blueprintmagazine

FEBRUARY 2010

VOLUME 9, ISSUE 6

patriotismthe

ColophonBlueprint Magazine is the o!cial student magazine of the Wilfrid Laurier University community.Started in 2002 as Bluprint, Blueprint Magazine is an editorially independent magazine published by Wilfrid Laurier Univer-sity Student Publications, Waterloo, a corporation without share capital. WLUSP is governed by a board of directors.Opinions in Blueprint Magazine are those of the author and do not necessarily re!ect those of the management team, Blueprint Magazine, WLUSP or WLU.Content appearing in Blueprint Magazine bears the copyright expressly of their creator(s) and may not be used without written consent.

blueprint magazineVolume 9, Issue 6February 2010

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Laura AdelmanMorgan AlanLaura Ash"eldRachel AveryTeghan BartonHannah CarterKelly GreversWaleed HafeezDan Kellar

issue

In the grand scheme of things, the creation of the nation-state has been a relatively recent event. The world wasn’t always divvied up into parcels of land, their people labeled according to the segment of the earth they “belonged” to. Nationalism was a top-down phenomenon; national histories were, and continue to be, written by those in power, and are taught to popu-lations through elementary school curriculums, national exhibitions, ceremonies, and newspapers. This happens even in Canada, where our Canadian history courses in high school begin with European and Indigenous con-tact. Anything that happened before this contact in the territory we now call Canada is labeled ‘pre-history’, as if Indigenous histories are irrelevant, illegitimate.

Considering the recent development of the nation-state and the top-down creation of national identities, the concept of patriotism becomes strange indeed. What does it mean to be proud of our nation, when the concept itself was arti"cially created? What do we really have in common with the people who are in our shared borders? This depends, as is illustrated on page 5, on our level of privilege in society, if we are among those who national laws were created to service, or if we are among the ‘undesirables’.

In this issue we have a story of Olympic disillusion-ment (page 12), a photo essay that explores the idea of living under occupation in Palestine (page 7), and per-sonal stories of belonging (or not belonging) to a na-tional whole. Patriotism, like any other imposed sense of pride, should not be taken for granted.

cover by nuno teixeirainside front cover by nick lachanceinside back cover by emily christyback cover by nuno teixeira

The circulation for a normal issue of Blueprint Magazine is 3,000 copies.

WLUSP Administration

Next Issue Friday, March 12thTheme “Roots” Contributors

ManagementEditor-in-Chief Erin EppManaging Editor: Print Content Morgan AlanManaging Editor: Visual Content Carly LewisPromotional Director Kelly GreversProduction Assistant Lakyn Barton

PresidentGeneral Manager/AdvertisingProduction/AdvertisingChair of the BoardVice-ChairTreasurerDirectorCorporate SecretaryDistribution Manager

Bryn OssingtonAngela FosterAngela TaylorJordan HydeLuay Salmon

Suhail HafeezKyle MuizelaarMaeve Strathy

Nicole Weber

Erin EppEditor-in-Chief

165 Citizenship

Laura Adelman

2 Because I’d Rather Be Flag BurningAdam Lewis

7 Palestine: Life Under OccupationLaura Ash"eld & Hannah Carter

False IdolLaura McDonald

In Defence of CanadaTeghan Barton

EssaysLiterature

in this issue

4 Poetry

new content • every thursday • blueprintmagazine.ca

16 Beholder VNuno TeixeiraEmmanuel Xerx Javier

Art11 Korean-Canadian PoetJanice Lee

Janice LeeAdam LewisCarly LewisLaura McDonaldWil PutzJulie SnacheNuno TeixeiraJohnathan WellsEmmanuel Xerx Javier

12 Olympic Spirit, Olympic ShameRachel Avery & Dan Kellar

3 The NewsJohnathan Wells

11 Confessions of a Third Culture KidWaleed Hafeez

2

Patriotism. Nation. State. Nationalism. Allegiance. Duty. Flag. Words perhaps not so di!erent within the context of the modern world in which we live. We are quick to place them in the same category; one that insists upon a harsh obedience to a status quo.

