le smoking
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Twitter's been trying to censor this. His name isn't trending and when you start typing it they don't have the predictive thing. After seeing Mauro's post I typed in "alton sterling killer" and got zero results
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I'm not a crier but I was in tears watching this last night. How can this still be happening? Being a gross racist (the cop's twitter page bio is like "Trump supporter, conservative, pro gun advocate") is one thing, but isn't the national hatred and controversy other cops have faced enough for COPS TO STOP SHOOTING BLACK PEOPLE FOR NO REASON??? idgi
CNN didn't even report his murder for hours and when the NY Times posted the video the headline was that he "appears" to have been shot. Smh. And now everyone's trying to make excuses for the cop cuz Alton Sterling had a gun in his pocket, was selling bootleg CDS, was charged with sexual assault in the past etc. ugh
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No, I meant do the immigrants embrace the LGBT community?
oh idk lol but they better ! All sorts of people living here so I'm sure they experienced a lot of culture shock
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Le smoking:
How many refugees has Canada accepted in the last several years?
Not sure about the last several years but we accepted 25,000 refugees in the last 2 months of 2015 and I believe we will be accepting up to 300,000 this year. There have been a lot of local stories similar to this article that I've seen in local newspapers. We already have a large Muslim population so most people have been very welcoming
It's fantastic! Do you know if they embrace the LGBT community?
Do you mean Canada? I think we're pretty progressive, I mean we've had legal gay marriage for about 13 years now, and we're about to get gender netural health cards/drivers licenses. I live in Toronto so my experiences are definitely skewed, but being gay/lesbian/bi/trans is pretty mainstream and normalized here. Our (cool) prime minster Justin Trudeau marched in the Toronto Pride parade yesterday and politicians from both our conservative (Republican) and liberal (Democrat) parties did too. So pretty much the Canadian equivalent of Donald Trump and Ted Cruz happily marching along a pride parade
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I just loved this article about my fab country in the NY Times -
http://www.nytimes.com/2016/07/01/world/americas/canada-syrian-refugees.html?_r=1
TORONTO — One frigid day in February, Kerry McLorg drove to an airport hotel here to pick up a family of Syrian refugees. She was cautious by nature, with a job poring over insurance data, but she had never even spoken to the people who were about to move into her basement.
“I don’t know if they even know we exist,” she said.
At the hotel, Abdullah Mohammad’s room phone rang, and an interpreter told him to go downstairs. His children’s only belongings were in pink plastic bags, and the family’s documents lay in a white paper bag printed with a Canadian flag. His sponsors had come, he was told. He had no idea what that meant.
Across Canada, ordinary citizens, distressed by news reports of drowning children and the shunning of desperate migrants, are intervening in one of the world’s most pressing problems. Their country allows them a rare power and responsibility: They can band together in small groups and personally resettle — essentially adopt — a refugee family. In Toronto alone, hockey moms, dog-walking friends, book club members, poker buddies and lawyers have formed circles to take in Syrian families. The Canadian government says sponsors officially number in the thousands, but the groups have many more extended members.
When Ms. McLorg walked into the hotel lobby to meet Mr. Mohammad and his wife, Eman, she had a letter to explain how sponsorship worked: For one year, Ms. McLorg and her group would provide financial and practical support, from subsidizing food and rent to supplying clothes to helping them learn English and find work. She and her partners had already raised more than 40,000 Canadian dollars (about $30,700), selected an apartment, talked to the local school and found a nearby mosque.
Ms. McLorg, the mother of two teenagers, made her way through the crowded lobby, a kind of purgatory for newly arrived Syrians. Another member of the group clutched a welcome sign she had written in Arabic but then realized she could not tell if the words faced up or down. When the Mohammads appeared, Ms. McLorg asked their permission to shake hands and took in the people standing before her, no longer just names on a form. Mr. Mohammad looked older than his 35 years. His wife was unreadable, wearing a flowing niqab that obscured her face except for a narrow slot for her eyes. Their four children, all under 10, wore donated parkas with the tags still on.
