Rights of girls and women unmasked

Zenura Ishaq, after winning a court case allowing her to wear her niqub, recites oath to become a Canadian citizen. Photo courtesy CBC.
Zenura Ishaq, after winning a court case allowing her to wear her niqub, recites oath to become a Canadian citizen. Photo courtesy CBC.

I have listened to it. I have read it. I have asked my friends – both women and men – what they think of it. And because I have a sister, a wife, two daughters and a granddaughter and many female friends of various ages, cultural origins, linguistic backgrounds and religious faiths, in my life, I have agonized over its message.

“Why would Canadians, contrary to our own values, embrace a practice … that is not transparent, that is not open and frankly is rooted in a culture that is anti-women?” Prime Minister Stephen Harper said in Parliament earlier this year, “That is unacceptable to Canadians, unacceptable to Canadian women.” (more…)

We are all Syrians

Greek Line S.S. Olympia
Greek Line T.S.S. Olympia in service from 1953 to 1974.

My sister and I made it our business to arrive in the theatre aboard the ship before most other passengers. We loved the idea – especially on rainy days during our Atlantic crossing – of getting the best seats from which to watch the Hollywood movie screened that afternoon, a new one every day.

But this day, when we got to the theatre, most seats were filled with other passengers. The Greek Line ship on which we were sailing – the Olympia, bound from Athens to New York City in the summer of 1964 – had recently stopped at Naples. A large number of Italian passengers – we sensed they were immigrants – had come aboard. Anyway, when my sister and I entered the theatre this day the woman in charge of ship orientation was scolding some noisy children among the immigrant passengers.

“Be quiet!” she scolded with a thick Greek accent. “If you do not behave, I will throw you away!” (more…)

Quiet victor

Nelson Mandela emerges from Robben Island prison in February 1990.
Nelson Mandela emerges from Robben Island prison in February 1990.

The morning the world changed, I had tumbled from my warm bed, found a cup of coffee to help me on my way and driven from the countryside to the old CBC Radio building on Jarvis Street, next to CBC corporate head offices in downtown Toronto. By 5 a.m. I had cleared my head and my throat to deliver one of my first newscasts for the CBC Network that morning. Little did I know within the first hours of my shift, I would be part of something momentous.

“Here is the CBC News,” I said at the top of each hour that morning to begin the five-minute hourly newscast. But that day I also got the chance to announce repeatedly as the top story, “Nelson Mandela, the black African leader imprisoned for treason since 1963, has this morning left notorious Robben Island prison, a free man.”

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Summer rite of passage

This week, summer settled in. The news isn’t worth reading for a while. The backyard is halfway between being under some control and being taken over by weeds. Any songbirds that are coming, have come. A lot of neighbours have disappeared to their cottages. I’ve slipped into a summer break like a pair of favourite sandals. Then, the other day, my daughter dropped by.

“Taking two of the kids to summer swimming camp,” she told me.

“Yup. It’s summer,” I sighed.

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A day is not enough

The one day The Scotsman newspaper changed everything… was International Women’s Day, March 8, 1995.

It happened the year we celebrated our 20th wedding anniversary. To mark the occasion, my sister, my cousin and my parents had all arranged for my wife and I to travel to the U.K. for a week. And on the morning of March 8, 1995, we walked out of our hotel on Princes Street in Edinburgh, Scotland, to buy the daily newspaper, The Scotsman. We approached the newsies hawking copies of the paper. They were all women.

“Help celebrate this important day,” the women newsies shouted, “It’s International Women’s Day.”

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Idle voice no more

Elmer Ghostkeeper lived the “Idle No More” philosophy before it was official. Photo by Cliff Skarstedt.

It’s about 30 years ago now that I met Elmer. Born in 1947, he was about my age. Like me he’d grown up searching for a place in the world to make a difference. He’d gone to elementary school in the Canadian North, to college to become an engineer and to university to study anthropology and political science. In the 1960s, he poked around Europe hoping to figure things out. Then he found his calling.

“My dad had taken sick and nearly died,” he said. “I decided it was time I returned home to get to know my parents.”

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To condemn or save

The railway tracks into the Nazis' Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp proved to be a one-way trip to extermination.
The railway tracks into the Nazis' Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp proved to be a one-way trip to extermination.

I met a couple of teachers this week. At least, I came to know a little of their stories. There’s not much I can relate. They were both Polish. One was named Ciechanowski Jan, born in March 1882. And Brem Jerzy was born in September 1914, as the Great War began. They both came to the area of Poland, around Krakow, in 1941. Or, more correctly, they were brought there, to the small town of Oswiecim, which German armies then occupied. Only the Nazis renamed the place Auschwitz. And here’s the way their records summed up those two teachers:

“Jan, number 11193, executed Oct. 29, 1941” and “Jerzy, number 10190, executed August 19, 1942.”

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