2] In this lesson I say that it should be clear that the discourse on nationalism is also about ethnicity and ideologies of “race.” If you trace the historical overview of nationalism in Canada in the CanLit guide, you will find many examples of state legislation and policies that excluded and discriminated against certain peoples based on ideas about racial inferiority and capacities to assimilate. – and in turn, state legislation and policies that worked to try to rectify early policies of exclusion and racial discrimination. As the guide points out, the nation is an imagined community, whereas the state is a “governed group of people.” For this blog assignment, I would like you to research and summarize one of the state or governing activities, such as The Royal Proclamation 1763, the Indian Act 1876, Immigration Act 1910, or the Multiculturalism Act 1989 – you choose the legislation or policy or commission you find most interesting. Write a blog about your findings and in your conclusion comment on whether or not your findings support Coleman’s argument about the project of white civility.

The Canadian Multiculturalism Act of  1988, “provided a legislative framework for the official policy of multiculturalism adopted by the government in 1971”. (pier21.ca) Trudeau’s government introduced the policy, but it was under Brian Mulroney that the Act itself passed in 1988.

I don’t exactly know where my base definition of multiculturalism comes from; it seems that the notion of multiculturalism, Canada’s “cultural mosaic” is engrained into the Canadian consciousness from a young age. In elementary school, I remember being taught about Canada’s stance on multiculturalism in comparison to the United States: where Canada was a mosaic, the US was a “melting pot”. Those racists! was more or less what little me got out of the lesson, and ironically, in understanding that my nation was more culturally tolerant, cast shame and judgment on another nation and culture. The general understanding of Canada’s multicultural policies that I received was that in Canada, families were welcome to engage with their own cultures: religions, languages, foods etc. and be celebrated for it, that everyone could kind of join together and exchange these cultures and learn from each other.

Multiculturalism, as a national policy (and thus part of national consciousness) is more complex than sharing of food and freedom of religion, and deciding who multicultural policies benefit can be challenging and ambiguous. First, to make things easy, and put them in a binary, the choice between cultural mosaic and cultural melting pot doesn’t translate to being so cut and dry. The question(s) of assimilation that come into national policy and /law/ surrounding /culture/ are incredibly convoluted. Does multiculturalism mean room and understanding for segregation (for lack of a better term) in urban spaces, and what assumptions present themselves under that cheeky term “equality”? As a white, settler Canadian kid, I always thought that multiculturalism meant that everyone was treated the same regardless or background. But the problem with that is that background is what creates culture and identity in the first place. Different histories result in different present existences, and to claim social justice via equal treatment is to ignore history. This same glossing over of history is probably what lead me to see myself so self-righteously as Canadian, for I had yet to be taught Canada’s colonial history. This paradox of celebrating “difference” in order to achieve colourblind equality not only washes over histories of violence and identities of anger, displacement and coping out of necessity, but more or less says that cultures are welcome to exist so long as they are convenient, positive and exciting for Canada. Canlit notes this, “some critics have argued that multiculturalism policy leads to token displays of diversity–such as food, song and dance–rather than dealing with actual injustices.” (“Introduction to Nationalism”).

Continuing with this notion of binary, this “us and them”, the Canadian mentality of multiculturalism still latches onto the idea of Canadian culture accepting other cultures. Growing up, my idea of multicultural relied heavily on the idea of immigrant families–those who are welcomed into Canada thanks to multiculturalism, rather than part of this multicultural identity. I fully acknowledge that this could be based on my experiences growing up white, with a predominantly French Canadian heritage. But even if I have come to criticize my previous assumptions around who is legitimately Canadian and who is benefitting from Canadian multicultural policies, I do believe that it is a general consensus that whiteness, the settlers, the colonists are neutral in this cultural mosaic. The grout that holds all of the pretty, colourful pieces of glass together. When the general understanding of multiculturalism is “we are tolerant of different beliefs” rather than “we are a coexistence of different histories”, there is still an imbalance of power. Of who is able to provide the tolerance. Who presents and decides the laws in the first place.

