{"id":2146,"date":"2021-07-20T11:04:06","date_gmt":"2021-07-20T15:04:06","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/hennaplatform.com\/?p=2146"},"modified":"2021-10-15T14:33:01","modified_gmt":"2021-10-15T18:33:01","slug":"the-escape-to-montreal","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/hennaplatform.com\/en\/the-escape-to-montreal\/","title":{"rendered":"The Escape to Montreal"},"content":{"rendered":"

On seeking refuge in Canada and leaving \u201cThe Land of Opportunity\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/em><\/h2>\n

By Abdul-Wahab Kayyali<\/strong>, Palestinian-Jordanian Researcher and Musician<\/em><\/span><\/h2>\n

I lived in the United States of America for 13 years, a third of my life and more than half of my (somewhat) adult one. My degrees are exclusively from American universities. I lived in many places there: Boston, Chicago, D.C, Ann Arbor, and finally Phoenix. I am often faced with the question: why did you leave then? Here I quote the dissident Chinese director, Ai Weiwei, who, when asked why he was leaving Berlin, <\/span>said<\/span><\/a>: <\/span>\u201cThose who know their destination are no longer refugees. I am a refugee.\u201d<\/span>\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I am a refugee. My parents are refugees, as are my grandparents, on both sides. We are refugees from the coast of Palestine, from where we were forced out during the Nakba – our catastrophe. We lived in Amman, Beirut, and elsewhere. As a refugee, where you live is not important. What is more important is what lives in you. I pursued my higher education in the US chasing after a specific career path. But can a refugee afford planning any path? My career plans started coming apart in the mid 2000s, and in many ways they still are, as are my region, my land, and my society. I met my partner in the US, she too was a roamer. I gained a lot from my time in the US: degrees, relationships, experiences, and friends. But two specific moments were decisive in severing me from that country: the first was the declaration of a war that never happened in September <\/span>2013<\/span><\/a>, the second was the election of 2016.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

I am a refugee, and my name is Abdul-Wahab. There is no escape from that. In 2013 following the chemical massacre in Syria, the US chose not to stop the biggest bloodbath the wretched Middle East has ever seen: the most horrific chapter of Bashar Al-Assad\u2019s continuous war on the Syrian people. In 2016 the US chose to elect a leader that hated everything I and people like me represent. I did not have the privilege of fighting the internal battle in the US, nor did I seek it. Starting 2017, my partner started working within the confines of the US<\/span> sponsorship system<\/span><\/a>. I followed suit in 2018. My liberal friends would joke that \u201cIf Trump wins another term, I\u2019m moving to Canada!\u201d I could not afford to wait and choose. My partner and I started an immigration process to Canada as soon as I finished my doctorate. The possibilities in the US were wide-open, and anything could still happen. Still, Trump had fulfilled almost all of his heinous and gasp-inducing campaign promises, which seemed impossible to enact for liberally-inclined Americans. The possibilities in my part of the world, however, were almost non-existent, having consistently diminished since that ominous year, 2013. Leaving the US amidst the COVID-19 pandemic was perhaps more difficult and dramatic than it ought to have been, but we belong to countries that witness wars, military coups, and massive waves of refuge seekers. We\u2019ve been through worse.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

No <\/span>ghurbah<\/span><\/i> in Montreal<\/span><\/h2>\n