It’s an autumn day. The provincial elections have just ended. I’m seated in front of a good glass of wine with my friend, who, since I immigrated to Quebec, has become my family and that of my three children.
That evening, I had no idea that a trivial question about the elections would call into question my sense of belonging to Quebec and put an end to a beautiful friendship. In response to my question about the elections, the sky fell on my head. The words shoot out of my hostess’s mouth like poisoned arrows. They are accompanied by a violent pounding on the table. My plate and my glass are shaking. My whole being is shaking. I want to be somewhere else, or just go back to the previous moment. I want to stop seeing and hearing: I am “the new Quebecer”. I am “the adversary”. Me and others like me are the obstacle to the gain of certain Quebec parties and the realization of their political ambitions.
That night, I discovered how the hatred of everything I represent could transcend any other feeling. But above all, I was affected in my deepest values that I thought were shared: inclusion and acceptance of others, despite their differences.
However, I do not wear any religious sign. I am Francophone. I obtained a doctorate from a Montreal university. I work in a Quebec parapublic institution. I meet all the conditions that the Quebec government establishes to welcome immigrants. I am the “ideal” immigrant.
So please, dear compatriots, don’t call me a new Quebecer! Don’t label me with a term that reduces me to a less deserving person. Don’t put me in a homogeneous box with any other immigrant, because to do so is dehumanizing.
Because to do so is to mark the difference between you and us. It is us to signify to any immigrant that he or she belongs to the category of Others – the Othering in English literature.
You had your citizenship by default, when you were born in this beautiful country. I had to wait many years and make countless sacrifices to be promoted to Canadian citizenship. I paid the price of my belonging in my host country. Now I wonder if the price of hospitality in Quebec would be, in addition to all the other conditions, to prohibit immigrants from thinking freely.
Don’t call me a new Quebecer! Yes, I am different, but take my differences as an asset instead of a threat. I don’t know your story, but I know another, more painful one, and I will do everything in my power, based on my experience, to protect your country, my host country, from the evils which I suffered in my country of origin.
Don’t call me a new Quebecer. It is by excluding that we radicalise. If I’m different, if my thoughts are, instead of segregating and excluding me, keep me around the table and explain your positions to me.
During my first years of immigration, I said that if Montreal was a person, I would hug her. Now I walk down the street and watch the eyes of passers-by warily. I no longer feel accepted. The word “adversary” haunts me obsessively. I don’t belong to this land. I will never belong. I want to leave but my home no longer exists. The home I built for myself was just an illusion. The title of Nadine Labaki’s film comes to mind: where do I go now?