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New book by Winnipeg-based refugee advocate Shauna Labman delves into Canada’s refugee resettlement program

/ Shauna Labman (second from right) & family

By MYRON LOVE
In launching her first book, “Crossing Law’s Border: Canada’s Refugee Resettlement Program”, at McNally Robinson earlier this year, Shauna Labman took a somewhat different approach to this particular book launch. Rather than just reading an excerpt from the book, she invited one of her former students and one current student as well as the executive director of the Immigrant and Refugee Community Organization of Manitoba Inc. (IRCOM) – all of whom came to Canada as refugees – to share their stories.

“We had a huge crowd for the launch,” Labman recalls. “I wanted to provide some personal perspectives.”
She adds that the book, which examines the intersection of international rights, responsibility and obligation in the absence of a legal scheme for refugee resettlement, was ranked by The Hill Times as among the best 100 Canadian non-fiction books for 2019 and reached second place on McNally’s best-seller list under paperback non-fiction for the week of January 12-22 following the book launch.
“The book has received a great response,” she says. “Crossing Law’s Border” is raising awareness of who refugees are, why it’s important to protect them, and the different ways that refugees seek protection through resettlement and asylum.
“The book has been of particular interest to those working with and sponsoring refugees in Canada as well as Canadian officials overseas working on resettlement.”
The author has devoted most of her working life to the twin causes of human rights and refugees. This writer previously profiled her in the pages of this newspaper about ten years ago. At that time, she had recently returned to Winnipeg after 15 eventful years away.

The Ramah School and Balmoral Hall graduate and eldest daughter of Cyril and Jean Labman left Winnipeg right after high school for UBC and, later, the University of Victoria. While studying law at the University of Victoria, Labman was exposed through a co-operative law program to the work of the now defunct Law Commission of Canada which dealt with issues such as the Residential Schools cases, same sex marriage, workers’ rights and human rights and discrimination.
After graduation, she began her legal career at the Federal Court of Appeal, working on issues ranging from immigration to tax and patent law. “I soon realized,” she said in that earlier interview, “that I wasn’t interested in working in a traditional law practice. I had done some work in Ottawa with refugees. So I applied to the United Nations and I was posted to India for a six-month consultancy with the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR).”
Her work with UNHCR involved conducting refugee status determinations of Burmese asylum seekers and preparing resettlement referrals for Afghan refugees. Labman was struck by the reality that most refugees never make it to countries such as Canada, which might be willing to offer permanent protection, and instead remain in protracted states of limbo.

Following a stint at the Canadian Embassy in Beijing where she gained an appreciation of Canadian diplomacy and policy considerations, she returned to Canada with a clear cause and career goal. Using the academic avenues open to her, she began exploring how the voluntary programs of government resettlement and private sponsorship operate alongside of Canada’s obligations in international law to refugees who claim asylum. Her research examines, analyzes, and ultimately advocates for the protection needs of the refugees she left behind in India, as well as those of other refugees who wait patiently, but powerlessly, around the world.
Labman reports that “Crossing Law’s Border: Canada’s Refugee Resettlement Program” grew out of her Ph.D. thesis, which she completed in 2013. The focus of the future book, however, changed considerably after the Trudeau Government introduced its Syrian refugee resettlement program in 2015, she notes.
“My work,” she points out, “is bookended by the resettlement of Indochinese refugees in the 1970s and the recent Syrian arrivals.
“While both moments were driven by a humanitarian impulse to help unknown refugees, in the intervening years much of the private sponsorship program has involved family reunifications.”
Labman notes that most private sponsorships over the past few years have involved family re-unifications. Private sponsors voluntarily accept financial responsibility for the care and integration of the refugees that they adopt.
She adds that her family and several friends in their Wolseley neighbourhood have privately sponsored a family from Colombia.
Labman is concerned about the Federal Government’s shift in refuge policy more to private sponsorships in recent years. It used to be, she says, that government took responsibility for two-thirds of refugee sponsorship with private sponsors the remaining third. Currently, private sponsors account for two-thirds of refugees coming to Canada.
“There is a danger in becoming overly reliant on individual Canadians,” she as-serts.”
She also writes and advocates for the suspension of the Safe Third Country Agreement between Canada and the United States, under which refugees must claim asylum in the first country they reach. Labman argues the United States is not a safe country for refugees.
Labman is greatly concerned about the effects of the ongoing Covid-19 pandemic for refugees. “There is a lot more uncertainty and disappointment,” she says. “Many refugees have been waiting a long time already to be re-united with family in Canada. But our borders are closed.”
For refugees already recently arrived in Canada, she points out, the lockdown only adds heightened challenges as they adapt to a new country.
And Labman is wondering what Canadian refugee policy will look like after the pandemic is over. “Will a financially-strapped government be willing to bring in thousands of refugees from all over the world?” she asks. “Will private sponsors have the financial means and ability to support refugee families?”
About a year ago, Labman shifted from teaching law at the University of Manitoba to taking up the position of Associate Professor of Human Rights at the University of Winnipeg’s Global College. “The position encourages greater community engagement and I get to work with students from a broader range of backgrounds and perspectives while spending all my time talking about refugees, international law and human rights.”