TORONTO — One frigid day in February, Kerry McLorg drove to an airport hotel here to pick up a family of Syrian refugees. She was cautious by nature, with a job poring over insurance data, but she had never even spoken to the people who were about to move into her basement.
“I don’t know if they even know we exist,” she said.
At the hotel, Abdullah Mohammad’s room phone rang, and an interpreter told him to go downstairs. His children’s only belongings were in pink plastic bags, and the family’s documents lay in a white paper bag printed with a Canadian flag. His sponsors had come, he was told. He had no idea what that meant.
Across Canada, ordinary citizens, distressed by news reports of drowning children and the shunning of desperate migrants, are intervening in one of the world’s most pressing problems. Their country allows them a rare power and responsibility: They can band together in small groups and personally resettle — essentially adopt — a refugee family. In Toronto alone, hockey moms, dog-walking friends, book club members, poker buddies and lawyers have formed circles to take in Syrian families. The Canadian government says sponsors officially number in the thousands, but the groups have many more extended members.
When Ms. McLorg walked into the hotel lobby to meet Mr. Mohammad and his wife, Eman, she had a letter to explain how sponsorship worked: For one year, Ms. McLorg and her group would provide financial and practical support, from subsidizing food and rent to supplying clothes to helping them learn English and find work. She and her partners had already raised more than 40,000 Canadian dollars (about $30,700), selected an apartment, talked to the local school and found a nearby mosque.
Ms. McLorg, the mother of two teenagers, made her way through the crowded lobby, a kind of purgatory for newly arrived Syrians. Another member of the group clutched a welcome sign she had written in Arabic but then realized she could not tell if the words faced up or down. When the Mohammads appeared, Ms. McLorg asked their permission to shake hands and took in the people standing before her, no longer just names on a form. Mr. Mohammad looked older than his 35 years. His wife was unreadable, wearing a flowing niqab that obscured her face except for a narrow slot for her eyes. Their four children, all under 10, wore donated parkas with the tags still on.
In the ideal version of private sponsorship, the groups become concierges and surrogate family members who help integrate the outsiders, called “New Canadians.” The hope is that the Syrians will form bonds with those unlike them, from openly gay sponsors to business owners who will help them find jobs to lifelong residents who will take them skating and canoeing. Ms. McLorg’s group of neighbors and friends includes doctors, economists, a lawyer, an artist, teachers and a bookkeeper.
Advocates for sponsorship believe that private citizens can achieve more than the government alone, raising the number of refugees admitted, guiding newcomers more effectively and potentially helping solve the puzzle of how best to resettle Muslims in Western countries. Some advocates even talk about extending the Canadian system across the globe. (Slightly fewer than half of the Syrian refugees who recently arrived in Canada have private sponsors, including some deemed particularly vulnerable who get additional public funds. The rest are resettled by the government.)
The fear is that all of this effort could end badly, with the Canadians looking naïve in more ways than one.
The Syrians are screened, and many sponsors and refugees take offense at the notion that they could be dangerous, saying they are often victims of terrorism themselves. But American officials point out that it is very difficult to track activity in the chaotic, multifaceted Syrian war. Several Islamic State members involved in the 2015 Paris attacks arrived on Europe’s shores from Syria posing as refugees.
Some of the refugees in Canada have middle- and upper-class backgrounds, including a businessman who started a Canadian version of his medical marketing company within a month after arriving. But many more face steep paths to integration, with no money of their own, uncertain employment prospects and huge cultural gaps. Some had never heard of Canada until shortly before coming here, and a significant number are illiterate in Arabic, which makes learning English — or reading a street sign or sending an email in any language — a titanic task. No one knows how refugees will navigate the currents of longing, trauma, dependence or resentment they may feel.
And volunteers cannot fully anticipate what they may confront — clashing expectations of whether Syrian women should work, tensions over how money is spent, families that are still dependent when the year is up, disagreements within sponsor groups.