This discussion of multiculturalism as 1) claiming equality to deny history and 2) celebrating the convenient pretty things by making them “legal” rather than full heartedly examining the legacy of violence that continues in Canada today, brings to mind the very recent passing of marriage equality in the US. While this is law is monumental for so many groups and individuals and has  on the backs of so many people throughout history, there have been many voices in the queer community–particularly queer people of colour–who say that making marriage legal distracts from the violence that is regularly occurring against them. Furthermore, having equality acknowledged through allowing people to get married, simply pushes the heteronormative, capitalist agenda of what a relationship and a family should be. Two people. Monogamous. In the same way that multiculturalism is often celebrated via food (and hey, I’m not complaining, I love me some food), homosexuality is accepted through marriage–something that is acceptable, comfortable and more or less the norm in the eyes of the law. Legally extending heteronormative values into what used to be deviant (from the norm) groups, can, in some ways, only further extend the influence of those in power (i.e. oppressive, colonial governments). The poet duo Darkmatter articulates some of these thoughts, “when marriage and not murder is the number one queer issue”, in the poem “It Gets Bourgie”; they refuse to join in the ignorance of the intersectionalities of capitalism, colonialism and the misogynistic patriarchy that is the state.

To engage in a legal declaration of the ever ambiguous “multiculturalism” is to shift the focus from, “Europeans colonized this land”, to “now that you’re in Canada, you are allowed to speak your language at home, but you still have to speak English (or maybe French) in most institutions/if you are an immigrant and want to be recognized as a citizen. Also food.” Sorry for being facetious, but to legally claim that Canada is multicultural is to shift the blame of oppressive and unequal policies/mentalities to other parties. All of the daily racism/violence/second class treatment/patronizing that non-white Canadians experience can no longer be the fault of the multicultural government, but of specific ignorant people, and that isn’t really the government’s problem. Furthermore, the Multiculturalism Act doesn’t really speak to any kind of policies to undo the violence that led to inequalities in the past, rather it claims a fresh, “equal” starting point for all groups. Which is impossible given histories of violence and all of the people in power who do not resemble or represent or identify as First Nations, and thus though everyone is allowed to sound their voice, only some are heard. And some have experiences such oppression that they may not feel able to sound their voice. There is so much history in silence. But the Multiculturalism Act more or less assumes that everyone is going to be singing at the same volume.

Works Cited

Canadian Museum of Immigration at Pier 21. “Canadian Multiculturalism Act”. Web. 2015. http://www.pier21.ca/research/immigration-history/canadian-multiculturalism-act-1988

CanLit Guides. “Reading and Writing in Canada, A Classroom Guide to Nationalism.” Canadian Literature. Web. April 4th 2013.

DarkMatter. “It Gets Bourgie”. Youtube. Web. March 26, 2015.

Darnell L Moore. “I am Black and Gay, But I Refuse to Be Proud This Weekend.” Mic. Web. June 26, 2015.  http://mic.com/articles/121420/Civil-Rights-Marriage-Equality

Dean Spade, Craig Willse. “Marriage Will Never Set Us Free.” Organizing Upgrade. Web. http://www.organizingupgrade.com/index.php/modules-menu/beyond-capitalism/item/1002-marriage-will-never-set-us-free

Immigrant Welcome Centre. “Canadian Multiculturalism Act.” Web. http://www.immigrantwelcome.ca/resources/42-canadian-multiculturalism-act

I really enjoyed reading various classmates’ stories of home, but found it incredibly challenging to write this post, connecting the assumptions and experiences of various authors. What I liked most, perhaps, was navigating the small details of home speckled throughout larger themes of what home meant to the individuals I read. Quirky anecdotes about great danes and ostriches added so much more meaning to the words of my peers, but also made me feel cautious when making assumptions about the assumptions/similarities of these stories. I found that a main theme between myself and my peers, in discussing home, was this notion that home is a strange combination of the tangible and the emotional, and I feel very humbled to engage with and try to understand and connect to the emotional significance and undertones of my classmates’ stories.