A status quo of silence, if you will. For silence is predicated on the untouchable nature of the nation-state (and let us not be burdened with confusion over “nation” as simply a de"nition of a speci"c group of people). Silence is the sound of conformity: quick to achieve its task and harsh to move against any opposition. #is is the nature of our means of engagement with the idea of a nation-state. It is to be accepted. It is to be taught as our centre of gravity in political science. It is to be our granter of all things good and just. It is to be the focus of our duty as citizens.

And yet…And yet one best not insult the high priest with which we call the nation-state, “our true north strong and free”. For from far and

wide this is canada, and we will stand on guard for the idea that this is the only means in which to gaze upon relations in society. We will stand on guard as good patriots and nation-statists. We will stand unthinking, $ag in hand, ready for the master’s call.

Patriotism is perhaps most emblematic of a fury of nationalist hysteria that leaves all semblance of rational thought and action be-hind. To be a patriot is to accept the status quo and actively seek to maintain the hegemonic power of the state. It is to accept the veneer of justice, history, and freedom that only a $ag can grant. It is our $ag, and only it may grant us the ability to denounce all others. It is our banner, our strength. It binds us together, while binding our hands and mouths. It blinds us with its propaganda and marches us to the drums of war. It ensures that the stolen land we are on remains ourselves forever more.

To think otherwise is to be accused of not thinking, of “hating our country” and the “freedom” it provides. Either you are with us or against us. We will not entertain another option. #is is patriotism.

Patriotism means that you do not need to think and can enforce the hegemonic discourse of the nation-state on to all others. It means that you defend the sanctity of the nation-state, while negating its history of systematized oppression and continual denial of freedom and justice. It means to begin to identify with the forces of oppression more so than forces of freedom (and I don’t mean the freedom to enforce the same hierarchy every election cycle). Patriotism means that you will die for your country without realizing that your country has been doing the killing the whole time.

It is the same with “our troops”. To think otherwise or propose an alternative mode of thought, or any semblance of critique for that matter, is to be trampled on by the sanctity of militarism that has manifested itself within society. “Perhaps if you don’t support our troops you should stand in front of them”, the saying goes. And it is right. If that means standing in solidarity with those committed to freedom, anti-oppression and justice and against the military dogma of the nation-state, then in front I shall stand.

Patriotism is not some commitment to a higher notion of justice, good and belonging. It is to relish in the destruction, oppression and genocide that is the nation-state -our patriotic lie.

And it is time we considered standing with the forces of freedom. Fuck patriotism. Adam Lewis

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The NewsAll I want is the front page:condense those words,your words,for me, recycle those images.Headline News it for me,scan the headlines like poetry,and then wash the newsfrom your !ngers.Scan the sink for those waterlogged words,"oating words that clog the drain,circling, those words that circle the drain,those words that "oat in !lthy water. And yes, I’ve seen the land!lls,I’ve seen them. I’ve worked in the land!lls,I’ve shoveled your garbage into stinking pits,I’ve walked from work immuneto the stench of your inevitable waste.So I know what you meanwhen you say global warming. And yes, I’ve seen those recycled images.I’ve paid for education,I’ve le# behind friends and home andgarbage diggers to comeand be educated.So how can I know what you mean when you say ethnic cleansing, when you say advancing into (enemy) territory, how on earthcan I know what you mean when you say terror?

Johnathan Wells

Image by Emily Kennedy

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Why do I study Canada? !at is a question I have been asked a lot and it is a question I frequently ask myself. I am about to "nish my undergraduate degree here at Laurier as a Canadian Studies major and I plan on continuing with my studies at graduate school in the same "eld. Canadian Studies is an odd program as Canada is an odd subject, never quite "tting into one speci"c discipline.

So, why do I study Canada?I love this country. I always have and I always will (un-

less it becomes a hot-bed of right wing conservatism, then I might move to Sweden). Barring that however, the identity of this nation will always fascinate me and it will always be my home. I am not a nationalist, for nationalism breeds war and distrust. I am a federalist and a Canadian, the de"nition of the latter being still yet unde"ned. I take pride in this place and I don’t see there being anything wrong with taking a little pride in one’s home.

