A 7 Year Old Immigrants Journey To Canada; Back In 1992

Yes, I am one of those dreaded refugees who made their way to North America at a young age with my family. We were poor, naive, and new to a beautiful country called Canada. The journey itself was not as easy as going from A to B. It was painful, scary, and at times impossible. 

My mother and father (and other family members) were both political prisoners during the 80s against the Islamic Regime in Iran. They both fought and paid a heavy price for fighting a losing battle. My father was sentenced to two years at a maximum security prison near Tehran. My mother was sentenced to three years at another infamous prison known to devastate the mind and body. 

They both got out and instantly married. Their parents could not stand to see them get back into the trenches since the Ayatollah was cracking down hard. My mother was 17 and my father 22. I was born a year later (August of 1985). I am not sure it was such a good idea to get pregnant right away since my mother was emotionally devastated out of prison. I am sure it had some sort of negative impact on me as an infant. She lost weight with me in her teenage belly. 

My father, a rebel at heart could not stand to see his family wither away in a country where basic rights and freedoms are a commodity given to a select few. Him and his brother in-law decided to leave the country when I was 7. You see, the Islamic Regime is so afraid of political dissidents that they ban their children from attending national universities. I was promised a life where I could not reach my fullest potential, not to mention a totalitarian regime breathing down my neck. 

My father and his brother in law left for Turkey alone. They left their wives and children to their own defenses. Seeing my father leave was overwhelming. He was just gone. I would sometimes go out in the streets as a child and try to smell the cigarettes of other men so that I could remember him. That feeling was short lived because we were going to join them 4 months later. 

I'll never forget the day my mother chased my brother and I down the street to take us to the airport. I ran away and didn't want to leave our family. Nothing made sense to me. We had everything we needed. Grandmothers, fathers, aunts and uncles, cousins and family friends. We had shelter, food, and traveled often. It had to be and I gave in. We went to the airport and I was not to return back to Iran until I was 20. 

Turkey was a different world. We were not allowed to go to school. We shared a home with my aunt, uncle and their kids. We rarely ate meat, had running water once a week at 3 AM, and were constantly watched by their internal police. My mother and father would constantly rehearse their experience at prison. They would write down everything they went through and compare notes. I was curious. I listened and took in all the pain they went through. They would constantly sit by the phone or call the UN and see if we were accepted to immigrate to a better country. 

We got accepted to the United States and Canada. My parents picked Canada. Vancouver, Canada to be exact. It took almost 2 years, but it was done. Traveling out of Turkey meant nothing to me. I was in shock from what we had experienced. Coming to Canada meant that I would be traveling to another Turkey. I saw no benefits. In fact, I promised myself that I would not get my hopes up just in case I would get crushed again. Luckily, that wasn't the case. 

We went to school right away. It was hard, but we got through it. I am going to skip all the relentless bullying, which took place from grade 5-7 as it was the norm with new immigrant kids. My dad bought my first bike and when we were in school, him and my uncle would take our bikes and look for a job. Both families came to Canada with less than $200, 5 kids, and no prospects. 

They borrowed $6,000 from distant relative in Japan and bought 2 vehicles to deliver pizza. That lasted a couple of years. They then purchased cube vans and started delivering heavy items for a company called Novex. They saved enough money and started their own pizza shop. That turned into 3 restaurants and 15+ employees. This all happened in the span of 7-10 years in Canada.

These are the most memorable moments I can remember in the last hour. I've decided to skip a lot since it could turn into a very long story, which cold turn your stomach. 

There are now hundreds and thousands of military aged men with no families coming to this amazing part of the world. Almost none accept its culture and freedoms like we did when we arrived. Very few become contributing citizens. Almost all support socialism and shy away from libertarian ideology. Of course, not all immigrants are like this, but I see a pattern and a trend. 

You must also remember that I am here because of your governments support for hardcore, authoritative regimes. Mosadegh was our democratically elected leader who nationalized our oil. That didn't fly with England and USA. The Shah of Iran was brought in by the west who was also kicked out to make way for the Islamic hordes running the country today. Let's not forget the billions of dollars going to "rebels" fighting the Assad regime. I know most of you here at Steemit are well versed in world politics, but most sincerely believe that these rebels are "Syrian" and have good intent. It's the Taliban all over again. This is all another post, which I will get into in the future. 

Thank you for reading. I hope you look at my story and really think about your immigration policies. Take it seriously. DO NOT let everyone in. We will all lose this amazing part of the world to people who are not privy to freedoms. Let those in who deserve it. Families like mine. People who will assimilate and contribute. It seems that we're going the wrong direction so I will join the conservative/libertarian movement and safeguard your/my freedoms. I sure as hell don't see the average person doing it.