Goans in the diaspora

Ben Antao

July 1st is Canada day, a national holiday when we Canadians pause to celebrate the confederation of Canada formed in 1867. This month I retired from teaching and will now devote my full energies to writing fiction and doing financial planning.

I am writing this piece in response to the request of my friend, John D'Souza of Goacom, who called me yesterday to ask if I would mind writing about Goans in Canada. "We are privileged to be in Canada," he said and I readily agreed with him.

I myself came to Toronto in 1967, the centennial year when Canada held Expo 67 in Montreal, a showpiece of arts and culture, science and technology, representing many nations of the world and capturing the spirit of their ideas, the spirit of the sixties. Who can forget the haunting, inviting, thrilling song A Place to Stand, celebrating the province of Ontario?

For Goans over the past 30 years, Ontario has been more than a place to stand: it's been a place to grow and to plant roots for the new generation.

Of the nearly 10,000 Goans in the province, more than half live and work in Toronto, a new amalgamated city of 4 million, which in 2000 will claim 54% of its population to be of non-European origin. This is both a mark of its multicultural character and its growing inter-racial, inter-denominational personality.

The Goans, after some early difficulties of settlement, have by and large integrated into the mainstream of Canadian society.

A couple of factors have helped.

1. Largely Catholic, they have been exposed to the Christian values and rituals and found a ready-made parish in the communities to connect, unlike the Hindus and the Sikhs who had to buy land and build their own temples and gurdwaras for worship.

2. When they came, the Goans spoke the English language fluently, unlike the South American and Eastern European immigrants, and found the process of acculturation relatively easy and the acceptance by the native Canadians relatively positive.

Of course, slurs such as Paki, silent resentment and unspoken prejudice found their marks. Let me recall some:

In the very first month I was in Toronto, September, 1967, (I had gone to Montreal first, in July) the young white woman at the cigarette counter downtown said to me, "You don't speak English well" when I asked for a Rothmans and she gave me a Du Maurier instead. I looked at her and felt like telling her off. But I checked this impulse because my reply would have carried an edge of insult if I had told her that I was a journalist who made his living by writing in English and much more.

In Willowdale near the old Canada Trust building on Yonge Street, a white teenager shouted at me as I parked my car, "Hey, Paki, what you're doing?" I just gave him a look of contempt that he deserved. The Paki slur had become a disease in the late 70's and early 80's.

Across from where I live on Finch Ave West in Willowdale, North York, and now Toronto, a white man in his thirties stopped me on the sidewalk and asked me whether I knew where a certain street was. From his accent he sounded South American. I paused to think whether I could place the street and coming up blank, said, "Sorry, can't help you." He seemed angry and said, "Why don't you go back where you came from?"

Imagine his gall! This was in the late 80's and my wife and I and our son had been living in the neighborhood since 1972. Many people in the past had stopped me on the street to ask for directions and I was always glad when I was able to do so. Not only that, I was struck with curiosity as to why white people would seek directions from a Canadian with dark skin. Once I even asked my wife, a white Canadian, "Marinella, why do you think so many people stop me to ask for directions? Why do they not stop somebody of their own color?" She smiled and said nothing.

This time, however, I didn't keep quiet. I gave the man a piece of my mind. "You do that," I said. "You're the one who has lost his way. I know my way around." He waved his hand by way of dismissal and crossed the street. When I reported this to Marinella later, she smiled again and, knowing my ego, probably approved my action.

I am sure every Goan in Toronto, Mississauga, Hamilton, and other parts of Ontario has a story to tell about prejudice and racism. It's the price we pay for settling in a new country.

And now look at the Goans after a generation of living and working in this great land.

They are financially secure in their jobs, almost all own a home; some have a second property, a cottage, a successful business.

Their children are well educated in public and Catholic schools, and knowing the Goan emphasis on higher education, their children go on to college and university. While the parents continue to have their community dances and sports and feasts, their Canadian-born children mix and mingle with other Canadians of rainbow colors. There is a wide choice to become what you want to be! Freedom of choice, of imagination and of opportunity!

There are inter-racial, inter-denominational marriages among Goans, with happy results.

The quality of life in Toronto is second to none in the world and you are absolutely free to pursue your dream and hitch your wagon to the star of your choice!

The future is both promising and bright! How many other communities can say that in their own countries? Only in Canada, you say? You bet!

The future of Goans in the diaspora has never looked better or more promising. And my sense is that the idea of Goa, the image and the essence of what makes a Goan will be best preserved in the worldwide diaspora.

For we Goans can't go home again!

Ben Antao
June 29, 1998

submitted to The Goan Forum on Sept 17,2002

Ms. Cielo Griselda Festino:  The Discourse of Diaspora and the Goan Experience.