Still, by mid-April, only eight weeks after their first encounter with Ms. McLorg, the Mohammads had a downtown apartment with a pristine kitchen, bikes for the children to zip around the courtyard, and a Canadian flag taped to their window. The sponsors knew the children’s shoe sizes; Abdullah and Eman still had keys to Ms. McLorg’s house. He studied the neighborhood’s supermarkets, and his wife took a counseling course so she could help others who had experienced dislocation and loss. When the male sponsors visited, she sat at the dining room table with them instead of eating in the kitchen — as she would have done back home — as long as her husband was around, too.
Mr. Mohammad searched for the right words to describe what the sponsors had done for him. “It’s like I’ve been on fire, and now I’m safe in the water,” he said.
Continue reading the main storyBut he and other new arrivals were beginning to confront fresh questions: How were they supposed to work with these enthusiastic strangers? What would it mean to reinvent their lives under their watch?
Job Description: Be Ready for AnythingAs sponsors sign the paperwork that commits them, no one really explains the potential range of their unofficial duties: showing a newcomer to spit in a dentist’s sink by miming the motions, rushing over late at night to calm a war-rattled family terrified by a garage door blown open by the wind, or using Google Translate to tell children who lived through war and exile that they are supposed to wear pink at school for anti-bullying day.
One April morning, Liz Stark, the grandmother in chief of another sponsor group, could not find Mouhamad Ahmed, the father in the family. She tried his phone and waited in vain outside their new apartment. This was a problem: Wissam, his wife, was in labor with their fifth child.
The pregnancy had been anxious because the couple had lost even more than their old life in Syria, where Mr. Ahmed used to farm wheat, cotton and cumin. They had spent years in a refugee camp in Lebanon, their three children never attending school because tuition was too expensive. Ms. Ahmed became pregnant there with their fourth child, but labor was troubled and the girl lived only six hours. They named her Amira, which means princess.
“I was thinking maybe the same thing will happen to me here as well,” Ms. Ahmed said.
As Ms. Stark hunted for Mr. Ahmed, Peggy Karas, another sponsor, stayed at the hospital massaging Ms. Ahmed’s hand during contractions. Like other such pairs, the two women had come together through opaque, bureaucratic machinery. A United Nations agency referred Ms. Ahmed and her family to Canadian officials who interviewed and screened them, then passed their file to a new nonprofit dedicated to matching Syrians with private sponsors, who had 24 hours to say yes or no based on the barest of details.
Ms. Stark and many of her co-sponsors were retired teachers, bossy and doting, and they had become hellbent on bringing this new child into the world safely. They had introduced Ms. Ahmed to the vitamins she would take, the machines that would monitor her, the hospital ward where she would deliver. The older women had repeated the doctors’ reassurances that all would go smoothly this time. They had helped her pick out tiny outfits and baby gear, but she was too superstitious to take them home, so they formed a small mountain in a sponsor’s living room.
Ms. Stark had recruited another newly arrived Syrian refugee to serve as an interpreter during labor. When she finally found Mr. Ahmed, who had been playing soccer, unaware of what was happening, she ushered him to the hospital room, where he took over holding his wife’s hand.
Suddenly a medical team rushed her away, saying the umbilical cord was in a dangerous position and she needed an emergency cesarean section. Ms. Ahmed, terrified, asked her husband to take care of their children if she did not survive. As Mr. Ahmed collapsed, sobbing, the sponsors asked his permission to pray.
When a nurse finally appeared to say the newborn was healthy, whisked off to intensive care for observation, Ms. Ahmed said she would not believe it until she held the baby, but Mr. Ahmed was jubilant. He called his father in Syria and let him choose a name: Julia, the family’s first Canadian citizen.
Once the infant was home, she went from being the Ahmed family member the sponsors worried about most to the one they fretted about least. She would grow up hearing English, going to Canadian preschool and beyond. For her siblings — 10-year-old twins, a boy and a girl, and an 8-year-old brother — the sponsors found a program for children who had never been to school. Their father, who had gone through only second grade, worked on learning enough English to find a job.