It would be easy to just focus on the negative aspects of this country, and as a feminist, tree hugger, and activist it can be di#cult to not see past the major suckage and systemic oppression that pervades nearly every aspect of it. I could choose to only focus on our horrible treatment of native peo-ples and immigrants; the rampant Islamophobia, the deep-rooted sexism and misogyny, racist government policies, the embarrassing percentage of people who live below the poverty line, lack of government support for environmental issues, the list could go on. !ese are important issues that deserve to have a discourse around them, and need to be ad-dressed by activists and policy makers together. But to only see that, those negative components, is to ignore some of the great things about this country. Canada is not just a place of oppression and evil – there are always two sides to every coin and to disregard that other side is to be pessimistic.

So, why do I study Canada?While I do study the negative misery-laden topics, I try

to also study the positive or at least try to "nd the positive. Canada isn’t in the systems; it is in the little moments.

Why do I study Canada?Because every time I see that CBC logo, I get a little thrill. Because Colm Feore is a brilliant actor (and handsome

to boot).Because when I was working in Brampton this summer

I saw a bunch of children playing together in a residential park, all from di$erent backgrounds, and their mothers were sitting together on the benches, talking.

Because we call it ketchup, not cat-sup.Because institutions like the National Film Board and the

CRTC work to ensure that a Canadian memory is recorded for future generations.

Because gay marriage was made legal here and no one blinked. Harper even wanted to overturn it but didn’t be-cause it wouldn’t have been a good move for him politically.

Because we spell words with a ‘u’.Because Trudeau was friends with Castro and not just to

piss o$ the Americans.Because despite its %aws, we do have universal health care.Because Battlestar Galactica was pretty much made en-

tirely by Canadians. Frakk’n eh.Because Dr. Henry Morgentaler received !e Order of

Canada.Because of Rick Mercer. Because of those Heritage Moments (“I smell burnt

toast”).Because Camille Turner (read: Miss Canadiana) is over-

turning our %awed perceptions of identity. Because women got the right to vote in 1917, except in

&uebec, which was decades before some other nations.Because underground Canadian hip-hop is truly fantas-

tic (go YouTube Shad’s ‘Brother Watching’ for proof ).Because of Deepa Mehta.Just because.I could go on and on. !ere are so many reasons why I

study Canada. And you might be thinking that these are su-per%uous reasons that don’t re%ect the nation as a whole, and sure, you might be right. At least though I try to see the posi-tive through the negative.

Try to keep things in perspective; Canada isn’t the worst place in the world to be. Try a "nd something that gives you a little bit of joy. Embrace the cheesy myths that are propagated by the government and "nd new ones for yourself. !row on some Fiest (or Celine Dion if you want to take it old school), watch an Atom Egoyan "lm, eat a butter tart followed up by some samosas, then look around you and don’t feel bad if you feel a little good. Canada is still a work in progress.

In Defence of Canada

Teghan Barton

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What does it mean to be a citizen of Canada? Or a citizen of the world? I think that to even approach an answer, we need to !rst ask what it

means to be a non-citizen, a secondary citizen, or a so-called ‘undesirable’ citizen.

Canadians, particularly white Canadians, like to tell ourselves stories about what Canada means: we’re multicultural, a cultural mosaic, a land of immigrants. But rarely are these tropes investigated further. Who is multi-cultural, and what does that mean? What makes up our “mosaic”? And who is the kind of immigrant that becomes a “Canadian”? When we don’t inter-rogate what these statements mean, and who gets to make them, we allow ourselves to ignore the power dynamics at play when decisions are made re-garding who is Canadian.

"us, when people talk about multiculturalism, they talk about food, music, or clothing and accessories—cultural products that can be consumed, maintaining the status quo of consumerism, with a super!cial nod to the celebration of di#erence. Is this the mosaic? A million unrelated cultural ob-jects stuck together for people to buy? Multiculturalism has little to do with anti-oppression, !ghting against racist policy and practice, or centering the experiences of new Canadian residents in social and cultural discourse.

