The negotiation is between the idea and the practice of multiculturalism. The idea: when I first arrived in Canada at the age of 12 in 2000, speaking very little English, I was met with patient and encouraging teachers — teachers who asked a second, third, fourth time “how do you say your name?” and rehearsed until they got it right. They extended themselves, and went to great lengths to help me grasp concepts I struggled with. They made it their business to help me overcome the challenges of a new home.
Soon after, I met the flip side of the coin: the practice, which is laden with suspicion, racism and fear. On the first Friday prayers after September 11th, we pulled up to find two police cruisers parked in front of our local mosque. I was told they were there to protect us. As I joined the other teens at the mosque, none of us articulated the questions weighing on our minds: Protect us from what? What would happen if they weren’t here?
It’s hard to be romantic about multiculturalism when your existence necessitates a degree of risk assessment every day. This was as true for me in the mosque that day as it is for the women receiving an onslaught of threats now. All notions of romance are replaced with the exhausting work of threat evaluation. Am I safe? Am I vulnerable?
There is an intellectual danger in disguising the origins of multiculturalism as a policy, and evolving it to an idea or a national value. If we do so, we risk losing the well-meaning point: multiculturalism is less a noun, less a fixed thing in the sky, and more so a verb. We do multiculturalism, which means sometimes we do it well and sometimes we do it badly.
The times we do it well: we know immigrants to Canada succeed economically to a greater degree than they do in other nations. Times we do it badly: a political party might find it compelling to seize upon anti-immigrant sentiments and promise to launch a “barbaric cultural practices hotline.” Times we do it well: that party might fail on account of attempting such a policy. Times we do it badly: journalists who are not white are still getting harassed and bullied.
Multiculturalism, then, is not a load-bearing identity, but an orientation. On occasion, the country is more wholeheartedly turned towards it, and other times it is fractious to face in its direction. That binary, too, is limited: it’s partly built on the fantasy that Canada belongs to its white settlers and is “theirs” to share, a narrative that erases the existence of First Nations, Métis & Inuit peoples. But it’s in the very thrashing of all these ideas that a possible identity of Canada becomes coherent — we’re a young country, and we’re working towards an expansive definition of who we are.
By now, Canada has a robust history of making room, of contracting and expanding to contend with new arrivals. Canada is sometimes succeeding, often failing, but ever trying. If this sounds only positive, I do not mean it to be: we exalt the idea of the hyphen, unaware of its real costs. There are high prices to pay, like people’s safety and people’s sense of belonging.
If there is room for optimism, it is because I can’t think of another nation that would contend with this much elasticity, or tolerate this much tug of war over its national identity. Whether you think that’s worth celebrating depends on how much rope burn you have.
Elamin Abdelmahmoud is the host of CBC’s weekly pop culture podcast Pop Chat, co-host of CBC’s political podcast Party Lines, and a frequent culture commentator for CBC News. He’s also a culture writer at BuzzFeed News. His collection of essays, Son of Elsewhere, will be published in Spring 2022.