A Canadian's Appeal To American Voters

Relax - I'm not telling you who to vote for. That's your business. Rather, this blog is about what it means to be connected to the common good. It's an expanded version of my Oct. 31 op-ed in The New York Times, posted here with their permission. As someone who loves America's ideals, I hope you take the spirit of this story to the polls...

For me and my family, the first week of November has always signified renewal. It's the week we came as refugees to a free part of the world: Canada. Although I was only four years old and couldn't have imagined the gift we received upon arriving, I now appreciate why this is the moment to tell Americans that story.

Starting in August 1972, thousands of Asian entrepreneurs fled the East African country of Uganda. Its dictator, General Idi Amin Dada, declared us to be "bloodsuckers," seized our property, and gave us three months to leave or die.

Owning no other passport, my family couldn't escape to Britain or India like many of our neighbors. We'd been in Uganda for two generations; we didn't know where else to go. But neither did we have the choice to stay: Idi Amin viciously enforced his 90-day deadline.

By the final week of October, nations that would otherwise accept the Ugandan exiles had exceeded their quotas. My parents heard that Canada might be willing to make room because it had inaugurated a policy called "multiculturalism," for which we refugees would be perfect poster children. The politics worked, even if our timing - at the tail end of the exodus - stunk.

It turns out that we arrived just in time to meet an extraordinary immigration agent. After several weeks of navigating the refugees who came before us, she could have waived us through - or turned us back - with the indifference brought on by burnout. Instead, the agent engaged with my mother. "Why do you want to live in Montreal?" she asked en francais.

Mercifully, mother grew up in the Belgian Congo and could respond in French. "Why do we want to live in Montreal?" Mum repeated, buying a few seconds to think. "Well, Montreal begins with the letter 'M,' and our family's name begins with the letter 'M,' so maybe God believes we will fit nicely together."

Sensing my mother's fear, the immigration agent assured her that this wasn't an interrogation. "It's just that I'm looking at your daughters," she explained, "and I realize that they're all dressed for tropical weather. Madame Manji, have you ever seen snow?"

Terrified at the prospect of being booted out, my mother blurted out, "No, but I can't wait to!"

"Then you've come to the right country," the agent assured Mum. "With your permission, however, I'd like to send you and your children to Canada's version of a mild climate." Several stamps of the paperwork later, we boarded a plane to Vancouver, where I learned to make peace with rain.

Some would reduce this immigration agent to a shrewd gatekeeper of cheap labor, carting us off to a city that would get rich from the Asian work ethic. And yet she was more complex than a caricature. Instead of simply unloading us on local authorities, the agent cared enough to ask what we might need more of -- peace, yes, but also fleece. Her small act of empathy bucked an ice-cold system.

As an adult, I've come to understand why I'm so blessed to have immigrated to an open society. Here, the individual -- and the choices she makes -- matter. The agent chose to give a damn, then acted on that choice.

In closed societies, where the narrative has already been decided, the individual must adapt or face retaliation. No wonder Mum immediately sought to appease the woman in uniform. In my mother's experience, individuals were the subjects, not the authors, of our grander story.

She and her daughters would learn that open societies are under constant renovation, the conclusion not yet known if ever it will be. That's why individual choices shape who we collectively become. Is there a more meaningful truth for Americans to grasp in these precious hours before they vote?

And whoever gets elected, may he embrace the example of the immigration agent. Quietly, perhaps inadvertently, she practiced the cardinal lesson of the common good: that just because a problem doesn't affect you personally doesn't mean it ceases to exist. After all, she wasn't the one who needed a winter sans snow. We were. Still, she stepped out of her skin to wonder how she could help future citizens get it.

Mum tells me that she tried to track down the lovely lady who let us into Canada. Having never found the agent, we don't know if she's alive. Regardless, she isn't forgotten. As Madame Manji reminded her children in 2002, on the thirtieth anniversary of our arrival, "When we touched this soil, we won the lottery of life."

Idi Amin died in Saudi Arabia the next year. As the news of his passing broke, several friends wrote to say that I must be cursing his corpse. They didn't know about the lottery of life, but they deserved to. "Actually," I confessed to each friend, "I'm putting in a silent prayer of thanks. His hatred introduced my family to the gift of choices."

