TL; TR: The Social Tax of a being an Economic Immigrant
The older I get, the more I rely on my faith to pull me through. In my notebooks, I have random Bible verses spread throughout them. This internal motivator is a prime example of how my years of listening to sermons paid off. As a first-generation immigrant, you realize that your community is small, and understanding the fusion of yourself that has evolved navigate the country you are in can be difficult. Unlike growing up in Bermuda, living in Canada has resulted in my need for more cultural mentors that guide the ever-changing evolution of being an Immigrant. The ability to pull on my faith has been a comfort in one of the hardest journeys in my life, being an immigrant in Canada. When I describe my experience living in Canada, I am led to find comfort in Mathew 17:20, which states, “Because you have so little faith. Truly I tell you, if you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move. Nothing will be impossible for you.”
I am drawn to this verse because, at my core, my faith in Canada’s governance culture has been rocked as I see human-centred approaches to policy development have faded. It has faded to the size of a mustard seed (one of the world’s smallest seeds), making this verse a perfect analogy to describe my journey navigating policy systems. As an immigrant, the desire to leave your country and move to a new country is based on the idea you will improve your quality of life, and in return, your host country asks you to contribute to its success. On paper, the agreement seems like a beneficial partnership, yet the reality seems to be different.
This disconnect stems from the centralization of immigration policy development and the lack of meaningful co-creation when it comes to receiving feedback surrounding policy programs. At highlight, one might say, “that’s life,” but on the micro level, the impacts can be lasting. A story I know too well.
By the time I was heading to Canada, I had seen myself, along with my LGBT peers, be tormented and abused by our communities. The fear of travelling on a 21 sq mile always haunted me, and when a local queer man was shot in his living room, the writing was on the wall for me. Leaving my country, my home, was my only way to seek freedom, and it seemed Canada would secure that safety.
When the University of New Brunswick recruiter made the pitch to come to Canada, my desire to move to New Brunswick was already made. Like most immigrants, New Brunswick seemed affordable, and I assumed that New Brunswick was like all of Canada-inclusive.
The Immigrant Tax: The sales tax for being an Immigrant in Atlantic Canada
My Canada Immigration story started at 14; I had just experienced my first realization that I couldn’t love who I wanted to love; I had “fallen” in love like any other teenage kid. My heart felt like it would stop beating when they walked by. We would spend our days looking at maps to find a private space to talk without rumours starting. I imagine the movie “I pounce you Chuck and Larry” as a future, run away to Canada to marry your partner and give them health care. If you ask my current partner, it is still the dream which I value (the practical things). I moved to Canada, got an education, found a job, and found love — it seems simple; the 14-year-old me would be proud. This goal would have made leaving my country, an island I grew up loving and understanding, worth it. Yet, as I have explored Canada, the idea of mistrust among communities makes that inner teenager hurt.
Your inner dream to experience a new life is taxed regardless of why you moved to Canada. This is called the immigrant social tax, a social contract that all immigrants pay to show their worth to their new country. I have noticed that immigrants from other commonwealth countries are experiencing a level of disenfranchisement when they navigate the unlearning of their own countries’ colonial bugs and the colonial structures required to integrate within Canadian Culture. From my experience, it has created a nine-year saga of emotions that has brought me to this point. Burnt Out.
Although I have realized what my immigration journey has done to my being, I have developed a sense of understanding in dealing with my immigrant tax. It is a skill set I have been developing since I was dropped off at UNB Saint John nine years ago.
Learning the Colonial Bugs of Atlantic Canada
My understanding of the rules of engagement was limited; however, my parents did try to educate me. Like every good black parents, they saw the writing on the wall of the future in Canada, and they tried their best to have “the talk,” which had been a compounded series of conversations throughout my life about the reality of being a black man living in colonial spaces. Like most teenagers, I ignored their advice. When I told my parents about my experiences a year ago, the pain on their faces broke me. I remember saying, “I am expected to perform and be the model minority; I speak the language and understand the nuances. Yet, I still have to ask, how high must I jump”. The face of hopelessness will always have a lasting impact on me, as I was the fifth generation to experience the ramifications of the colonial bug.
In my learning experience of Atlantic Canada’s governance culture, I would be the model diversity candidate at my University (till I started to grow my hair, a university marketing employee would say, “Why is your hair so nappy). I would be the model diversity candidate at my student union (till I started to speak on transferring funds to help orphan youth secure university scholarships). I would be the model diversity Candidate working in Executive Council Office (till I started to question why we aren’t encouraging a human-centred approach to policy development). I would be the model diversity candidate working in non-profits (till I started to question governance cultures within the public sector).
I learned I could get into the room, but the unspoken rule that was given was to be seen, not heard. To perform and showcase that my organization or employer did a good deed by allowing the minority to be in a position. This transactional behaviour is the economics of the immigrant tax. We have created an immigration system that removes the fact that immigrants are people and puts them into a category of servitude that craves obedience. (Explore deeper)
I looked at my experience over the years. When my peers or I performed the model immigrant roles, our perceived value increased (to a certain extent). But when you become the “radical mischief” and step out of line, you see the true colonial undertones of Canadian governance culture. As I reflect on my time and understand my new normal, I ask myself, “Is this the dream my foremothers and fathers had when they dreamed their big dreams? Is this the dream of the five generations?
To be a servant or not to be?
I have made you uncomfortable if you have read the above subtopic. But as you feel uncomfortable, realize this is how the immigration system makes me, as an immigrant, feel. If we look at immigration within North America, it has been plagued with the idea of preferred immigrants and economic immigrants. This division has resulted in two experiences navigating the immigration pathways within North America. I saw this first hand, seeing someone yell at me to return to my country because my skin was darker than hers. This experience although made me uncomfortable, made me laugh as I walked away because she stated she was a second-generation from Holland.
The experiences I face navigating the world through my intersectionalities has made me feel that I am a product first, a subject second, and a person last. This feeling is supported by Canada’s economic sustainability policies surrounding immigration, a traditional policy development tool that has been used since the commonwealth's foundation.
Economic sustainability policies support the glorification of immigration as a way to combat decades of poor economic planning by monetizing dreams. We have removed the human-centred approach to immigration. As it stands, the collective agrees to push immigration as an economic fix to poor planning. In that case, the country needs to prepare for a generation of future Canadians that will have institutional traumas. We are creating a survival culture in Canada that forces immigrants to meander through the collective trauma of centuries of colonial structuring. Resulting in the immigration journey becoming a high lift, resulting in exhaustion and mistrust of a policy system.
Like most immigrants who have grown up in countries where they are “othered,” it trains you for the marathon to survival as a minority. Understanding your environment and the historical context of your region is critical to surviving within Canada. Although my experience living in Canada is limited to Atlantic Canada, my assumptions can be said for any immigrant who moves to any region. This country has allowed its founding formula to encourage a sense of divide and control. We are building a nation that seeks a competitive nature between its communities instead of encouraging collaboration. Since living in Canada, I have tried to push for community collaboration. As we explore ways to unlearn the idea of servitude, I ask you, as a reader, how can we denormalize the notion that immigrants must kiss the ring to showcase their worth?