So, who gets to be Canadian? "ere is an assumption within our col-lective mythology that says all Canadians are equal. We’re not. "ose who are born here, especially if they are white, can live comfortably with the be-lief that the government is meant to work for them, and that it will be ac-countable to them. Particularly in the post-9/11 world of hyper-security and paranoia, it is dangerous to not be a citizen, especially if you are a person of colour. "ose without the protection of citizen-status (or those for whom the colour of their skin allows others to call this status into question) run the risk of having taken from them “the right to have rights” as Dr. Jasmin Zine described in her lecture at this year’s Global Citizenship Conference. If security means racial pro!ling; arrests based on vague suspicion, not proof; and the risk of deportation for residents without citizenship, then in what capacity can we call ourselves a nation of immigrants? Moreover, in what capacity can we call ourselves just?

Canadian identity isn’t about Tim Horton’s or hockey or talking about the weather. It’s a strict, regulated hierarchy, with ever-changing rules about who is in and who is out, who counts and who does not. When we talk about “Canadians” we need to ask ourselves who we mean. Residents? Taxpayers? White people? People who were born here? Undocumented immigrants? People who vote? "ose with citizenship? Each of these categories and iden-tities holds a series of assumptions, and we need to confront those assump-tions, about who belongs here, who gets to make decisions about Canada (including de!ning it), who is a desirable citizen, who is undesirable, and what the “cultural” part of multiculturalism really looks like. People’s rights and lives are at risk, and we need to start asking questions of ourselves and the government about how we are discussing citizenship, and the harmful e#ects it is having on all of us.

CitizenshipLaura Adelman

Photos by Wil Putz

PALESTINE:LIFE UNDER OCCUPATION

LAURA ASHFIELD & HANNAH CARTER

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I’m not going to write about the history of the con!ict in Israel-Palestine. I’m not going to write about the politics and policies. I’m not going to write about the peace processes and the one-state solution or the two-state solution. I will not write about theories or discourses of violence and con!ict. Voices get lost in the noise when talking about these issues. All of these concerns are important to address, but what I want to do, is convey to you how the Occupation of Palestine a"ects people daily.

I travelled to Israel/Palestine this summer and participated in a Conference about the con!ict and an extensive educational tour of the West Bank and Gaza Strip. I met with Palestinian and Israeli NGO’s that are working for peace, government representatives, refugee camps, writers and speakers. But the most educational part of my trip for me was spending time with the Palestinians informally, as friends, as equals, hearing their stories of su"ering under Occupation. Every single Palestinian has a story to tell and has been deeply a"ected by Israeli Occupation.

I met one young woman from Taybeh who works in Jerusalem. She wakes up everyday at 4:00am to get to work for 8:00am. It should take 20-30 minutes to drive from her home to work, but she has to wait in a check-point for hours to get into Jerusalem. #is is not a person-al issue. #is is a structural issue – the systematic attempt to inhibit the movement of Palestinians and fragment the people. Israel continues to impose restrictions on Pales-tinian movement throughout the West Bank, separating the West Bank into six separate areas. It is extremely dif-$cult to get to a di"erent area of the West Bank because of permanent and !ying (moving) checkpoints. Add to this, the Separation Barrier built in 2002, physical ob-stacles, roads that Palestinians are forbidden to use, and a strict permit rule, designating certain Palestinian permits forbidden in certain areas. #ese barriers to freedom of movement make living in Israel-Palestine like living in apartheid.

#e reduction in freedom of movement impacts Palestinian’s living conditions, a"ecting their economy, families, and healthcare systems. Patients have di%culty accessing healthcare. While I was waiting at a checkpoint to get from Ramallah into Jerusalem, I met a young girl waiting in line to get to the hospital to receive chemo-therapy for her cancer. Each time she visits the hospital (which is a lot) she has to wait at a checkpoint sometimes for up to three hours to get there. #e right to health has been severely dishonoured by road blockages, check-points, and the Wall. In addition, while in Hebron, I ex-perienced a complete city shutdown of checkpoints. No one could get in or out of Hebron, and one woman gave birth at a checkpoint trying to reach a hospital. Imagine!