On Nov. 4, it's not Idi Amin who will dominate my thoughts. It's the immigration agent. Her spirit crossed the border with me when I moved to New York City this past year. As a Canadian, I can't pull the lever for any presidential ticket, yet that won't stop me from voting. I've already cast my ballot for gratitude.

Comments

[ConcernedAboutRFuture]

Ms. Manji,

I saw one of your lectures on "The Trouble With Islam Today" and really enjoyed the great strength coming from a woman of Muslim faith. It was surprising, inspiring, and no doubt, uncommon in my experience.

Your first word "Relax" above, sets a negative and defensive tone, as if someone is going to punish you for an opinion, or perhaps, like many foreigners, you group all Americans into one giant pile of ignorance, bias, greed and hypocrisy. No, those are just John McCain supporters. Perhaps you are not aware that the Huffington Post is a very democratic and liberal site. Opinions here are very much appreciated.

Relax! You have reached the SANE side of America.

I too am an immigrant who moved to the US over 30 years ago....from a communist country. I too understand exactly what "lottery of life" means. I left everything I had behind; friends, family, history, to come here for the opportunity to become anything I wanted to in life. I now had the means and ways to achieve any goal in life. I struggled with social stigmas and various barriers and often wondered if that was the right choice for me.

continued....

[ConcernedAboutRFuture]

I went back 15 years later, while my country was still under communist rule, only to watch my friends struggling, living minimally and having no opportunity to achieve a better place in life. Yet, somehow, they were still happy, generous, and thankful. One thing was common among all of them, they all dreamed of America and its opportunities. Their wide, blue eyes glazed over as I told stories of where I lived and what I did, even though my mom and I lived in a small apartment and didn't have very much. We did have opportunity.

Inside, I was heartbroken every time I would have to answer questions of what America is like. I felt sorry for these hard-working, intelligent people and wished there was something I could do for THEIR future, other than give them some money. I cried often after leaving a friend's or relative's home with a heavy heart.

After my country toppled communism single-handedly, and then watched the domino effect that followed as other countries rejected and stood up to their oppressor, I felt such pride, and such honor to have come from a society of such strong individuals.

continued....

[ConcernedAboutRFuture]

I went back 15 years later, while my country was still under communist rule, only to watch my friends struggling, living minimally and having no opportunity to achieve a better place in life. Yet, somehow, they were still happy, generous, and thankful. One thing was common among all of them, they all dreamed of America and its opportunities. Their wide blue eyes glazed over as I told stories of where I lived and what I did, even though my mom and I lived in a small apartment and didn't have very much. We did have opportunity. Inside, I was heartbroken every time I would have to answer questions of what America is like. I felt sorry for these hard-working, intelligent people and wished there was something I could do for THEIR future, other than give them some money. I cried often after leaving a friend's or relative's home with a heavy heart.

After my country toppled communism single-handedly, and then watched the domino effect that followed as each country rejected and stood up to their oppressor, I felt such pride, and such honor to have come from a society of such strong individuals.

[ConcernedAboutRFuture]

That is why this election is so important to me, as this is no longer the country of opportunity, but has turned to a country of what almost SEEMS like oppression. Our constitutional rights trampled, our treasury emptied into the pockets of the wealthy 1%, our environment destroyed at every turn, but most of all, our hopes diminished. I no longer recognize the country of opportunity, and now envy all those living back in my old country. Their lives are fresh, new and full of opportunity. They fought very hard to get there, and all I can hope for today, is that there are enough Americans find strength and wisdom within themselves, to fight the same war; a war against our oppressors which have nearly destroyed this country in the last 8 years.

Today, for many Americans, it will be a day of hope lost, or gained. The World is watching.... and people are a lot more appreciative of their country, including the relatives and friends I left behind. Their dream of America has changed.... because America is no longer what they dream of.

Save our country! Vote Obama!

[WillingToListen]

What a great story, insightful and beautifully told. (I hate to see it sitting here without any comments.) Thank you for sharing this – and thank you for all your other brave work as well.