Gold Mountain Blues - Ling Zhang [192]
The Chinese Times lay on the bed, and someone had used a writing brush to make a big circle around an article on the front page.
The Parliament of Canada today passed a bill denying entry to people of the Chinese race or of part-Chinese descent, with the exception of consular staff, properly accredited merchants (not including owners of restaurants or laundry businesses), or university students. The family dependants of those already resident in Canada are prohibited from joining them. Current residents are required to register with the government within one year of the passing of this bill; the penalty for non-registration is deportation from Canada. Any Chinese wishing to make visits to China must return to Canada within two years. After that period, they will be denied entry. The sole permitted port of entry is Vancouver. Any boat entering Canadian waters is only allowed to carry one Chinese per two hundred and fifty tons deadweight.
When construction began in the west of Canada, the land was completely desolate. But, fearing no hardships, Chinese immigrants threw themselves valiantly into the back-breaking and dangerous work of building roads and railroads. But the government has behaved most treacherously towards the Chinese now that work has been completed, and placed numerous obstacles in our way to employment. A head tax, the first in the world, was imposed, and now this is followed by a new immigration law which, in preventing family reunions in Canada, is an insult to our country and our people. As a result, hundreds of thousands of families will be separated forever by an ocean. Our Republican government has reacted by making immediate diplomatic representations, but given its weakness internationally, these are unlikely to be effective. In the meantime, we have no option but to put up with this humiliating and bullying piece of legislation!
Kam Ho threw down the newspaper. He too, seemed to become smaller. He and his father squatted silently on the floor holding their heads despairingly in their hands, oblivious to the heart-rending wails of the baby lying on the bed. What a terribly cruel twist of fate. They had often seen such situations acted out on opera stages but they never expected to become part of the tale themselves. Kam Ho had built up his hopes, along with his savings, over eight long years and then, just as he was about to reunite his mother and father after decades of sacrifice and separation, disaster found him after all.
From deep in his lower gut, Kam Ho felt an impulse climb up to his chest and then to his throat, presaging, perhaps, a long sigh. It changed before it passed his lips—it became a little chuckle that surged and fell and surged again until Kam Ho found himself shaking with mad gusts of laughter.
He must have been driven over the edge, thought Ah-Fat in alarm, and thumped his son on the back. Kam Ho coughed up a mouthful of phlegm and finally stopped shaking. He stood up, wiped his nose and asked: “Where’s the Benevolent Association in all this? They’re always here when it comes time to pay our dues, but you can’t see them for dust when we get clobbered.”
“They’re meeting to decide on a policy. Your brother goes every day,” said Ah-Fat. “All the branch Associations are sending representatives to Parliament to protest. It’s not just ours. Victoria, Montreal and all the rest are, too. But it’s no use. Ordinary people can never defeat the government, not their own government, and certainly not a foreign one.”
Kam Ho saw for the first time that the livid worm of a scar that crawled halfway up his father’s face had shrunk to a hair, like a crack in a porcelain bowl. Even its colour had faded. His dad was really getting old. He would never have resigned himself to this in the old days. To the young Ah-Fat, all government officials, at home or abroad, were bastards and he would not hesitate to take a machete to them.
“If Mum can’t come, Dad,” said Kam Ho, “you should go back and live with