How Can I Say What Freedom Is When I Don’t Know What It Isn’t?

At the age of 28, I moved away from my home province of Newfoundland and Labrador in the hope of building a new life in Ontario. Two years later, I went back for my first vacation. The day after I arrived, I decided to take the short ten-minute walk to the local hospital to visit my cousin, who had recently given birth.

As I arrived at an intersection that I had passed many times in my life, I was stopped dead in my tracks by something I’d never noticed before. There, right in front of me, was one of the most beautiful sights my eyes had ever seen. The famous St. John’s landmark, Signal Hill, and the stunning view of the South Side Hills over the Atlantic marked the entrance to the harbour.

I don't know for sure how long I stood there; I just know I was awestruck. Not only from the incredible beauty I was witnessing but because I'd never seen it before. In my 28 years living, going to school, and working in that neighbourhood, I would have been by that very location at least 10,000 times, but I had never really seen it.

You may wonder what me waxing nostalgic about my home town has to do with freedom, but please bear with me. I’ll get there

In the past thirty years since I moved to Toronto, I have lived and mostly worked in the east end of the city. There was a time, for a few years, however, that I was employed downtown. I rode the subway daily, along with thousands of other drones blindly commuting to and from the centre of the city.

The first time I got stuck in the subway, it scared me. I remember my heart rate increasing and my head feeling a little woozy from a moderate case of claustrophobia. I thought of many unwelcome scenarios as to why we could be stalled. Maybe there’s a train stuck on the tracks ahead of us, I thought. Maybe someone jumped on the tracks! Maybe there’s a fire in the station, or heaven forbid, maybe there’s a madman with a gun on my train!

None of these thoughts were soothing my agitated mind in any way, but the longer it went on, the more panic-stricken I became. Fortunately, the delay was not much more than five minutes. It turns out we were stopped just waiting for traffic to clear in the station. No big deal. I got so used to it on my daily trips that I became the voice of reason, soothing other “newbies” when they were concerned about why we were stuck in the tunnel.

What does being stuck in a subway car underground have to do with freedom?

My country is well regarded as a beacon for refugees escaping war, persecution and torture. Thousands of weary travellers have found a home in Canada after being forced to flee their homelands for whatever reasons they needed to. I have befriended and worked with many of them over the years.

We’ve had numerous conversations, shared abundant laughs, and enjoyed many meals together. They told of life and childhood in their home countries and sometimes discussed religion and politics. I’ve been fortunate to learn a little about different cultures and meet people from all over the world.

What I don't know is why a lot of them came here. They didn't tell me, and I didn't ask. Firstly because it's not my business, and secondly, because asking may bring up traumatic memories they would prefer to bury. Out of all the people from different countries I have had conversations with, I have not been told by any of them what life was really like before they left their homelands.

I know there are many people in my city who are here because their own countries weren’t safe. I don’t know if they are any of the people I have personally met. They don't wear signs on their clothing that say "refugee fleeing persecution," and they don't talk about it.

I can only hope that whatever happened in their past doesn't continue to traumatise them in the future. I can only wish them a contented, peaceful existence moving forward and a freedom that I have known and completely taken for granted my entire life.

A freedom I have completely taken for granted my entire life

Remember me speaking of being stuck on the subway? I thought of that a few weeks back when I watched the news, the news that showed innocent Ukrainian people hiding with their children and pets in the subway tunnel. My first reaction was horror; my second was guilt. Yes, guilt.

I mentioned that I had many terrifying thoughts as to why my train wasn’t moving that day, but what I didn’t mention was the possibility that foreign invaders were bombing my city. That's because it never entered my mind. It never would enter my mind. I could have come up with a gazillion different ideas, so many in fact, that my head would explode before the possibility of foreign invaders ever had a chance to crawl inside it.

Why should that make me feel guilty? It’s not logical, I know, but what is these days? All I know is that I watched that horrific scene from Ukraine, and it made me feel like a fool for panicking over a traffic jam on the subway line. How dare I be that scared when I was in absolutely no danger? How would I feel in their situation? Again, it doesn't make sense, I know. However, those are the questions I asked myself.

I had no answer, though. How could I possibly know what those people are going through? Asking me to understand would be akin to asking me to become a character in a TV show about the war in Ukraine. It would be acting. I can care about the Ukrainian people, and I do – very much so, and can be seething with anger at Putin and Russia for this illegal invasion – which I am. What I can't do, however, is believe I understand their plight because I can’t imagine it ever happening here. I cannot put myself in their shoes until I can imagine myself in their danger.

I also can’t imagine the horror of being forced to run away from the home I’d known forever because it is now being controlled by a foreign army at the behest of a lunatic dictatorial leader or has been taken over by a violent, misogynistic terrorist organization. It’s never happened in my world. I live in the world they run to. People, who’ve struggled to escape, often end up in Canada. It’s not an easy journey, I’m sure. Many have risked their lives for their freedom. Some are running on roads that are being bombed, trying to get to their welcoming neighbour's country. Some have clung on to overloaded rafts in the Mediterranean in their effort to get to Europe, only to be held in a refugee station off the coast for God only knows how long. Sometimes it can take years to reach their wanted destination.

When their destination is finally reached, do they call that freedom? How would I know? I've never had to do it. People have left their homes and travelled oceans to seek that elusive freedom in a land where most people not only don't understand their culture, but the vast majority don't even speak their language. Does that make them feel free? I would assume it does because they no longer have to worry about war, terrorism, or persecution. You'd have to ask them to be sure, though.

Are they as free as I am? Maybe, maybe not. I guess it’s all about perspective. One of the basic tenets of freedom that I’ve been taught is the freedom of movement. But, immigrants can move as freely as any Canadian, you may say. As long as their papers are in order, they can go anywhere that any of their compatriots can.

But what if the only place they want to go is home. Is it really freedom when you can’t go home?

Earlier I mentioned the move from my home province and the view I saw, really saw, for the first time when I went back. (Unfortunately, I don't have a picture. It was long before the era of smartphones.) That view was always there, and as I mentioned, I've probably passed that exact location 10,000 times. The point is, however, that I had to lose that view for two years before I was able to appreciate the awesome beauty of it. I saw it every day, but I wasn't aware it existed until I lost it and then got it back.

Is that how I learn the true meaning of freedom? Do I have to lose it to be able to really appreciate what it is? Does it have to be forcefully removed from my life for me to realize the impact it has on my life? Do I have to be without freedom for a time before I can really comprehend it's meaning? For my sake, and that of the so-called free world, I pray I never have to find out.

How can I say what freedom is when I don’t know what it isn’t? Maybe the best answer is that I can, because I don’t.