ABOVE: A wall in Hebron covered in pro-Israeli gra%ti and “Free Palestine”

9

!e Israeli control of Palestinians is the most intense in the Gaza strip. While there, we witnessed the devastation and humanitarian need. It is nicknamed the ‘world’s biggest prison’ with 1.5 million Palestinians trapped there. Although the Palestinian political group, Hamas, now leads Gaza, Is-rael still controls it from the land outside, air above, and sea beside. Medicine is not allowed in, and the hospitals are run-ning short. No gasoline can get in through the borders, and they now run their cars on cooking oil and propane, or use donkeys and carts. More than 80% of Gazans now depend on direct assistance from humanitarian agencies to keep them from starving. We visited a church that was bombed a few years ago and heard the congregations’ daily struggles. We were shocked and emotional, but they said “this is our lives…this is normal for us.”

!e point I’m making here is that these stories of struggle are widespread and continue to happen on a regular basis. !is should not be normal. Living under military Occupa-tion and being subjected to oppression should not be normal. When will the world stand up for Palestinians’ rights? !at’s what I want to know.

RIGHT: Hebron residents have hung fencing over the old market to catch trash, stones, and bricks thrown down by settlers who have moved into the top "oors of the buildings by force.

BELOW: An Israeli border guard checking a Palestinian ID card at a check point be-tween Bethlehem and Jerusalem. You can see the permit required.

10

11

Korean-Canadian PoetJanice LeeImage by Kelly Grevers

Growing up my parents told me I was Korean-Canadian. I re-sented that. Why couldn’t I just be Canadian like the other kids? I mean, like the white kids in my neighbourhood. !ey didn’t have to eat rice and kimchi, bow to their elders, or go to Korean school. !ey got to play Nintendo, eat spaghetti and talk back to their parents. !ey were so cool. I just wanted to be Canadian.

My high school class was pretty much Asians, and Italians. And remember that time South Korea won over Italy in the 2002 FIFA World cup? Ssssss. Walking down the hallways where the ginos were tall and tough, a tiny Korean girl who liked soccer got pushed, cursed at. Where were the Canadians during that? Had Canada quali"ed, just, suspend your disbelief for a moment, would that have united us all, cheering for the land in which we live? Canada, this community of communities, a collection of fragments, could we be united in our di#erences? Did this cul-tural mosaic exist?

!en university. Wilfrid Laurier University. A sea of attractive white girls and guys who like their Hollister and TNA, with the brown kids and Asians in business and science, all conveniently tucked away. And then there was the token Asian in English. Hi! But I didn’t smell like rice or curry. Well, no one noticed, and I got by. Except when we got to talking about white privilege, and sud-denly I was on the $ip side. !is girl - yellowww. I had been doing so well too, blending in, you know?

I used to think of myself as a twinkie: Yellow on the outside, white on the inside. I used to think this with pride! Shit. I was so “Canadian” - Yo what does that even mean? To be “Canadian”?

Looking back, I see the facts from my life - it was being white-washed. To conform to the dominant ideology of the ruling aris-tocracy of upper-middle class white people. Have a house in the burbs, kids that play hockey and soccer, and use the Tim Hortons drive-through. Is that not what it is to be Canadian?

And the harsh truth, if you happened to be from an “ethnic” group, meant giving up your mother tongue, not $aunting your di#erent, non-Judeo-Christian practices, learning how to cook

spaghetti and meatballs, not feeding your white friends curry or seaweed. (Uh, Gross!) It meant pretending that you had an equal chance no matter your “ethnic” background. It meant pretending that it was not at all because you weren’t white that you couldn’t be cast as Mary Poppins in your elementary school musical! True story! (...I’m not bitter...) It meant pretending that you, too, could live in a “multicultural” society whilst pledging allegiance to the maple leaf, to our home ON native land.

So where did I stand? I fell for so many of our Canadian narra-tives. Multiculturalism - Pierre Trudeau. Peace-keeping - Romeo Dallaire. Hockey - Wayne Gretzky, Mario Lemieux, Stevie Y, Martin Brodeur, Jarome Iginla. !e English language...

You know, I study English. I can give you a great overview of the English canon, of the lauded English writers and poets. You know they’re mostly men. White men - but that’s another issue. !e point is, a%er four years of OSAP-funded academic indoctri-nation, I realized what English could do for me, for once, "nally. I could use it. I hijacked it, English. It became my tool to overrule our ethnic di#erences, through speech. And despite the fact that I learned it because my parents immigrated to Canada, a land of colonialism, I could take these words I learned and use them for my freedom.

