#immigration Kitchener

[therulerofallpotatos]

just skimming through my NYT daily and 1. way too much NYT nonsense w the CEO debacle, election etc etc but here's what finally got me to make a post nobody will read

We really can't have shit can we

edit: i forgot to actually link the full article :sob: here it is

[bom-bombon]

I really hope the usmnt gets absolutely humiliated in the world cup

[merskrat]

Tell me why 95,000 immigrants have been sent to NYC in 2023 with no plans to expand on city services like sanitation. The average New Yorker creates 2 pounds of trash a day, and for me it’s definitely more than that. They panhandle, which is something I generally don’t care if people do or not, but they’re not homeless and all of their needs are met by the tax payers, including culturally specific food because what they were getting before was not good enough. Not only that, they panhandle with babies on their backs, babies that often are not even theirs. Homeless New Yorkers are struggling to find spaces in shelters, and it will get worse as the weather gets colder, yet these immigrants are put up in hotels. Their children are allowed to start school without being vaccinated for polio, smallpox, scarlet fever, etc, which is not allowed without a religious exemption for citizens. How is that safe? We’ve already had smallpox outbreaks because of certain populations that will not vaccinate their children, so why do city officials not see the danger in introducing 20,000 unvaccinated children into our schools? Nothing is ever for free, and nothing is ever done out of simple kindness, so what is the actual reason for almost 100,000 immigrants being sent here? And how is it fair that the burden of caring for them is being placed on us? I never considered myself anti immigration but the way they just moved almost 100,000 migrants here with no plans on how to integrate them into the city except “the tax payers will house them” makes no sense to me. 20,000 of those migrants are unvaccinated children. Plus, once these immigrants do start working, which we’re all hoping they will, much of their money will be sent back to their own countries instead of stimulating the local economy, so I don’t buy any arguments of economic benefit. I absolutely do empathize with people who want to come to New York for a better life, but the way the government has handled this is just not the way, and I worry about how the attitudes of New Yorkers opposed to this are going to affect who they vote for, both in local government and in the presidential election. If the idea was to push people further to the right, I believe that they succeeded. Maybe that was the idea the whole time.

[tattooyeol]

My in laws are so funny. They always want to go out to eat on special occasions, but they refuse to eat anywhere other than this one vietnamese restaurant. And then they spend the entire meal complaining that they could've cooked it better at home and its too expensive.

[javiersprincess]

the united states is nothing without immigrants labor

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"SWASTIKA PROMOTER CANCELS MEETING; CHARGES ASSAULT," Toronto Globe. August 17, 1933. Page 3. ----- Second Gathering Postponed After Talk With Police --- SWEARS OUT WARRANT ---- (Canadian Press Despatch.) Kitchener, Aug. 16. - Beset on every side with opposition to his efforts to form a "Swastika" club in Kitchener, Otto E. Becker tonight had cancelled the second meeting he had planned to inaugurate the movement. After conferring with police today, the out-of-work German immigrant said a gathering he announced for tonight would be postponed.

Becker swore out a warrant today, charging Gustav Lueck, member of the "Old Comrades' Club." a local organization of German veterans, with assault.

The assault, Becker alleges, was the outcome of an altercation which resulted from a report written by Lueck, which said Becker had been on relief in Germany before coming to Canada and had been on relief in Windsor for two months before he moved to Kitchener.

Becker denied the statements, and today stopped Lueck on the street. An altercation ensued, Becker says, and in the course of it, he claims, he was kicked in the face.

[fashiun-killa]

One thing about me is I am very unforgiving about politics. You can't befriend queer people while voting their rights away.

[ghoulodont]

maybe its relevant to note that my family has some allegedly swedish christmas traditions which no doubt have been corrupted and mangled by generations of not being swedish. my swedish grandmother died 20+ years ago and we just keep doing whatever she did YAYYY MERRY CHRISTMAS 🎄🇸🇪

[tilliwriteapine]

Are you unsure where to start as we face the unknown? This is an actionable way to begin creating change (in at least some small way).

I also encourage you to pick one cause/organization/etc. that you feel strongly about and donate monthly—$10, $20—whatever you can. I currently give to World Central Kitchen, but there are also ideas for The Trevor Project, Small Choices Foundation, Dear Jack Foundation, your local food bank, Planned Parenthood, even the ACLU (also specific to state if you like), or any other cause that you hold dear to your heart.

Think about organizations that help those who likely will face discrimination and hardship in the coming months/years - the disabled, the immigrant and/or the undocumented, the poor, the houseless, the LGBTQAI+ (especially transgender), minorities who are not white, etc. Look for local community organizations. (Healthcare is also in trouble).

I'm not here to say we are going to be okay - because I don't feel that is accurate. We are going to be in trouble, every single one of us. But if we don't begin to recognize who we need to protect, who we need to stand with, and who we need to join hands with - then we can't begin at all.

I'm also here if you need to talk <3

[pallegina]

seeing ppl talk about erewhon is so disgusting like ew 🤢 glad it blew up after I quit I don't even want to imagine the hellscape those prices are now

[shreehari22]

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[bi-writes]

hiiiii I'm new to your page but i would like to ask you what would've happened if simon mail-ordered a bride?

mail-order bride

you stare down at the address on the card, blinking as you reread the house number and look back up at the cottage in front of you. the numbers match, but you just need a few more minutes before you knock on the door.

you're not holding too many things. you have one suitcase with the entirety of your belongings at one side, the cat carrier sitting on top of it. on the other side, you hold a bundle of papers. your immigration papers, all shiny and new, your birth certificate, and your new british passport.

when you look back down, you swallow as you read over your name. it's odd, to see something new in the section labeled SURNAME.

