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magazine / nd04
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November/December 2004 issue |
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FEATURE
Canada and the world
Canada: global citizen
In an age of ever-increasing trade and travel, global security concerns and environmental problems,
Canada and its citizens are advancing a wider sense of community around the world
Excerpt of story by Pico Iyer
Thank you, thank you, thank you," said Archbishop Desmond Tutu, his voice a whispered
intimacy as it echoed around the high vaulted spaces of Vancouver’s Christ Church Cathedral
one day this spring. Behind him sat the fourteenth Dalai Lama and the winner of the 2003
Nobel Peace Prize, Shirin Ebadi, the fearless lawyer from Iran. "You are Canadians," Tutu
went on, "so you are too shy to applaud yourselves. But let me wave a magic wand over
you for a few minutes and turn you into Africans."
He passed his hand above the assembled gathering and then urged everyone to recall how
Canada’s political and moral support had helped bring an end to apartheid in his native
South Africa. Had Canada not followed his call for economic sanctions, he implied, his
country might still be mired in institutional racism. Then the charismatic Anglican passed
his hand over the crowd in the other direction and said, "Now you can be Canadians
again, quiet and polite."
In fact, Canadians these days very often come from Africa — and Tibet and Iran and everywhere — and
live ever farther from the pale diffidence of old stereotype. And yet the fact remains
that when these three great voices of global responsibility came together to discuss how
to bring peace and freedom to the planetary neighbourhood, they chose to do so not in London
or Paris or New York but in Canada. Canada has become the spiritual home, you could say,
of the very notion of an extended, emancipating global citizenship.
We all know that Canada has worked hard to turn the multicultural reality of the modern
urban world into an opportunity. Cities like Montréal, Toronto and Vancouver are home now
to singers from Senegal and novelists from Sri Lanka, to India-Pakistan cricket matches
and festivals from the Caribbean. In the 1960s, when I was growing up (I was born in England
to parents from India, raised in California and live now in Japan), barely three percent
of Toronto’s people were "visible minorities." Now the figure comes to more than
50 percent.
But even the many Canadians who live far from these rapidly changing cities or whose
communities are largely unchanged since Queen Victoria’s time have seen their lives transformed
by the country’s determination to stage a radical experiment, in the wake of Pierre Trudeau’s
inclusive immigration policies, that has given Canadians a sense of connection to both
their homes and the world.
Yet what is harder to appreciate, especially if you’re at home in the Yukon or small-town
Manitoba or in a Newfoundland outport, is that even as more and more of the world is in
Canada, Canada is in more and more of the world. Travelling across the globe for 40 years
now, I’ve met Canadians, disproportionally numerous, at every turn: aid workers and diplomats
and engineers and just plain travellers taking the spirit of hopefulness and exploration
and practical know-how that seems to arise out of the country’s wide expanses and seeing
how they can uncover a different kind of world.
The person who showed me around Bangkok my first day in Southeast Asia was a friendly,
young would-be entrepreneur from Ottawa; and not long ago, on a plane, I found myself next
to a grandmother from Saskatchewan who, when her husband died, decided that she might as
well go and see the world (she was returning from three months in a small town in Mexico
when I met her). I ushered in the 21st century in a tiny Tibetan café on Easter Island
with two adventurous Torontonians who had brought themselves to a place where few Europeans
or Americans were in evidence.
And two years earlier, on another New Year’s Day, as I viewed the great carvings that
swarm around Cambodia’s central monument, Angkor Wat, I saw two Khmer Rouge leaders walking
as fellow sightseers, unprotected, through a city they had orphaned. A Cambodian beside
me clutched the ancient pillar nearby so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He was
a Canadian now, he informed me, and had managed to escape to freedom and safety after the
Khmer Rouge killed 1.7 million of his countrymen, including his mother and father. Having
made it to the comfort and ease of Ottawa, though, he felt he owed it to his old compatriots,
and his new ones, to come back to Cambodia and try to help it toward the peace and prosperity
it so desperately needed.
For the rest of this story, visit your local newsstand or go to our store to buy this issue.
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