Freedom from the canonical works that allow only the domi-nant voices. Freedom from our di#erences that alienate. Freedom to decide the words that came out of my mouth, and to create, myself.

White privilege is not mine. No thank you! I don’t want that stu#. I’ve had my share of those consequences, and that’s been more than enough.

All I need are my words that give me a privilege beyond skin colour, beyond Canadian identity politics. !at my grasp of Eng-lish, this language spread over the world colony by colony, is now my key. !e key that brought me to poetry, this space, where I am "nally free. My key to the language that allows me to speak up and tell you my story.

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Hey there. My name’s Jordan. I just started highschool this year in my hometown, Fort McMurray. But I’m not there right now. My family and I—that’s me, my parents and my little brother Mikey—are o! to the Vancouver Olympics! It’s really exciting. In school we’ve been talking about supporting our athletes and cheering for Canada—I get to do it all live! And my family’s even more connected to all of it than lots of people, because my dad works for Petro Canada, and my mom works for RBC. "ey’re both supporting the Olympics. Cool, eh? "e drive only takes two days!

“So Jordan, what are you looking forward to the most?” my dad asked.

“Um, the hockey game—and the #gure skating. Oh and seeing all the trees and the mountains!” It was all going to be exciting.

“Well, we’ll be at both of those events in just a few days! But you’ll be right in the heart of the mountains before you know it—we’re coming up on the Sea-to-Sky Highway now!”

Sea-to-sky. I love that name. And soon enough, we were driving along that very highway. "e mountains were all around us. And trees too… just that more were cut down than I’d pictured. Some big areas were all gone… Hmm. Well, it was still pretty, for the most part. I could picture all kinds of cool animals living in the forest.

“What’s that?” asked Mikey, sounding kind of grossed out.

“Oh. Son. I, um, I think that was a grizzly bear. Must’ve wandered out into the highway. But you know what they say, natural selection, right?” Dad answered.

I didn’t think that a bear would want to be so close to the highway. It was really sad. But we kept driving, and my parents changed the conversation.

“Hey kids, do you remember what you’ve been learning in school about the Olympics? It’s important to know why they’re so great! Can you tell me what they do?” mom asked.

“Ooh, I know!” Mikey said. “Lots of athletes come from all over the world and all compete together. It makes more people want to be athletes, too.”

“Great!” Mom responded.“We talked about about how they’re a part of world

peace, too. "ey make all the countries sort of get along well, at least for a while,” I o!ered. “And we learned about how Canada’s such a great leader in this, because we do lots of, you know, peace stu!.”

“"at’s right Jordan, Canada’s like peacekeeping central!” my dad responded. “And they’re even cancelling Parliament so we can all just pay attention to the Games!”

We were driving into the centre of Vancouver now. We went in to the exhibit, to see all the torches from Olympics before. It was neat—there were lots of di!erent designs. But the oldest one seemed a bit strange to me…it said it was from the 1936 Olympics, when Hitler introduced the torch relay.

“Wasn’t Hitler a bad person?” I asked. “Isn’t this, like, Nazi propaganda?”

“Yes, Jordan, he was a very bad person,” my dad answered. “But that stu! ’s all in history—Hitler’s not running the Games now, is he?”

“No,” I conceded. I guess he’s right—we have Harper, who’s a good leader, not Hitler.

A$er seeing all the torches, we decided to go check into our hotel. When we got there, I was impressed. It looked pretty fancy. I mean, we were paying a lot for it—I think it was $5000 for the week—but “for the chance to see the Games that’s what you pay”, my dad said! And all the streets were so clean—no garbage, and there weren’t even any home-less people.

On a telephone pole in front of the building as we were going in I saw a poster that read, “Homes not Games”. "is wasn’t something we’d heard in school, so I asked my mom what it meant.

“Oh, that nonsense? It’s just a bunch of complainers. "ey don’t understand how good the Olympics are, and they want to spoil it for everyone else.”

Hmm. "at’s not an answer, I thought. But now we’re just going to go get settled into our room.

