As an Iranian-born woman, I haven't always felt like Canada is home

This First Person article is the experience of Kimiya Shokoohi, a writer and filmmaker from Vancouver. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see the FAQ.

For many immigrant families, Canada has long held the promise of a better life. As the child of Iranian immigrants, however, I've questioned whether Canada is the home for me.

My family immigrated to Canada from Iran in the early '90s, when I was just a toddler. My earliest memories of life start in Montreal, where we became permanent residents. For all intents and purposes, I was no less Canadian than the white kids at school — but I would come to learn early on that I couldn't be just another one of the kids.

In the sixth or seventh grade, I walked into our school's band classroom ahead of a concert where we had been instructed to wear white. I wore a cream-coloured turtleneck that was the closest thing I had to white. Angry, the young blond band teacher looked at me and said, "There's always one." 

Over the years, I would hear similar comments from other Canadians, Americans, Brits.

Some of their greatest hits included: "Go home," "One of these things doesn't belong," "Sometimes we end up in the wrong place," "We don't need it," "I'm getting sick of seeing her face," and (my favourite) "It's like we're in a hostage crisis."

The latter is a reference to the American hostage crisis after the Iranian Islamic Revolution in 1979. I like a good historical reference.

I suppose I hadn't imagined, when I was being patted down as a 12-year-old at Vancouver International Airport on a school trip to Quebec, that being the different "one" was going to be a frequent occurrence. It's easy to imagine how the attacks of 9/11 influenced decades of dehumanizing people from the Middle East.

I've thought about the role Iranian immigrants are supposed to play in Canadian society. While the U.K. and the U.S. have a long, enmeshed history with Iran, Canada's relations with Iran were just established in 1955. Iran became one of Canada's central trading partners in the Middle East, but diplomatic ties between Tehran and Ottawa were severed in 2012.

In January 2020, I saw Iranian-Canadians appear extensively in national and international media after a flight from Tehran to Ukraine was shot down killing 176 innocent people on board, including many Iranian-Canadians. Usually, the faces we see in the media are that of religious clerics and the voices we hear deal mostly in political rhetoric. Names of those on board were mispronounced and images of grieving families lingered uncomfortably long. 

Long hugs and belittling sympathy is not the appropriate response.

Over the years, I've lived, worked or otherwise visited some 30 countries. I decided at 16 I was going to move to the United States while in New York City for a family vacation. The U.S. was exhilarating whereas Canada was an even keel. In recent years, I've considered moving back to Los Angeles, where I went to graduate school and conversations about cultural diversity and racial inequity are frequent.

Once in Europe, I understood the dangers and realities of those conversations about race-based power and hegemony. Living in West Africa, too, I was a kind of "other." "The white one," I'd get called occasionally. "I have never in my life enjoyed the privileges of being white," I would retort, mostly to laughter. We had fun in Senegal. If I could go back to Tehran, even if for a brief visit, I would — being a dual citizen of Canada and Iran who has worked for British media complicates matters.

Being back in Vancouver during the pandemic has been something of a ghostly experience. 

In the quiet of pandemic restrictions, I've taken walks past my elementary school. The school has new structures on the property, but it's like I remember it. The playgrounds are where I remember them. The trees and the mountains of the North Shore to the distance are the same. I think about what it means to be "home" when stories like yours are seldom told. I didn't become Canadian by choice. Still, that knee-jerk reaction to be anywhere but here has since subsided — and not just because a travel ban is barring me from leaving. I've accepted that wherever I go, Iran included, I may always be some kind of other. 

There are days when I think back fondly on the places I've lived. I understand now when they say: wherever you go, there you are. Despite its many flaws, Canada is my home. Vancouver has been a pleasant constant among life's many changes. I would be remiss if I didn't try to contribute, from experiences enjoyed and endured, in hopes of creating a future where we can all see ourselves reflected better.

My family chose correctly in making a home in Canada. I just had to travel the world to find out.

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