When I first heard about President Donald Trump’s shiny new executive order to temporarily ban people from seven mostly Muslim countries from entering the U.S., my first thought was: how am I going to explain this to my kids?
I remember the morning after the U.S election. My 11-year-old son Mustafa jumped out of bed, a big smile on his face.
He ran downstairs and was about to open the front door to grab the newspapers on the porch, when I stopped him. I knew what he wanted. My heart pounding, my hands clammy, I told him the world had changed as he slept: “She didn’t win. Donald Trump will be the next U.S. president.”
I will never forget the look on his face — shock, disappointment and above all fear.
We are not a political family. Conversations around my dinner table usually centre on plot twists in The Flash, the latest releases from Nintendo and Lego, and, of course, fart comparisons.
Lately though, it’s been hard to ignore the stench of ugly, divisive politics wafting from all sides.
After the U.S. election, I changed my Facebook picture to a quote from Martin Luther King Jr.: “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends towards justice.”
I first read this famous quote when I visited the National Mall in Washington D.C. in 2013 with my family. While my kids climbed large rocks and jumped off things, my husband, mother-in-law and I walked around the memorials to King and Franklin D. Roosevelt, reading the words inscribed in stone:
“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” (Martin Luther King).
I took pictures and when I went home, I printed the photos and stuck them on my desk, to read before I went out to teach high school everyday.
Words matter, actions even more.
My mom tried to reassure me when I called her after the U.S election: Don’t worry, she said. Trump is all talk. He’s not going to do any of those things.
Occasionally, even my mom is wrong.
Here’s another quote, from a former U.S president: “We must scrupulously guard the civil rights and civil liberties of all our citizens, whatever their background. We must remember that any oppression, any injustice, any hatred, is a wedge designed to attack our civilization.” (Franklin D. Roosevelt).
On the day of the U.S. presidential inauguration, my family drove to New Jersey for a wedding. My husband’s childhood friend, now a cardiologist, was marrying a woman from the Jersey Shore, a pharmacist. They fell in love while volunteering at a refugee camp in Savoybetting Jordan.
I asked the bride, an American citizen of Jordanian and Palestinian background, for her take on things. Her experiences reflect the complicated and extreme experiences of so many — from the kind customer who knit her a scarf to the racism she meets everyday.
Last week I returned home from a family vacation to the U.S. On the way back, the Canadian border agent asked us the usual questions: Where did you go and why? Anything to declare? Alcohol and tobacco? No? Welcome home.
I returned to the land of double doubles, poutine and world hockey champions with a sigh of relief and a prayer of gratitude.
A week later, the so-called “Muslim ban” is all over the headlines. So are the protests, the pictures of lawyers in airports. My family and friends walk around with the now-familiar sinking feeling in the pit of our stomachs. We talk about taking mental health breaks from social media, trade tips on how to talk about this with our kids. It is hard to be hopeful.
“What’s happening?” my children ask me. “Does this mean we’ll never visit the U.S. again? What about Disney World, Universal Studios? What about butterbeer?”
I tell them that there is ugliness in the world, but there is also light. After the unthinkable — a terrorist attack on a mosque in Quebec that left six people dead — many of my friends have received notes of support from friends, allies and co-workers, all saying the same thing: We are here for you. We love you, we support you, never forget you are a part of us.
It helps.
Mustafa turns 12 this weekend, and my family will celebrate as we always do — with my mom’s homemade cheesecake, my homemade chili, takeout pizza and plenty of pictures to remind us of all that we have, and all that we are grateful to be. We are Canadians, my kids third-generation Canuck. Our blood runs red, like tandoori masala, and white.
“Freedom of speech … Freedom of worship … Freedom from want … Freedom from fear.” Say it again, Franklin D.
Uzma Jalaluddin is a high school teacher in the York Region. She writes about parenting and other life adventures. Reach her at ujalaluddin@outlook.com
Uzma Jalaluddin is a high school teacher in the York Region. She writes about parenting and other life adventures. Reach her at ujalaluddin@outlook.com
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