A$er we got our stu! put away, my dad said he was go-ing to check out the neighbourhood. My mom, Mikey and I decided to watch some of the pre-Games coverage on CTV. "ey were talking about all the di!erent sports, and it made us all really excited to go to see them the next day!

Dad wasn’t back yet and we were hungry, so we went to McDonalds for a %uatchi Burger. A$er dinner we ran into dad! It was kind of weird, because he was coming out of a house where a bunch of women were dancing in a window. We don’t know anyone in Vancouver so I didn’t know what he was doing inside. But his clothes were all ru&ed and my mom seemed pretty mad at him. "ey didn’t want to talk about it, though. We just went back to the hotel and went to

Olympic Spirit,Olympic ShameRachel Avery & Dan KellarImages by Julie Snache

13

bed so we’d be ready to see the Games.It’s the !rst day of the Games now! We’re going to see

the hockey game !rst, but we’re going to get there early and check out all the merchandise.

Our way there was a bit slow. "ere were lots of police and military vehicles—some of them from the U.S. "is was a bit creepy, but my dad reminded me that they’re here to keep us safe. We did make it over to where they had all the cra#s on sale though.

“Oh Jordan, come look at this, you’ll really like it!” my mom said.

She was pointing to a bunch of sweaters with a Native design on them, in the Aboriginal Cra#s section. I looked at the tag to see if it came from right here in B.C.—that would be cool. It said “Made in China”. I guess they have to do that to make enough, right? I don’t know…in school we learned about how all the local businesses were going to bene!t from all the tourists spending money, but this isn’t local, so I don’t really understand how that’s happening. My mom bought us all sweaters, though.

“Hey team! Let’s get going to the hockey game!” my dad called. “Ready to cheer on Team Canada?”

We started walking to the arena. I could hear cheering as soon as we got outside. But when we got to the main street I could see a crowd of people walking towards us. "ey were the ones chanting. Police were all coming to-wards them, too, with batons and plastic shields and scary masks. As they got closer I could hear what the protest-ers were saying—“No Olympics on Stolen Native Land”. I didn’t understand why they were saying that really—didn’t we trade them stu$ for the land? Weren’t there treaties and stu$ ? I asked my mom.

“It’s Canada’s land, I mean, we’re in Canada right now, aren’t we?” my mom answered. “And really, it all happened before any of them were born—can’t they just get over it?”

One of the protestors came over and handed us a %yer. It said, “RBC, Environmental Criminal: Greenwashing the Olympics and the Tar Sands”. I thought RBC was a good company, too, I mean, my mom works for them!

"ings got pretty scary then. "e cops started pushing back the protesters. I saw a girl in the crowd that looked

like one of my friends from home, and one of the cops shoved her to the ground and started punching her. I didn’t think she’d done anything wrong—weren’t they just saying what they thought? Isn’t that, like, a charter right or something? Free speech?

My dad pushed us away though, and we !nally made it to the hockey game. "e teams were ready to play, and everyone got ready to sing the anthem. "e big screen was on, too, so we could see the singer up close. It was sort of weird to be singing something cheerful a#er it was so scary outside. "e music started playing. And then all of a sud-den a bunch of people stood up on their seats and held up a huge banner that also said “No Olympics on Stolen Native Land”. "en the big screen went di$erent and a guy came on and said how many Indigenous Youth and their settler allies were resisting the Olympics, and then some other people stood up and held their own banners—they said things like “Smash the Police State”, “Homes not Games”, and “Resist the 2010 Corporate Circus”. "e rest of the crowd all started singing the anthem anyway, and the louder they sang, the more the protesters yelled.

I was confused…I thought Canada was a country that took care of its

people, all of them, no matter how much money you had.I thought people could speak their opinions here, and

that that was protected.I thought women had the same standing as men, and

weren’t bought and sold.I thought Canada was a peacekeeping nation, and a

human rights champion. I thought Canada was an environmental leader. I thought Canada respected Indigenous people, and

that we even helped them.I thought Canada was a great country, something that

we should celebrate. “Why aren’t you singing the anthem, Jordan?” my

mom asked.“I don’t know,” I said. But I knew exactly why.