With a young family – her son, Hugo, is eight and her daughter, Yael, is five – the move also lessened her commute and allows her to bike and walk to work until she, like many others, moved to working from home in March.
She continues to works closely with the Immigrant and Refugee Community Organization of Manitoba and currently sits on their Board of Directors.
Labman reports that she will have a second book coming out in August – “Strangers to Neighbours: Refugee Sponsorship in Context” – this one a b edited collection that offers the first dedicated study of refugee sponsorship policy. She notes that one of the chapters is being written by Madison Pearlman (who, this writer profiled in the December 7, 2016, issue of the JP&N).
As Labman’s research assistant at Robson Hall, the two women co-authored an article on refugee sponsorship and now, as a newly-minted young lawyer, Pearlman is contributing a chapter on Operation Ezra, our Jewish community’s successful effort to sponsor more than 50 Yazidi refugees and reunite them with family here.

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Features

I Speak “Jew”

Morrocan Jewish fish dish

By MARK E. PAULL I grew up in Montreal. Born in 1956. Anglo by birth, sure. But that never quite fit. I don’t speak “Anglo” the way they mean it. My real language is Jew.
And I don’t mean Hebrew or Yiddish. I mean the language of reading the room before you enter it. The code-switching, shame-dodging, laugh-first-so-they-don’t-pounce dialect we pick up early. It’s a language built on side-eyes and timing and ten generations of tension.
I speak French—enough to make myself understood. Enough to charm a dinner table, crack a joke, get someone’s uncle to nod. I’m not fluent, but I’m fast. Doesn’t matter. In Quebec, language isn’t grammar—it’s inheritance. It’s who your grandfather cursed out in a hardware store.
To the Francophones, I’ll never be one of them. My accent betrays me before I say a word. I’m just an Anglo. And not even that, really. Because when the lens tightens, when they look closely, I’m just un Juif. Just a Jew.
And to the Anglos? Same thing. I can wear the suit, speak the Queen’s English, order the wine properly—still a Jew. Even in rooms where I “pass,” I don’t belong. I’m not invited in to be myself. I’m invited in to behave. To be safe. To not say the thing that makes the air stiff.
We’re the only people still called by our religion. No one says “Orthodox” for a Greek. No one says “Vatican” for an Italian. No one calls a Black man “Baptist” before they see his face. But “Jew”? That sticks. That’s the label. Before passport. Before language. Before hello.
I’ve mostly made peace with that. But there’s still this ache—knowing you can live your whole life in a place and never really be from there.
Let me tell you a story.
We had this block party once—the folding-table, paper-plate kind. Kids zipping by on scooters. Music low. Everyone asked to bring something from “your culture.”
The Greek guy brought lemon potatoes and lamb—felt like it came with a side of Byzantine history. The Italians brought two lasagnas—meat and veggie—with basil placed like confetti. The Vietnamese couple brought shrimp rolls that vanished before they hit the table. Even the German guy—built like a fridge—brought bratwurst and a six-pack with gothic lettering.
And then us.
My partner made Moroccan fish. Her grandmother’s recipe. Red with tomatoes, garlic, cumin. Studded with olives and preserved lemon. I brought a bottle of white wine. Dry. Crisp. From the Golan Heights. Not Manischewitz. Not even close.
We laid it out. Someone leaned over: “Moroccan? But I thought you were Jewish.”
We smiled. “We are.”
Then: “So… where’s the brisket? Isn’t Jewish wine supposed to be sweet?”
That’s when it hits you. No matter how long you’ve lived here, how many snowstorms you’ve shoveled through, you’re still explaining yourself. Still translating your presence.
Because they don’t know. They don’t know Jews came from everywhere. That “Jewish” isn’t one dish—it’s a whole map. That we had Jews in Morocco before there was even a France. That some of us grew up on kreplach, some on kefta. That some of our mothers sang in Yiddish, others in Arabic, and some in both—depending on who was knocking.
They don’t know. And worse—they don’t ask.
And that’s the part that gets you. Not the slurs. Not the graffiti. Not even the occasional muttered cliché. It’s the blankness. The shrug. The image they already have of you that’s built out of dreidels and sitcoms.
“Jewish” as nostalgic. As novelty. Something they saw once on a bagel.
Sometimes, when those questions come, I float. One version of me walks out. Another turns into a mouse. One turns into a Frisbee. Just gone. Not mad. Just tired.
Because being a Jew isn’t cute. It’s not nostalgic.
It’s ancient.
Before Montreal.
Before France.
Before Poland. Before Spain.
Before pogroms.
Before ghettos.
Before Hitler.
Before even the word Europe.
We were there.
Go back to the 5th century. 2nd century.
Go back to Jesus—our kid, by the way.
Go further—Babylon. Persia.
Keep going—Temple. Exile. Wandering.
And still, after all that, I’m at a table in Quebec explaining why our fish has cumin in it.
It’s almost funny. If it didn’t wear you down a little.
I’m not looking for pity. This isn’t a complaint.
I’m proud. I know what I carry. I walk into any room with five thousand years behind me. I come from people who kept the lights on through every kind of darkness—and laughed through it, too.
But sometimes, I just wish I didn’t have to explain so much.
All I want is to put down my dish…
…and hear someone say:
“That smells amazing. Tell me the story.”