Anyway, I will be looking specifically at Saarah Ghazi, Freda Li and Whitney Millar’s stories about home. Common threads between these three (and others) included drawing back to memories, and childhood–this notion of time as important in solidifying and reifying what we call home–the concept of change in the recognition of home and the relationship between comfort/familiarity and building or growing into home.

The use of childhood memory in the definition of home was apparent in essentially all of the blogs I read. Perhaps this was more just along the line of the use of childhood/memory in storytelling, but I found it interesting that home was most often explored and referred to  in the context of the past. I think this connects to the next two themes I explore, change and comfort, but also speaks to what we refer to in our knowledge of self and place. Saarah’s discussion of her childhood was interesting because she maintained a certain ambiguity with regards to timeframe–it didn’t feel so linear: like childhood was more of realm rather than a the first however many years. This was useful because it implies that there is a certain set of values or way of experiencing things as a child that form memories and perceptions of home. Freda continued this stretching of history and knowing by connecting her childhood perceptions of home with her parents as immigrants. Freda acknowledged that her parents were “forced to look forward and create a new home,”, that home being her childhood. I appreciated this look into history that isn’t directly experienced, but passed down and formative–continued memory and time, layering perceptions of home.

I found these discussions of home in relation to childhood important to understanding how I relied on time and memory in legitimizing my definitions of home. To quote Missy Elliot, “it don’t matter where you from it’s where you at,” why do we tend to directly go to the past, rather than current states and feelings when defining home. Is home always a nostalgic thing, rooted in preliminary experiences, or can we have multiple, different definitions of home, some very new? Saarah brings balance and comfort when she notes that, “home is understanding and accepting the future while simultaneously honouring the past.” I guess we always see home in relation to wherever we are now; the past becomes significant with the present, but speaks the fact that our current definitions of home heavily rely on our initial definitions of home. Histories are incredibly valuable in orientation and wholeness of self.

The thing that amplified the focus on childhood as formative to notions of home was a specific change that challenged and then cemented perspectives. Again, this use of a causative incident is also probably just related to good storytelling (well done, team!), but it does speak to how we recognize and define norms. Whitney speaks about trying to replicate home when she moves to a dorm, and “rediscovering the familiar”, and Saarah speaks about slowly growing into seeing a new place as home after a move. The fact that all of our definitions of home come from preexisting experiences is valuable in understanding what norms we set when hearing others’ stories. Subconsciously we are holding up everyone else’s definition of home, to our own, just as we would when living in a new place. Change allows us to see all of our assumed norms, we often define home in terms of differences and similarities to a preexisting constant. In reading my peers’ blogs, I often found that they would either challenge or align with my own experiences and definitions of home–my memories set the norm form how I read everyone else’s.

A huge thank you to my peers for the interesting, heartwarming and challenging stories that helped me to better understand my own definitions of home.

Works Cited

Li, Freda. “Home is Not (Always) A House.” Whose Canada Is It? June 5, 2015. Web. https://blogs.ubc.ca/fredaliblog/2015/06/05/blog-4-a-home-is-not-always-a-house/

Ghazi, Saarah. “2.2.” Saarah Ghazi. June 4, 2014. Web. https://blogs.ubc.ca/saarahgeng470/2015/06/04/2-2/

Millar, Whitney. “Let Me Come Home.” Whitney Engl 470 Experience. June 5, 2015. Web. https://blogs.ubc.ca/whitneymillar/2015/06/05/let-me-come-home/

Missy Elliott. “We Run This.” The Cookbook. Atlantic/ Goldmind. 2005.

Assignment 2:2

poem to my uterus 
Lucille Clifton

you     uterus
you have been patient
as a sock
while i have slippered into you
my dead and living children
now
they want to cut you out
stocking i will not need
where i am going
where am i going
old girl
without you
uterus
my bloody print
my estrogen kitchen
my black bag of desire
where can i go
barefoot
without you
where can you go
without me

My friend Riley jokingly calls her body her “meat suit”. The imagery is graphic and morbidly suiting for the giggly, dimpled girl that crafted it. My father is a chef, and before the mid 2000s, when he began teaching his art, I grew up inside of a restaurant. The last two times I’ve had my heart broken it was because someone was moving away–most recently, the one moving away smoked cigarettes, and thus smelled like my late Grandma Jean. We squirmed in bed saying goodbye, trying to differentiate physical orientation from state of mind. Once I pooped my pants while on a run.