Ms. Ahmed worried about her children. “What if my kids don’t adjust, don’t settle in school very well?” she asked.
Everyone was on a deadline: After one year, the sponsors’ obligation ends, and the families are expected to become self-sufficient. Toronto rents are high, and the Ahmeds may not be able to stay in the relatively inexpensive apartment the sponsors found for them — the monthly rent is 1,400 Canadian dollars, or about $1,100 — even if Mr. Ahmed finds a job.
Ms. Stark was optimistic because she had lived through other versions of this story. Almost four decades ago, as a young geography teacher, she joined in the first mass wave of Canadian private sponsorship, in which citizens resettled tens of thousands of Vietnamese, Cambodians and Hmong. She helped sponsor three Vietnamese brothers and a Cambodian family, later attending their weddings, celebrating the births of their children and watching them find their places in Toronto, a city so diverse that half the population is foreign-born. Now some former Southeast Asian refugees are completing the cycle by sponsoring Syrians.
Like many sponsors, Ms. Stark believes that her country is especially suited to resettling refugees, with its vast size, strong social welfare system, and a government that emphasizes multiculturalism. Canada has not endured acts of terrorism like the Sept. 11 hijackings or the Paris attacks, or even an assault on the scale of the Orlando nightclub killings. And with only one land border, little illegal immigration and a tenth of the population of the United States, Canada is hungry for migrants. Officials around the country have clamored to bring Syrian refugees to their provinces.
“We are an accident of geography and history,” said Ratna Omidvar, who co-founded Lifeline Syria, a group that matches Syrians with sponsors.
Opposition to the influx has been relatively muted. The Conservative Party argues that the country is taking in more refugees than it can provide for, but supports accepting Syrians. Some Canadians complain that the country should take care of its own first, and new chapters of the Soldiers of Odin, a European anti-immigrant group, have cropped up in recent months. A few incidents targeting Syrians — graffiti reading “Syrians go home and die” at a Calgary school, a pepper spray attack at an event welcoming refugees — drew widespread condemnation.
One May evening, three weeks after Julia’s birth, Ms. Stark stopped by the Ahmeds’ apartment with a plastic table for the balcony and cradled the baby. She had a new grandchild, but she had spent more time with Julia. The cookie-baking retirees were planning a party to welcome her the Syrian way, by feasting on a newly slaughtered lamb on her 40th day. Meanwhile, Mr. Ahmed had adopted a new custom: He sometimes brought his wife breakfast in bed and got the children ready. “When I came here, I saw men just doing everything that women do in Syria,” he said. “And I thought, yeah, of course, I will do the same.”
That night, Ms. Ahmed handed Ms. Stark a form from the twins’ school, unsure what it was about. “What? You’re going to the Blue Jays game?” she crowed to the boy, Majed, who grinned back under his dark curls. Then she turned to his parents. “This costs money, but your sponsors will pay for it because this is important.”
The Ahmeds were so frugal that their benefactors sometimes worried whether they were buying enough to eat. Ms. Ahmed said they wanted to purchase no more than the family needed. “The sponsors worked for the money they are giving us, and we’re not just going to throw it in the garbage,” she explained later.
Before leaving, Ms. Stark explained the proper Tylenol dosage for the couple’s daughter, Zahiya, who had a fever. She and her twin now spent their school bus rides exchanging language lessons with a pair of Chinese brothers, pointing to objects and naming them. One day when their parents tried to bring them home after a dentist appointment, the Syrian children refused, insisting on returning to school for the time remaining.
English words were starting to emerge from the older children’s mouths, but the sponsors and the adult refugees could barely understand one another without help, often relying on mimed gestures or balky translation apps. Even when the groups use interpreters, they often get stuck in roundelays of Canadian and Syrian courtesy, so reluctant to impose that they do not say what they mean. Ms. Ahmed, who had a first-grade education and was not attending English classes because she was home with a newborn, said that not being able to communicate was painful.