That’s all.


Mark E. Paull, C.A.C. is a Certified ADHD Coach – IPHM, CMA, IIC&M, CPD Certified
Writer | Lived-Experience Advocate | Type 1 Diabetic since 1967

He has been published in:
The New York Times, The Globe and Mail, Folklife Magazine, Times of Israel, CHADD’s Attention Magazine, The Good Men Project

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Features

At 104, Besse Gurevich last original resident of Shaftesbury Park Retirement Residence

By MYRON LOVE At 104, Besse Gurevich is the last of the original residents of Shaftesbury Park Retirement Residence. She may also be the oldest member of our Jewish community.
Although her vision and her hearing have diminished considerably, her mind and memory are still intact.  A few weeks back, this writer sat down with her in her suite as she recalled a life filled with highs and lows and her many  contributions to her community, both in Winnipeg and Fort William before that.
The daughter of Jack and Rebecca Avit, her life’s journey began in 1921 in a home on Carlton Street near Ellice Avenue, near her father’s furniture store.  He later operated a cap factory.
When she was ten, the family – she had two brothers and a sister – moved to Manitoba Avenue in the old North End. “My father had put a deposit down on a house on Scotia,” she recalls.  “But my parents didn’t feel that the neighbourhood was Jewish enough.”
Her schooling included Peretz School and, like so many of her generation, St. John’s Tech (as it was known back then.)  “I was actually supposed to be going to Isaac Newton for high school,” she says.  We were living on the wrong side of the tracks for St. John’s.  After one day at Isaac Newton, I found a way to transfer to St. John’s.”
In 1940, 19-year-old Bessie Avit married Jack Gurevich, a young man from Fort William.  The wedding was marred though, by the sudden, untimely passing of her father.
Following the wedding, Besse moved with her new husband to Fort William where Jack Gurevich worked in retail clothing sales.  “We lived in Fort William for 20 years,” she says.  “Our three children (Judy, Richard and Howard) were born there.”
She recalls that there were about 200 Jewish families – including her sister and one of her brothers for some years – in town, during the time she lived there. “We were very well known in the community,” she recalls. “I was involved in everything.”
Her community activism continued after the family’s return to her home town. While Jack went to work as a salesman for Western Glove Works, Besse became an indefatigable community volunteer. At one time or another, she served as vice-president of ORT, Hadassah and National Council of Jewish Women in Winnipeg. She was also a long time B’nai Brith member.
In the business world, the highlight of her career was the building of Linden Woods.  “I became involved in real estate development for a time,” she recalls. “I was hired by Genstar to develop Linden Woods.  The company estimated that it would take about 20 years to complete.  I got it done in two.”
She also taught hair dressing for a while. “I worked with many young Jewish brides,” she says.
Recent years have not been kind to Besse Gurevich. Her beloved husband, Jack, died in 2016 – after almost 65 years of marriage.  Older son, Richard, passed away in Vancouver in 2018 and, most recently –six months ago – younger son, Howard, followed.  She notes that there were 200 mourners at Howard’s funeral.
(Howard Gurevich was in marketing for many years before turning his talents to the art world. In recent years, he was best known for Gurevich Fine Art in the Exchange District and his support of local artists.)
Besse Gurevich celebrated her 100th birthday – which took place at the height of the Covid shutdown – quietly. 
While she used to enjoy reading. she is unable to do so any more. She can still listen to television.
And while she has few family members to visit her any more, she does have a group of friends interesting enough from the local theatre scene.  For many years, she was a close friend of the late Doreen Brownstone, one of the leading figures in theatre in Winnipeg for more than half a century.  Besse became part of the group that would visit Doreen every week and, since Doreen passed on three years ago, the members of the group have continued to visit Besse on a weekly basis.  

