A Note on Immigration

I’ve been thinking a lot about immigration lately. For one, it’s really the main subject of my research in Scotland, and so I’ve been spending the last month or so immersed in tales of immigration to Canada by the so-called “forefathers” of the nation state.

I’m also working on an immigration paper with a research collective I belong to, and this is playing heavily on my mind.
Despite the fact that I’ve been reading and thinking about immigration for a long time, and talking about it for a longer time with many people who know much more about this topic than I do—both from a theoretical and a first-hand standpoint (and the difference between those two positions, if there is one, can be a subject for a later post, perhaps)—and yet, it was only today that I think I really began to *get* what I’ve been thinking about.

I was on a flight earlier this month. I’ve been traveling a lot. A whole lot. The great thing about Europe is that you can really take a weekend, and get away. I’ve been trying to take advantage of that as much as possible. What I realized today is that I had done absolutely no research whatsoever into the documentation I required to enter the country of choice for this mini-break.

I have turned into the tourist I hate. Armed with nothing but a white face and a Canadian passport, I assumed that I would be given entry to basically anywhere I’d like to go, without a problem. I have no phrasebook, because I assumed everyone would speak English.

The crazy thing was that I was successful. My assumptions were correct. As a Canadian passport holder, I required no supplementary documentation. No entry visa. No proof of address. Nothing. Indeed, everyone on the flight not only spoke English, but the in-flight entertainment was all available in English, despite the fact that I was traveling on a Dutch airline. When I arrived at my destination, once again, I was able to basically speak to anyone I wanted to in English.

With the increasing shame of realizing that I had acquired absolutely no cultural knowledge whatsoever (not even how to say “hello” or “thank you”), I basically slunk away to find somewhere to write this post. When I finally found somewhere to plug my computer in, low and behold...I didn’t even need a converter.

While on today’s English-language journey I watched a movie called “The Visitor.” The main premise is that a crusty old Economics prof is forced to attend a conference on Globalisation. All the participants are middle-aged white guys. He arrives at his apartment in New York, which he’s owned for 25 years all the while living full-time in Connecticut, and finds a couple is living there. This couple (one Syrian and one Senagalese) are both illegal immigrants to the US, and the film is actually ( I thought) quite a thoughtful meditation of this old white guy realizing that the world is hard for illegal brown people in the US.

Now perhaps this movie hit a little close to home for me given that I watched it in the midst of realizing I was quickly on my way to becoming that crusty Economics prof, or perhaps it was just well done. I liked it, anyhow.

But I think today was one of the first days that I actually started to think about the political ease with which I move through the world because of three things, none of which I ‘earned’ in any sense of the world—it was just karma: i) white skin ii)English as a first language and a decidedly English name iii) a Canadian passport.

I think I’ll go back to reading letters between middle-aged white Scottish writers who are forming the basis for immigration policy in Canada and think about this a little more.
xo