“Sometimes I feel like I am losing my mind,” she said, because she felt so close to the sponsors but could not even tell them little things about the baby.
Still, some groups faced greater challenges. Some Syrians have backed out before traveling to Canada, intimidated by the geographic and cultural leap. Sam Nammoura, a refugee advocate in Calgary, said he was tracking dozens of cases in which Syrian-Canadians sponsored friends and relatives and then left them destitute. Other pairings have turned out to be mismatches of expectations; one formerly well-off Syrian family expressed disappointment that its apartment was a second-floor walk-up and lacked a washing machine. Others were shocked to discover that their sponsors were posting Facebook messages and blog entries about them that strangers could read.
Even when sponsors and refugees become enmeshed in one another’s lives, they do not fully know one another. Not every family is open about its history, and many sponsors would like to know the worst but do not want to ask. (The Ahmeds and the Mohammads asked not to be identified by their full surnames, and were reluctant to publicly share details of their experiences in Syria because they feared reprisals against relatives still there. Most of the refugees in this article left Syria around 2013, during fighting between the Assad regime and rebels.)
The sponsors do not share everything about themselves, either. Emma Waverman, the leader of another cluster, was telling her co-sponsors about the stirring bar mitzvah speech her son had written about the Syrians they were aiding when another woman stopped her.
“Do they know we’re Jewish?” she asked.
Nurturing Without NaggingFew issues are as delicate as how hard the sponsors should push and when the refugees can say no. Should the Syrians live close to downtown sponsors or in outer-ring neighborhoods with more Middle Easterners — and is it right for sponsors to decide without consulting them? The Canadians raise tens of thousands of dollars for each newcomer family; who controls how it is spent?
Some worry that sponsors are overpowering the refugees with the force of their enthusiasm. Kamal Al-Solaylee, a journalism professor at Ryerson University who is originally from Yemen, said he had noticed a patronizing tone, as when some sponsors highlighted their volunteering on social media. “The white savior narrative comes into play,” he said.
When Muaz and Sawsan Ballani and their 2-year-old son arrived here in February, they seemed so disoriented and alone that their sponsors became especially eager to nurture them. Mr. Ballani, 26, had once worked in his father’s clothing store, which was run out of their home. Now he introduced himself to his sponsors by showing them a picture of his oldest brother: not a smiling snapshot, but an image of the young man lying dead back home, blood streaming from his body. (Mr. Ballani believed that his brother had been caught in fighting between the regime and the opposition, but in the chaos of the conflict, he said, he could not learn more.)
Sawsan wed Muaz when she was 16 in an arranged marriage, rushed because of bombings and failing electricity; a month later, they fled. Now 20, she had not seen her family since.
The couple had been languishing in Jordan, sleeping in a house crammed with too many people, not enough beds or blankets, and ants that crawled over their son, named Abdulrahman, after Mr. Ballani’s dead brother, and nicknamed Aboudi. One of Mr. Ballani’s brothers was still stuck in the house in Jordan, he said, and his brother’s widow was living in a park in Syria with her three children, foraging for food.
“If we hadn’t come here, we would have died,” he said.
The family’s sponsors started as mostly strangers to one another — a few former colleagues, a friend of a friend. Helga Breier, a market research consultant and one of the organizers, was drawn into sponsorship last summer, when she felt haunted during her Mediterranean vacation by the suffering across the water.
The Ballanis became their galvanizing cause. Together they found a bright apartment near their homes and countered the bareness — the family had few belongings — with cheery posters and tags labeling everything in English: lamp, cupboard, wall, door. The couple spoke almost no English, so to teach Mr. Ballani to get where he needed to go, the sponsors helped him photograph the route. When Aboudi threw tantrums in day care, they sat with him so his mother could stay in language class. The couple cooked elaborate Middle Eastern thank-you meals for the sponsors and mostly welcomed their interventions. Mr. Ballani donned a Toronto Maple Leafs hat that he wore day after day, and his wife gamely hopped on a toboggan.