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Features

Winnipeg author’s first novel gripping tale of romance, action and intrigue, set in 15th century Spain and Morocco

“The Chronos of Andalucia” author Merom Toledano

By MYRON LOVE “The Chronos of Andalucia”, a novel just released by first-time author Merom Toledano, is a historical romance set in late 15th century Spain and Morocco, filled with passion, action, intrigue, unexpected twists and turns – and, of course, with the requirement of any medieval story – a quest.
The easy-to-read, 190 page book follows the adventures of Catalina, a young woman living by her wits on the streets of Granada in the year 1487, (just after the Christian armies of Ferdinand and Isabella had recaptured all of Spain from the Moors) – while trying to evade the agents of the Inquisition, who had murdered her Jewish mother and Christian father 10 years earlier.  She was left with an insatiable desire to learn about astronomy, along with a mysterious map and an astrolabe (an instrument formerly used to make astronomical measurements) – the importance of which will only be unveiled if she can get to the city of Tangier in Morocco.
Early on, there is a reference to Abraham Zacuto, a prominent Spanish rabbi famed for his knowledge of astronomy and astrology.
The action begins when she has a casual interaction with a former Spanish soldier, Diego.  When the forces of the Inquisition approach, she flees with the soldier – who is also her love interest – and who helps her to escape.  They turn for help to a childhood friend of Catalina’s – Roberta, a nun, who helps them on their perilous  journey to Tangier – a journey that includes being captured by pirates, surviving a shipwreck, being separated for a long period of time and, of course, finding each other again and realizing the success of their joint quest.
In his writing, the author paints vivid word pictures of the different characters and beautifully invokes the colour, sights, sounds and scents of the time and the places. 
What I found truly remarkable about the writing of “The Chronos of Andalucia” is that English is not Merom  Toledano’s first language.  The Israeli-born author – he grew up near Haifa – came to Winnipeg with his young family just eight years ago.
“I have had this book in mind for several years now,” says the satellite engineer whose working career takes him to many different parts of the world. 
He notes that he has always felt a connection to Spain, Spanish music and literature – a reflection of his family’s modern origins in that country.  His great-grandparents, he relates, lived in Toledo – hence the family name, Toledano.  His parents lived in Meknes in Morocco while his father attended university in Tangier before making aliyah.
Toledano just published “The Chronos of Andalucia” in April on Amazon. He reports that the book – which is available here at McNally Robinson – has been selling well –close to 100 copies – with orders coming from a bookstore chain in England, a bookstore in Denmark, and one in Italy.
“I have had between 30 and 40 positive reviews so far,” he reports.
Toledano adds that he envisages “The Chronos of Andalucia” to be the first in a series – a la the writer Danielle Steele.  He is already working on a sequel – which is hinted at the end of “The Chronos” and, he reports, he is establishing his own independent publishing operation.        

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