school,” which is much harder than showing up and being smart; there’s a bit of strategy required apparently.

One of the orientations was for international students. It’s weird to think of myself as an international student, but it turns out that Canada is an independent nation, so there you are.

I was having a miserable day – moping about missing Leo – and had little interest in going, but only millimeters from a breakdown at several moments, I went and forced myself to sit through a lecture about visas, permits, tickets, and a rousing discussion about Canadians:

“They hug a lot!” one student observed.

“They line up for busses,” another called out.

“Why do the green lights flash?” asked a third.

After the presentation and Q&A, we all hit the pastry-and-coffee spread. I’d promised to meet up with a fellow Geography student who is from Switzerland, but in the mad, and thoroughly un-Canadian mob of famished international students, I couldn’t catch a glimpse of her. Surly, I remarked to a girl by my side, “It’s impossible to find anyone!”

“I don’t know anyone,” she responded.

“Where are you from?” I asked, making disinterested small talk.

“Brazil,” she replied.

I could have hugged her then and there. I can’t explain why I was so excited about and absolutely disarmed by having run into one of the very few Brazilians on campus, but it was a turning point. I have since learned that her name is Tati, she’s from Rio and currently lives only a few blocks from me, and she’s an architect working on regenerative design. Tati has been a blessing. She makes me feel less “far from home,” even though home is technically the US… Moreover, we get along fabulously.

We also ran into Tom, a quirky and wonderful French applied mathematician/alpinist who I’d met one day earlier. The three of us have been meeting up on the weekends to cook, eat, and make merry. Tom has – likely against his will – been dubbed “one of the girls.” We make a great squad.

What a difference some friends make.

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On the (almost) anniversary of September 11^th

I’m not one of those “the day the world stopped turning people” – if anything the damn planet is spinning so much faster now that I’m in a state of perpetual political motion sickness.

9/11 isn’t remembered anymore as a moment of tragedy or heroism, although that was the original narrative. Now, the date has become significant in terms of global polarization, preemption, and reactionism.

But – willfully against the dominant discourse – what I choose to remember about 9/11 is compassion: a city that came together, a country that came together, and a world that supported a stunned giant, reeling – unexpectedly fragile and frightened. The “boot in the ass” song came later, as did the jingoism and militarism that shot it up the charts.

Do you remember? For a few days everyone held your gaze a little longer, spoke a little softer, lingered and listened with intent. For a while, people said “have a nice day” like a blessing, “goodbye” with genuine sadness, and “hello again!” with sincere gratitude.

Call me a pessimist, but I had an inkling that it wouldn’t last.

In the wee morning hours of September 12^th, 2001, my mom came downstairs to find me not asleep but hard at work printing, laminating, and cutting out red, white, and blue ribbons that said “have you hugged your Muslim friend today?” to pass out at my high school.

That’s how I think tragedy should always be met: countering hate with love and violence with peace – refusing to let extremists and reactionaries dominate the discussion and make us all angry and hateful. Refusing to draw that line between "us" and "them."

That struggle is an intrinsic part of my every day now – to meet the xenophobia, scapegoating, intolerance, and injustice of US immigration discourse and all of its impersonal policy fallout with something gentler and more just. To be honest, I wonder whether I’ll make it out the other side. I feel radical reactions burning away at my stomach, especially when looking at situations like ours in which the macro-politics and micro-prejudices come crushing in on wee little us as we try to make our way in the world.

I actively pray that I will still be the girl whose reply is that ribbon.

But I fear my anger, my frustration, and my desperation at my impotence.

I’m so exhausted, and it takes so much strength to turn the other cheek, so much patience to educate, and so much energy to justify even living your own beliefs... It would be so much easier to hate, to blame, to rage. I know I’m not the only one who’s getting tired. I think a lot of us are weary of responding virtuously to this paradigm of fear and othering – and that makes 9/11 is a bigger tragedy now than it ever has been.