See facts on the 2010 Olympics at blueprintmagazine.ca or at www.peaceculture.org

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!""#$grassroots culture | historical roots | radicial initiatives

family | community | growth

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15

I can distinctly remember quarrelling with my eldest cousin over the concept of patriotism. He told me it was something I absolutely had to feel—there was no option and no argu-

ment. Of course, he didn’t know whom he was up against. As a child I was relentless; no debate could be long enough and the barrages of questions (and snide remarks) were never ending—especially with him.

Our debates on Pakistan were always centered on the idea that, although I had never lived in Pakistan at any point in my life and couldn’t read or write Urdu, I had to be a proud Pakistani. Of course, at the time that pretty much just meant cheering for the Pakistani cricket team, the barometer of national pride. But for me, those faces in the crowd with the painted-on green and white !ags didn’t really mean much. I didn’t feel a sense of kinship. Maybe because I hated cricket, I don’t know. But I’m sure that on some level, I was just being a typical rebellious teenager.

"e debates never really went away as I grew older, but became less about rebellion and more about identity. I was attempting to #gure out who I was. Nationality was more of an unknown variable than religion or sexuality; it was what I was most confused about. "ere were no clear answers: I had a Pakistani father and an Indian mother. I was born in Kuwait, but lived my entire life in the UAE studying at an international school. I had a Pakistani passport, although I never saw it as more than a travel document. I will always remember my mom telling me a$er my umpteenth complaint about my ‘useless’ passport, “say what you will, but if we’re ever again in a situation like we were in Kuwait, we’re heading straight to Pakistan.” And that was it. I always knew that despite all my bickering and questions of identity, when it came down to a time of need, Pakistan is where we had looked before. In 1990, when Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait and started the Gulf War, my family le$ our entire lives behind and joined a caravan of refugees heading to Pakistan. We drove for over a week from Kuwait City to Lahore and were handed food and money by the Pakistani army at checkpoints along the way. Eventually, we settled in the UAE and Kuwait was history. Of course, this only added to the confusion in my head.

Another thing my cousin would use as part of his argument was the fact that since my father was Pakistani, I was de facto one too. "at’s where my inner feminist would step in and bitch my cousin out over his !agrant disregard for the validity of my mother’s national-ity. Not that I was particularly attached to India, but I just didn’t appreciate his understand-ing of patriotism in such a restrictively masculine way. It didn’t help that Indian culture is heavily weighted towards a concept of “motherland”, which in e%ect made me Indian. Once again, the expectation was an instant and immediate bond; something my mind evidently had somewhat of a chronic allergic reaction to.

I think eventually I just gave up on the idea of #nding a label to identify my nationality. Now that I’ve become a permanent resident in Canada, it’s even more of a blur. While my family was still !oating in limbo during the painfully lengthy Canadian immigration pro-cess, I continued to doubt if I would suddenly develop a national bond with the country we were trying to so hard to become a part of. I guess I had taken enough global studies courses to know that ethnicity, nationality, and nationalism were not three sides of the same (three-sided) die.

As it stands now, I have been a PR for exactly a month and a half, but I was connected to Canada way before I did my landing. As an international student at Laurier, Canada is where I discovered myself and expressed myself. It is where I was free to be whoever I wanted to be and believe or not believe in whatever I wanted to. But home will always be the UAE and Pakistan and India will always be the raw materials with which my entire value system was created. But when it comes to a question of patriotism, I’m still at a loss. Perhaps it’s because by de#nition it is limited to one country or maybe I’m still trying to #gure it out on some level but either way, I think patriotism is a topic best not debated; unless you’re my cousin, because then I will #ght you.

Confessions of a Third Culture KidWaleed Hafeez

Carly Lewis

16

!e crowd pressed forward as theWorship leaders emergedTo lead them inSong and Dance,In honour of theRed and White...Bottle.

“Open a Coke; Open Happiness”Came the refrain.“Open Coke today. Change tomorrow.”

And the people bowed and prayedTo the sugary god they made.

It’s the new Red and White:It will solve all our problems,And you can buy itIn a bottle.

“Open Happiness”, they sang.But suddenly, through the "ockCame a "ame.Oh, right: the Torch.!ey had forgotten they were hereFor the Sport.

False Idol Poem, image by Laura McDonald

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