After the pain from abuse, loneliness hits
Novel by immigrant women for immigrant women aims to put survivors of violence in charge
Aloneness.
It hits first, long before the loneliness does, long before the eager anticipation of a new life blends with the realities of a new country.
Every year, when more than 100,000 women enter this country, sometimes alone, sometimes with their families but always with their dreams and expectations, the aloneness is a reset button, a hopeful one, representing new beginnings and endless possibilities.
The first tentative friends, the first shopping mall, the first grocery store, the first snow . . . and then, for some women, the first brush with abuse. Verbal, sexual, racial. That’s when, amid the chaos, loneliness gushes in like a ferocious whirlwind, shattering lives. That’s when the aloneness becomes isolation.
One in three women in Canada experience sexual violence and most don’t report it. If picking up the pieces is challenging for Canadian women, those who are bereft of their societal networks are left especially vulnerable to the abuse and cruelty of identity-based prejudice.
A graphic novel launched March 2 captures four stories of newcomer women in a quick-read format. Telling Our Stories: Immigrant Women’s Resilience is a free novel, in a project funded by the provincial Ministry of Citizenship and Immigration. It is the result of a creative venture between the OCASI, the Ontario agency serving immigrants and MOFIF, the agency for francophone immigrants.
The four stories — of domestic abuse, workplace abuse and date rape — are composites gathered from the experiences of about 40 women from the GTA at four-day workshops and illustrated by Coco Guzman, an immigrant, who also facilitated the workshops.
Chillingly, participant Rebecca Miller who arrived from St. Lucia in 2009 sees herself reflected in all the stories.
Over the phone, her strong voice bespoke an undiminished spirit, her tone carried the exhilaration of one who has broken the psychological shackles that abuse chains you in.
“I look at myself not as a victim but a survivor,” says Miller, a woman in her 50s.
Before that, though, “I had to seek help I didn’t know I had.” The man had told her if she reported abuse she would be deported, although she was here legally. “I have a child here. Being alone, I was afraid. I needed to protect myself and my child.”
Her abuse report was registered as a police case in 2016, and she has not seen the man since.
Another participant was Mona Barkat, 34, a lawyer from Algeria, who arrived in 2014.
Barkat is francophone but spoke in English of the typical newcomer challenges, futile job hunts, the “Canadian experience” barrier that stubbornly refuses to come down and the rather disheartening decision to start from scratch.
Her interest in women’s issues took her towards volunteering in a non-profit, and she went to MOFIF.
In Algeria, she says, “women face sexual and psychological abuse, but if they say ‘I was abused,’ they will say it’s your fault. They always blame the woman.” Well, well. Her biggest discovery in the process of doing the workshop? “My awareness of people of different sexual orientations . . . before I wasn’t very informed. I didn’t know they faced difficulties even here.” Even here. Yep. Also, workplace harassment. Even here. When they finally do get a job, newcomer women tend to be eager to fit in.
“The power of women sitting together and sharing their thoughts . . . It’s really magic.” FAYZA ABDALLAOUI ALGERIAN IMMIGRANT
They tend to ignore the little alarm bells that inappropriate behaviour sets off, or even accept the behaviour as part of the deal of living in the freewheeling West.
Both Krittika Ghosh from OCASI and Fayza Abdallaoui from MOFIF, the agencies behind the graphic novel, are double migrants. Ghosh, from India by way of the U.S., and Abdallaoui, from Algeria via France. They faced the same barriers to the job market themselves.
“It happens to mostly everybody unless you’re coming here with like super connections and know people,” Ghosh said.
“That was like a slap in my face,” Abdallaoui says, “because I wasn’t expecting this.”
“I really didn’t expect Canada to erase everything (all my previous experience) that had happened and not take this as a strength, actually, for the Canadian economy.” Ghosh, who worked in New York with South Asian Muslim and Arab victims of hate crime post Sept. 11, 2001, prefers a peer-based approach to solutions instead of a top-down one. “Survivors themselves can be in charge of organizing themselves,” she says, “and are the best source of knowledge.”
The graphic novel, she hopes, will put the survivors in charge of their change. “We wanted to develop materials that raise awareness in a way that’s accessible. Not a medical journal.”
Abdallaoui was about the empowerment. “The power of women sitting together and sharing their thoughts and sharing their experiences. It’s really magic and you get a lot of strength. You gain in analysis and definitely in power.”
Some 17,000 copies of the book are available in 11 languages in settlement organizations, places of worship, universities and at vaw@ocasi.org.
For victims of sex abuse, the only crime that’s not declining in Canada, the most critical question is, “Whom can I call?” Diving into the labyrinthine justice system is intimidat- ing. Friends can be a source of support, but friendships take time to form.
Where can one find such information? One solution would be to include it in the brochures handed out to new immigrants upon arrival. It will take considerable crosscommunication between departments and federal and provincial levels, but the need is urgent.
For, looming on our southern horizon is a mass of humanity fleeing persecution and criminalization and looking for safe haven.
The abused among them, too, will need to know that in Canada at least, they need not be alone. Shree Paradkar tackles issues of race and gender. You can follow her @shreeparadkar.