Sometimes the sponsors barely hid their views of how the Ballanis should adjust. At a spring potluck dinner, Ms. Ballani described how she had recently traveled by subway on her own, a trip she could not have imagined taking just a few weeks before. The sponsors around the table, firm feminists, asked what else she might like to do herself.
She turned to her husband. “I’m going to ask you an honest question,” she said. “Would you let me work here?” As they waited for the answer, the Canadian women held their breath.
“Yes, but I wouldn’t have let you work back” in Jordan, he said, adding that even women who behaved traditionally there were often harassed and that those who appeared too independent faced worse. Ms. Ballani pressed forward: She wanted to attend university and have a career of her own, she said, a daunting set of goals for a woman with only a seventh-grade education. The Canadians beamed; two high-fived each other.
At the same time, the sponsors worried that they were becoming helicopter parents, as Ms. Breier put it. When the Syrians skipped English lessons (Aboudi sometimes kept them awake at night) or missed an appointment for donated dental services (a misunderstanding), the sponsors agonized over what to say, debating on the messaging app Slack. Should they show up every morning at the Ballanis’ apartment to make sure they got to class? Aboudi did not nap regularly and seemed to consume a lot of sugar — he drank soda, sometimes for breakfast — so should they offer advice?
Mr. Nammoura, the refugee advocate in Calgary, said he saw a pattern among the cases. The Canadians, who feel responsible for the refugees’ success, want to give them as much help and direction as possible. But many Syrians, finally safe after years of war and flight, want to exhale before launching into language regimens and job searches, and sometimes feel that sponsors are meddling.
When the Ballani sponsors sought advice from an Arab community center caseworker and an older Syrian mother, they were told to be harsher — to threaten fines or loss of sponsorship if the couple did not accept their guidance. Instead, the sponsors tried to strike a balance, being insistent on issues like health and education but easing off in other areas.
A few weeks before Ramadan, the Ballanis raised the prospect of missing school during the month of long fasts. “It’s really hard because we have to fast 16 or 18 hours,” Muaz Ballani told the sponsors.
Ms. Breier and her partners dismissed the idea, saying they feared that the couple would lose their slots if they missed too many classes. The Ballanis quickly relented. It was not clear how much freedom they felt to express disagreement to outsiders; they seemed reluctant to acknowledge anything but gratitude.
That morning, Ms. Ballani said she and her husband never had different opinions from the sponsors. “We’ve never felt like they were telling us what to do,” she added.
Another weekend, the extended group gathered for a picnic, the first birthday party anyone had thrown for Mr. Ballani. He was deeply moved by the gesture. “A human life has value here,” he had said in an interview. “You can feel it everywhere.”
But the conversation at the party turned to his relatives in Syria, and he seemed distant as the Canadians presented his cake. Like many of the newcomers, he regularly receives calls and texts from family members, some in harrowing straits, as news reports describe starvation back home and mass drownings in the Mediterranean.
“I am really thankful to them; I don’t want them to misunderstand,” he said later about the sponsors. “It’s like I’m two people at the same time, one happy and one unhappy,” because of his family’s continued suffering.
The sponsors had been working on that, too, helping match Mr. Ballani’s brother in Jordan with another Toronto sponsor group and laboring over the paperwork. By late spring they had news: His relatives could arrive by year’s end.
Mr. Ballani, overjoyed, started planning what he would show his relatives in the city that had taken him in. This time, he would be the guide.
“Now it’s my turn to help,” he said.
Navigating Their Own WayThree months after the Mohammads’ awkward first meeting with Kerry McLorg and the other sponsors at the airport hotel, they had clicked into a productive rhythm, settling into Canada faster than anyone had expected.
They went on a picnic to Niagara Falls and danced around a maypole at a spring festival. The girls won student-of-the-month honors. Bayan, the eldest, who had whipped past the boys she raced on Jordanian streets, was now beating runners from schools across the city. When the sponsors came to give informal language lessons, Ahmad, the 4-year-old, liked to try new phrases in English, such as “Good job!”
