I wasn’t a citizen yet. Still, I’ve never felt more Canadian than on a mild December day ten years ago, when we eagerly waited for a three-generation Syrian family to arrive at Toronto’s Pearson Airport, waving Canadian flags and holding welcome signs. An adult son of the family, who had arrived a month earlier, was nervously pacing around the arrivals hall, relief washing over his face as he finally glimpsed his parents, two brothers, sister-in-law, and two young nieces who had arrived from Lebanon.
Our sponsorship group had been waiting for this moment for months. The group was formed seven months earlier when my husband and I—concerned about the plight of Syrian refugees and the Canadian government's initial reluctance to support them—invited friends, colleagues, and neighbors to our house to learn from representatives of refugee organizations about how we could help. As someone who had immigrated to Canada only a few years earlier, I was excited to discover that ordinary citizens could sponsor refugees.
Despite our eagerness to help, we initially faced many obstacles in finding a refugee family to match with. Everything changed because of the impact of a single, tragic image: the photo of three-year-old Alan Kurdi, drowned and washed up on a Turkish beach. It galvanized the public, the Canadian government, and organizations. Lifeline Syria was founded at Toronto Metropolitan University, finally connecting us with a Syrian family, and countless private citizens across Canada came together to form sponsorship groups like ours.
Supporting the family's settlement was not always easy. We faced language and cultural barriers, had to navigate bureaucratic hurdles, and deal with a family member's serious medical issues. It often struck us how big a commitment we had taken on: suddenly, we were responsible for eight complete strangers who didn't speak a word of English and had never traveled outside Syria and Lebanon. None of us spoke Arabic or knew much about Syrian culture.
By working together as a group, we divided tasks and found solutions. We were fortunate to have medical professionals on our team who could support a family member with a disability. We communicated using translation apps, emojis, and hand gestures until the family members learned to speak English (sadly, we only learned a few words of Arabic). We found resources and professional support when needed. The family was unfazed by our occasional cultural faux pas.
Moments of joy and closeness compensated for all the difficulties. The family’s matriarch taught us how to cook Syrian food, we shared Eid, Easter, and Christmas celebrations, and went on many outings together. We were honored when the Syrian newcomers called us their family. Despite our cultural and social differences, we shared an emotional bond and a sense of common humanity.
It wasn’t just our group that helped the family settle in Canada. It truly took a village. Canadians' support for the new arrivals was overwhelming. Strangers generously donated to our group, which was financially responsible for the family's first year of settlement. Many people contributed furniture, household items, and clothes. Dentists offered their services for free. Institutions provided the family with free museum or concert tickets. While they didn’t particularly enjoy watching a Wagner opera for the first time, they bravely went along with it.
Like never before, I felt part of something greater—a large community of Canadians eager to help those in need—and I was proud to become a citizen the following year.
Ten years later, our group continues to sponsor and assist refugees. So far, 21 newcomers have arrived from Syria, Eritrea, and Ethiopia. The past decade has brought many challenges and moments of drama — including helping with a birth when the midwife hadn’t arrived yet - but it has been gratifying to see how all of them, especially the children, have thrived in Canada.
Since we sponsored the first family, the global refugee crisis has worsened. Now, more than ever, refugees need our help. Sadly, the sense of solidarity in Canada that so inspired me ten years ago has diminished—among ordinary Canadians and the government alike.
By Claudia Blume
