
Grandpa Costa and I
Let me tell you a story. In 1953, my father’s father - Grandpa Costa - came to Canada with his brothers. They took a boat from Piraeus, Athens, Greece, across the Atlantic and landed in Halifax. Then they took the train from Halifax and got off in Montreal. Why Montreal and not Toronto? They had a cousin who lived here.
When they got off the boat, all they new was how to say “Greek.” At immigration, they were lined up, processed, and then employers would come down and select which immigrants they wanted out of a police-line-up-like arrangement of able-bodied men. (Actually, Grandpa analogized it to farm animals being herded… and said it was quite demeaning in fact.)
The man who took my grandfather was a Bulgarian with a strawberry farm up in the Laurentians of Québec. Now for those of you reading who don’t understand why I mention the man’s heritage, the Bulgarians were on the side of the Germans in World War 2, had invaded my grandfather’s village of Kipia in Kavala, and at one point even rounded up all the men and boys in the village and marked them for execution (it was communist rebels in the hills that got word of the round-up which saved my grandfather and his family, but that’s another story). So, needless to say, having a Bulgarian pick you for farm labour in Laurentians was bit jarring for Grandpa.
Grandpa didn’t speak any English or French - Canada’s two official languages. But he spoke some Bulgarian (thanks to WW2), and was able to get around on the Laurentian farm and communicate somewhat with his employer. After his first month, he earned $25 (more than 3x what he came to Canada with, but still less than $1 per day). Sometime later, he had earned enough to move to Montreal and find another job. He worked in restaurants mainly, and a few years later, with the broken French and English that he had learned, Grandpa Costa opened up a corner store. He had several businesses in fact… Along with that corner store, he had a grocery store, a restaurant, and he would also cut hair (he was trained as a barber). By 1957, he had married my grandmother Rita, and she helped him at his businesses and worked as a seamstress (which she still does out of her home to this day). Not bad for a couple of immigrants who could barely speak either of Canada’s official languages.
Fast-forward a few years, my father is a successful restauranteur and is the Chief Development Officer of one of Canada’s larger restaurant franchising companies. As for myself, I’m the first in the family to get a university degree (First Class Honours B.A. in International Relations, with Distinction, and a minor in International Economics and Business), and now I’m finishing up two law degrees, one in the Civil Law, on in the Common Law at McGill.
So can someone at Immigration Canada, Minister Kenney’s office, or the PMO please explain to me what language has to do with the success of immigrants in this country? My father and I alone will pay more in taxes and take out less in benefits than some generations of “de souche families” of Canadians and Quebecers combined…
Immigrants are the economic workhorses of this country, regardless of linguistic ability. Not only do they come here, work in conditions that certain others would never even consider, but they start their own businesses, consume and save money at the same time, and even send money back “home” wherever that may be, until Canada becomes their home.
If the Conservatives are planning on “breaking through” in ethnic communities… they’re going to have to do better than this.