Still, there was some culture shock. When Abdullah Mohammad took the children to a community pool, he encountered a woman in a string bikini. “I ran away,” he said later. “I’ve never seen that before in my life.”
Ms. McLorg, measured and methodical, had organized the sponsor group, but the most energetic member was an artist named Susan Stewart, with a seemingly endless list of activities for the family and long email exchanges with the children’s teachers. During her turn to give English lessons, she brought flashcards down to the courtyard, telling the children to alternate between loops on their bicycles and new words. She was sweetly relentless, which was partly why the family had made so much progress, the other sponsors said.
When Mr. Mohammad voiced interest in working, Ms. Stewart became consumed with helping him find a job. Of all the tests for the family — and, by extension, the sponsors — this was perhaps the most crucial. So Ms. Stewart found an Arabic-speaking settlement counselor to advise Mr. Mohammad and drove him to a job fair for refugees, where they struck up a conversation with a Syrian supermarket owner. After he invited Mr. Mohammad for an interview, Ms. Stewart fashioned a résumé from a questionnaire she had helped him fill out.
“I am keen to learn all aspects of the trade from stocking and organizing shelves to marketing strategies and Canadian shopping habits,” she wrote. Describing his work experience — doing odd jobs during his three years in Jordan — she wrote, “As a refugee I had to be resourceful and find work wherever I could.” Even though the interview would be in Arabic, she drilled him in English phrases like “I can stock shelves.”
“Ten more times!” she told him as they drove to the interview.
When he was offered the part-time position, the sponsors were thrilled. But a few days later, he called the Canadians to say he would turn it down. He struggled with taking money from the sponsors — back home, others had come to his family for help, and it was “really hard to be on the receiving end,” he said. But he wanted to consider options, such as becoming a mechanic. In Syria or Jordan, he had never had freedom to choose his work. “It’s always what you have to do to earn a living rather than what you really want to do,” he said later.
And he did not want to take a job until he improved his English, he said, because he did not want any more favors or charity. At the supermarket, unable to answer basic questions from customers, “I would be a burden to my employer,” he added. He had been annoyed at Ms. Stewart for pressing so hard, he said later, but mostly he was embarrassed to pass on the job after she had done so much.
But Ms. McLorg saw a plus side: Mr. Mohammad was starting to navigate his own path in Canada, and the relationship between the sponsors and the family, so lopsided at the start, was beginning to balance out. “Our job was to help them come into Canada and show them the options that are here,” she said.
In mid-May, at the end of a routine meeting with the sponsors and the Mohammads, she shared news of her own: She had breast cancer. Now that she was facing surgery, she was the one who was vulnerable, and the Syrians were the ones who were checking on her.
WRITE A COMMENTThey brought flowers and chocolates; the other sponsors, now practiced in the logistics of caring, offered meal deliveries and other assistance. “I had no intention of building my own support group, but I have one now,” Ms. McLorg said.
Bayan and Batoul, the two oldest Mohammad children, made get-well cards using the same set of watercolors the sponsors had used to make greeting signs that first day at the airport hotel. The morning after Ms. McLorg’s operation, when she made her way down to her living room, the cards were the first things she saw.
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I wanna see his dick!!! I've followed him on insta for awhile. His thing is @kritmclean I think
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Turkey has blocked Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.
:/
What is the world coming to?
