It was freezing but it was beautiful.
Three years ago when I landed in Fredericton International Airport, I never could have imagined myself marching in -13 C weather, along with over 200 other people, against religious discrimination.
Those 200 people all took time off their day to link arms and chant “No ban, no wall, asylum is for all” for hours. As we marched, some faces we passed by were smiling, some frowning and some indifferent. But the people marching were throwing their fists in the air; they were laughing, screaming and solemn all at once.
One week ago, President of the United States Donald Trump signed an executive order temporarily banning people from seven Muslim-majority countries including my country of birth, Iraq, from entering the U.S. He also put a complete halt on accepting refugees for 120 days.
That weekend, a man entered the Centre Culturel Islamique de Québec (Islamic Cultural Centre of Quebec) in the suburb of Ste. Foy, and began shooting. Six people lost their lives. They were in a place of worship, a place perceived safe.
All I remember from the few days following these incidents is losing hope and gaining it back, over and over again.
It would dawn on me that I may not be able to see my family living in the U.S. for a while, and my eyes would well up. Then I would get a message from an acquaintance, a professor, a best friend, telling me they love me and they’re here and the tears would overflow. A strange mix of gratitude and resignation would come over me every time.
And although a federal judge in Seattle has ordered a halt on the travel ban, I’m still acutely aware of the sinister effects of Islamophobia in both Canada and the U.S.
At the rally before the march, a man with a megaphone screamed intelligible things across the street. I heard “two suspects” and “this is not Canada.” Some people reacted to his heckling, but the speaker kept speaking, louder now, and the rally went on. He eventually moved on, probably because not many people were listening.
As frustrating as the encounter was, I think his presence was important. He was a loud, in-your-face reminder there is still a problem here. He was a physical representation of exactly why all those people were at the foot of Fredericton City Hall.
I’ve met so many good people here. People who sacrifice time and money to resettle refugees, not expecting anything in return. People who reach out to their Muslim friends because they empathize and want to help.
I don’t know what I would have done if I didn’t have the constant reminder that I have supporters, people on my side.
But there are also people who believe Muslims are defined by the actions of violent criminals that kill under false pretences. Those people exist, and it’s not enough to block them on Facebook and pretend like they don’t.
Reach out to your Muslim friends, show support, but also reach out to your ignorant friends. It is our responsibility to say our peace, give honest and open conversation a fair shot, then we’ve done our dues.
The march touched me deeply. I wrote to a friend “I’m glad so many people are speaking out in support. Makes me love Canada even more,” and she wrote “We love you back.”
And that love was felt this afternoon at city hall. Thank you Fredericton for keeping the hope alive.
