Remember when we thought we would never laugh again? Immediately after the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, 2001, it seemed impossible to imagine plopping on the couch, scooping up the remote and lol-ing to David Letterman's dry quips or chuckling with the laugh track over Ross and Rachel's relationship shenanigans ("We were on a break!"). The TV was for wall-to-wall news, for disaster.
"I wasn't sure that I should be doing a television show, because for 20 years we've been in the city, making fun of everything, making fun of the city," Mr. Letterman said upon his return after the U.S. attacks. Because he came back, of course. If we didn't go about our lives – shopping, in particular – the terrorists would win, U.S. president George W. Bush cautioned (a warning that quickly turned into a punchline).
That other most New York of shows, Saturday Night Live, resumed with an opening that featured Rudolph Giuliani, then the mayor of New York, and SNL creator Lorne Michaels. Mr. Michaels sought permission to return to some comedy normalcy, asking the mayor, "Can we be funny?" Mr. Giuliani then delivered the line of the night: "Why start now?"
Late last Friday, I tore myself from my computer and headed to Vancouver's Queen Elizabeth Theatre. I had determined that friends in Paris were fine, but still I was shaken, with my face in my phone and my mind in France – and really in no mood to hear Jerry Seinfeld reflect on what the deal was with children's birthday parties, TV dinners and yada yada yada.
Stand-up comedy at such a time? Would the show go on? Would the New Yorker address the madness in the City of Light?
He did not. Yet despite my state before the event – frantically checking for updates and frankly a bit weirded out by the lack of security as we entered the theatre – I laughed. A lot. Because, of course, our lives, even the laughs, continue amid obstacles and even great tragedy. As Beckett wrote, "You must go on. I can't go on. I'll go on."
When word surfaced shortly after the Paris attacks that one of the suicide bombers may have entered Europe alongside legitimate Syrian refugees – the facts of that are still murky – a chill went through me. What would the implications be for the people whose bombed-out neighbourhoods have turned them into nomads so desperate that they would risk everything to make a treacherous sea crossing in an unsuitable boat?
It didn't take long to find out. The U.S. House of Representatives passed a bill to halt the influx of Syrian refugees. (A CNN reporter who tweeted, "Statue of Liberty bows head in anguish," was suspended from her job.) Several governors said they would not accept refugees in their states.
That snippet of (incomplete) information became a justification for racist views (or anti-Muslim sentiment, if you want to be more precise; Mr. Seinfeld might call them anti-Muslimites). In Missouri, state Representative Mike Moon wrote to the Speaker of the legislature, saying: "I do realize that the refugees we should be scrutinizing most is one [sic] who professes the muslim [sic] faith." In Virginia, a mayor held up the internment of Japanese-Americans during the Second World War as a positive example. Then there's Donald Trump, that bombastic source of unintentional comedy, calling for the mandatory registration of Muslims in the United States. This would be laughable if it weren't so grave.
Concerns have been raised in Canada, too – albeit generally more measured. Saskatchewan Premier Brad Wall said the federal government should suspend its plan to bring in 25,000 Syrian refugees by year's end because of safety concerns. He later announced that his government will establish a refugee settlement centre.
In B.C., where the Premier suggested refugees might fare better in smaller, northern communities, a Fort St. John woman started a petition calling for a referendum on the idea. "Everybody knows everybody," she told the CBC about small-town life, "and I'm not sure how welcomed they would be, which is kind of sad."
Calgary Mayor Naheed Nenshi told The Globe and Mail's Gary Mason he feels the divisive rhetoric in the debate about Syrian refugees during the election campaign "gave people permission to say stuff that wasn't polite to say in modern society."
Paris has heightened matters, and things could get dicier with further violence – the terrible attack in Mali, for example.
As the debate rages uncomfortably on, social media remind us of refugees' contributions. Albert Einstein is on the "Prominent Refugees" list of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees. Steve Jobs's father was a Syrian migrant, Facebook told me repeatedly. Someone tweeted a 2007 Reuters article revealing that Anne Frank's father had asked for help obtaining a U.S. visa, which never came. Also from Twitter: the results of Second World War-era opinion polls. One conducted in the United States in January, 1939 – after Kristallnacht – asked whether 10,000 refugee children, most of them Jewish, should be brought in to American homes. Sixty-one per cent said no.
Some people are taking positive action. One couple cancelled their big fat Toronto wedding, got married at City Hall instead and, in lieu of gifts, asked for donations to help Syrian refugees. A Vancouver synagogue raised $40,000 to sponsor a Syrian family (full disclosure: I am a member). A Vancouver developer is making a 12-unit building available to temporarily house refugees. An Alberta charter airline is offering aircraft to help settle refugees.
Security concerns are understandable. We have to trust that the government will get it right. But we cannot forget that these refugees are not only human beings like us – with families, broken hearts, stubborn hopes – but also, like the 130 people killed in Paris, victims of radicalization.
As Mr. Giuliani said on SNL that night, "We will not let our decisions be made out of fear." Even in light of horrific events, we managed to reclaim our sense of humour. Now, we cannot lose our sense of compassion. Because if we do, the terrorists win. No joke.
Marsha Lederman