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ummm...lmao? re: his resignation
What a pussy
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Final numbers are 51.9% for leave and 48.1% for remain
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oh my :/ I don't know what to say. I'm very shocked. I honestly thought people would come to their senses
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Love what Frank Ocean wrote on his tumblr
"I read in the paper that my brothers are being thrown from rooftops blindfolded with their hands tied behind their backs for violating sharia law. I heard the crowds stone these fallen men if they move after they hit the ground. I heard it’s in the name of God. I heard my pastor speak for God too, quoting scripture from his book. Words like abomination popped off my skin like hot grease as he went on to describe a lake of fire that God wanted me in. I heard on the news that the aftermath of a hate crime left piles of bodies on a dance floor this month. I heard the gunman feigned dead among all the people he killed. I heard the news say he was one of us. I was six years old when I heard my dad call our transgender waitress a faggot as he dragged me out a neighborhood diner saying we wouldn’t be served because she was dirty. That was the last afternoon I saw my father and the first time I heard that word, I think, although it wouldn’t shock me if it wasn’t. Many hate us and wish we didn’t exist. Many are annoyed by our wanting to be married like everyone else or use the correct restroom like everyone else. Many don’t see anything wrong with passing down the same old values that send thousands of kids into suicidal depression each year. So we say pride and we express love for who and what we are. Because who else will in earnest? I daydream on the idea that maybe all this barbarism and all these transgressions against ourselves is an equal and opposite reaction to something better happening in this world, some great swelling wave of openness and wakefulness out here. Reality by comparison looks grey, as in neither black nor white but also bleak. We are all God’s children, I heard. I left my siblings out of it and spoke with my maker directly and I think he sounds a lot like myself. If I being myself were more awesome at being detached from my own story in a way I being myself never could be. I wanna know what others hear, I’m scared to know but I wanna know what everyone hears when they talk to God. Do the insane hear the voice distorted? Do the indoctrinated hear another voice entirely?
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Not surprised but still diabolical tbh. Sad how much politicians are motivated by $$
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@ the Anderson video. My friend and I were crying watching it
I don't know if this was posted earlier but this is an account from one of the bartenders http://www.hollywoodreporter.com/news/surviving-orlando-shooting-pulse-bartender-902463
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k I'm reading on twitter that there were 2 other attackers at the club last night. And there's an eyewitness report video from ABC News and the person (Janiel Gonzales) said that there was someone holding the club door shut so people couldn't escape, but he got cut off :/
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3 people I know are wounded. All employees of the club. Not many updates on their condition.
One person I know was there and managed to escape. I along with all my close friends were weighing going out tonight but we all stayed home. The news unfolded last night around 2 AM and I haven't slept since.
When these things happen elsewhere in the US, I become so enraged at our backwards gun laws that it almost smothers the tragedy of what happens. Now I'm just kinda frozen in depression. This place was a local institution, I used to go there as often as twice a week. The amount of lives lost makes me want to throw up.
Thanks for all the support and well-wishes on social media. I appreciate that some of you guys reached out. We need all the love we can get.
omg. So glad that you're safe. My thoughts are with you and your friends and I hope that the people you know who were there are stable <3
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The NRA is too powerful for there to be real gun control. Their solution to this gun violence is just arming more people
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wow apparently the shooter had been investigated for terrorism twice before and bought his gun 2 days ago
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I was at Pulse and left 10-15 minutes before the attack occurred.
I am numb and in shock.
It's the saddest fucking thing to see people on Facebook tagging people hoping to hear they are ok.
This isn't fair.
omg. I'm so glad you're okay. This is just devastating. I can't stop thinking about it
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omg wtf? This is so scary. I'm speechless
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After Walmart I put Target in my list when I go the US. It seems a very exotic place where everything anytime can happen
Go on Black Friday!!
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This is disgusting. A lot of schools in North America turn a blind eye to their student athletes cuz they bring in funding for the school. These kids need to be named and shamed for the rest of their lives
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The parents are now planning to sue the zoo?????
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Is he pro gay
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I just realized that I still have a free album download from my concert ticket lol
Alton Sterling, Philando Castile, police shootings. :(
in Politics and World Events
Posted
I saw this earlier tonight. Literally wtf. Shot for getting his ID out for the cop cuz he asked him to
The brave woman who filmed everything Lavish Reynolds is apparently in custody? And people are saying on twitter that Facebook already deleted her account and her video? I swear if she were any less composed, the cop would've shot her and her 4 year old in the backseat too. Like why tf was he pointing his gun at a already dead/wounded man