Today isn't the first time I've noticed the extraordinary privileges that I've grown up with, but I felt pangs of yuppie guilt on a subject I never have before. Being a first generation immigrant usually meant disadvantages and was sometimes a point of pity when I interact with those born in Canada.
I had the extraordinary privilege of having parents who are both highly educated at post secondary levels, of coming from a solidly middle class and academic family in China (a boon not to be underestimated in a country with huge wealth disparities) and coming to Canada with legal approval.
By the above statement I mean I did not have to cross a border illegally. I at no point needed to fear deportation from my new home. I was welcomed first as a landed immigrant then a citizen. I proudly hold the blue passport of Canada (not incidentally one of the most powerful passports in the world). I have a citizenship card tucked in a drawer of documents somewhere. I have the freedom to travel in Canada and the privilege to work in legal employment.
I do not have to accept substandard wages and poor working conditions because I am legally protected as a citizen. I do not have to avoid seeking medical care because I don't have health protection through immigration laws. I do not fear encountering the police on grounds that they might realize I am staying on a fake/expired visa.
And what I learned today: if ever incarcerated, I would be much more equipped to navigate the system than someone who does not speak the language.
For protection of identities, I will leave out significant details.
There is no detention center for those facing deportation due to immigration issues and who are not currently under sentencing/have served their sentences. They stay in a prison until border services is able to escort them back to their home country.
There is apparently minimal language support for those who are not fluent in English. I'm no stranger to working with those who do not speak fluent English, but I've had the much appreciated resource of interpretation services. These services are, apparently, not employed regularly by the correctional center I visited.
This person had been in the prison system for some time without the access of any interpretation services. I happened to be visiting for a different reason and chance someone noted that I speak the same language as them. Coincidentally, we're from the same region of China.
Setting aside many major concerns of the experience of this person in the prison system, the very fact that they couldn't navigate how to make a phone call out of the prison nor understand how to buy food and basic toiletries (again, setting aside the fact that these aren't provided in a center). Small things that in any bad day for me are things that make me feel more human. Things that many of us currently sitting comfortable in our stable homes take for granted.
What most struck me about this person's story is their terrible guilt and shame in not being able to bring home gifts for their ailing family member. This family member (who due to medical issues has decreased cognitive functions) innocently requested chocolates and milk powder. And this person was desolate that they couldn't even bring home chocolates and milk powder to their family. The very basic of basic gifts that families usually request when a relative returns from abroad.
On our first trip back to China after immigrating we also bought chocolates. The Walmart ubiquitous Pot of Gold chocolate boxes. These days my relatives have long come to expect designer purses and brand name jewelry, but they still request and receive the occasional boxes of chocolates and milk and protein powders.
It's impossible not to draw parallels between myself and this person. We're from the same part of China, we both moved to Canada, but on sitting across from each other in a meeting room, I felt pangs of guilt. The pangs of guilt of having privileges that I never had to fight or work for. Guilt of being simply born into a privileged family where they were not. Guilt that I can buy a box of chocolates without any thought or concern.
One of the people I visited the center with, upon hearing my thoughts on the above, made a point that I hope to keep in mind. What matters is that I do more than simply acknowledge my privilege. I am using the privileges I have (in this case being bilingual) to help those with less.
So to conclude a long rambling, the prison system is terribly flawed, but hopefully the language services of this particular institute is something I can advocate for so that no further inmates have to guess what they're being held for. I'm also extraordinarily privileged to be a legal immigrant and now Canadian citizen instead of having to come through and live under constant fear of deportation and lack of basic human rights that citizenship of the country one is residing in grants.
Being an immigrant is still a great privilege.
No comments:
Post a Comment