I’ve spent a significant amount of my life trying to understand where exactly I am situated in my body. I’d like to think of this skin as a meat suit I could peel off, tone, shave, whatever; but I have difficulty distinguishing the skeleton that it sticks to, that is to say, I almost never feel things in my bones. More often than not, my sense of self and sense of place are convoluted by my chemicals and physical bulk. The physical space one takes up can be daunting. I’m still working to understand what of my being I am in control of, and what is stubborn, unchanging, a physical constant. I feel like a lot of people devote their life(style) to disassociating state of mind from physical existence, transcending the barriers of the body. This is a powerful thing to do, and in so many situations, rejecting the traditional limits of the body is vital to growth and well being. But for me, in the discussion of home, I can’t help but to acknowledge my physical existence as significant to my sense of place.

I’m going to borrow the themes in Clifton’s poem, stretching them from what I see as her intended message, to discuss the significance of physical self in relation to notions of home. you have been patient as a sock. I tend to feel emotions extremely physically. I’m that kid who pukes when they are stressed out. Crying is one of my favourite things. I also like going for runs after nights out. I like the way I cough and spit and physically come to terms with everything I’ve consumed and done. My body is patient and forgiving, and in realizing this, I slowly become the same.

While is incredibly cathartic to use physical motion to come to terms with the emotional self, understanding and accepting the limits of the physical self is just as much as a process. All of the chemicals and synapses that feed into my emotional sense of existence, all of the stubborn bits that prevent me from functioning and identifying with myself are what make separation of physical self and emotional self challenging and perhaps impossible. There is this sense of urgency when your chemicals exhaust you. When you cannot rationalize your state of being. When your emotions feel primordial to your identity, that you are experiencing this essentialism that you aren’t really in control of. My body has been patient as I’ve tried to transcend it in my definition of self. As I’ve travelled and moved and changed places unknowingly lugging myself–my meat suit–around.

I’ve travelled a decent amount for the number of years I’ve been alive. For a long time (including the present), I (have) put a huge amount of energy into associating with place. Into becoming physically rooted to a city or geography. This notion of geographical space and Canadian identity has been discussed in our class before, and is especially vital to notions of colonialism and land. I do not wish to identify as someone who has shared the First Nations experience(s) of colonialism, but I would like to connect my reliance on physicality to connection to place to the use of physical geography to define home.

where can I go/barefoot/without you/where can you go/without me. Lugging my body to new places has exhausted me into accepting this idea that home is most often a cumulation of experiences rather than a physical location. The title of Chamberlin’s book, If This Is Your Land, Where Are Your Stories?, speaks to the transformation of geographical location into home. When Chamberlin talks about displacement, as European colonizers as also homeless, he brings to question the different layers of displacement and disassociation of place and self. I fear that it is impossible for me to not indulge in this cliche, this idea that home is a feeling, a memory; that people who love you make up your place. But it is true that you can’t just seek your stories elsewhere. That home is comprised of histories and melded into this pseudo-physicality that cannot be denied. This is not to say that home cannot be and is not being constantly recreated, but it is also saying that one’s physical self, the home that one carries around, is always interacting with the homes of others.

I have this baby tooth, rotting away in my mouth. There is no adult tooth underneath, and so there is nothing to push it out. But 21 years with a vice for gatorade power means that this baby tooth is riddled with cavities. I was eating sushi and part of it chipped off. I bailed on my last dentist appointment so this half tooth is just kind of sitting there. I’m trying to think if I have any cells in my body older than this tooth. I’m trying to think what will happen to my jawbone if I just leave it there, rotting.

Works Cited

Clifton, Lucille. “poem to my uterus.” Quilting Poems. Brooklyn, NY: BOA Editions. 1991.

Chamberlin, Edward. If This is Your Land, Where are Your Stories? Finding Common Ground. Toronto: AA. Knopf. 2003. Print.