Riley.

you've never met him. this isn't legal, it can't be, to have all of these things. he must be someone important. someone they value. or maybe, they are just too afraid to say no to him.

the front door opens, and you freeze on the spot as you see someone duck their head to step outside. they're wearing a mask, covering their entire face except for their dark eyes, but it's hitched up over his nose as he holds an unlit cigarette between his lips.

he stares as he sees you at the end of the steps. he frowns, looking you up and down.

"weren't supposed ta be 'ere for a few weeks."

your eyes water a little, but you only manage a shrug.

"i-i..." you meet his eyes. "i-i couldn't stay there any longer. i didn't have anywhere else to go."

he tucks the cigarette back behind his ear, slipping the mask off. it reveals a tousled mess of short blonde hair and a terribly scarred face. his eyes dart to the little carrier sitting next to you when he hears a soft meow coming from it.

"said no pets."

your lip trembles.

"please," you whisper, and his lip twitches as he fights off a scowl. you imagine he must not have much practice in hiding his emotions. he comes down the steps anyways, coming closer, and you pick up the carrier as he snatches the suitcase off the pavement, making his way back inside. you follow him, naturally.

when you close the door behind you, you're surprised at how quaint it all is. nice brick fireplace, a soft carpet (no shoes allowed is what he snapped at you), and wonderfully furnished to make the place cozy, warm, lived-in. there's throw blankets and accent pillows. there's pictures on the walls, paintings, yellow corner lights to give everything a soft glow. the kitchen is beautiful, with lovely colored tile and wooden cutting boards, a drip-coffee setup in the corner and worn cookbooks stacked neatly by a stainless steel toaster. there's herbs growing in little pots sitting on the windowsill above the sink, and there's a cast iron pot decoratively resting on the stove.

it's spick-span clean. there's no specks of dust or splatters left over from bacon grease. there's papers pinned to the fridge, lists to remind him to buy whole milk and sliced bread and call about the internet bill being charged twice again.

you set the carrier down on the couch, unzipping the top. a little curious black head pokes out of it, and you reach in and pick the cat up under its belly and drop it onto the floor. immediately, the cat spreads its front paws, claws sticking out as they begin to knead the carpet and use it as a personal scratcher, the prick, prick, prick sound enough to draw the giant man out of the bedroom with a hard frown on his face.

he points at the thing and shakes his head.

"keep tha' thing off the fawkin' counter," he snaps at you. he purses his lips when he sees you still standing there, afraid to even move. he comes closer, the cat scurrying off, and he yanks your coat and scarf off, going to the hang them up by the door. "can unpack tomorrow. need t'make somethin' ta eat."

you move immediately towards the kitchen, hoping he keeps a stocked fridge, but he puts out a big hand and stops you, stepping in front of you.

"the fuck are y'doin'?" he asks, and you blink up at him.

"you said to make dinner...s-sir?"

he tilts his head to the side, narrowing his eyes.

"y'listen t'this," he murmurs. "women don't lift a fuckin' finger in this house, y'hear?"

you nod, and he reaches up and palms your throat, cupping your jaw.

"and my wife doesn't call me sir," he mutters. "it's simon."

you soften a little. "i-i'm sorry, simon."

"don't apologize," he grits his teeth. "did nothin' wrong."

when a fresh set of tears comes down your face, he wipes them away with ease, calloused thumb swiping over your cheeks and quieting you. he puts something into your hands, a velvet box that he must've gotten when he went to put your suitcase away.

"y'r a riley now, yeah?" he murmurs, and you tilt your head at an angle, and your foreheads brush together when he bends low to speak to you. "act like it."

you lean up on your toes (he's so fucking tall), and you kiss him softly beside his mouth. when he moves his head, your lips brush against each other, but he pulls back to make his way to the kitchen. you hear the gas stove light up, and a few minutes later, there's a familiar smell of onions hitting hot olive oil.

you take a seat on the couch, smiling to yourself, wiping your eyes as you curl up there. you flip open the box, sighing shakily when you see the rectangular diamond and matching gold wedding band. when simon comes back in to give you a mug of tea, you take it with your left hand, and his eyes flicker when he notices the new jewelry there, so pretty, so new.

mine.

when he pads back into the kitchen, the cat blinks up at him slowly, green eyes bright as they sit on the counter.

simon walks past it, saying nothing at all.

[immigrationwayca]

Immigration Lawyer Kitchener: Navigating the Path to Canadian Residency

Kitchener, a vibrant city in Ontario, Canada, has emerged as an attractive destination for immigrants seeking a better life and new opportunities. However, the immigration process can be intricate, demanding an in-depth knowledge of Canadian immigration laws and procedures. This is where an immigration lawyer in Kitchener becomes invaluable. In this article, we will explore the significance of having a local immigration attorney in Kitchener and discuss how they can assist you on your journey to obtaining Canadian residency.

The Role of an Immigration Lawyer in Kitchener

Immigration lawyers play a pivotal role in helping individuals and families navigate the complex process of immigrating to Canada. Whether you are pursuing permanent residency, a work permit, or Canadian citizenship, a local immigration lawyer can provide valuable assistance in several ways:

Legal Expertise: Immigration lawyers are well-versed in Canadian immigration laws and regulations, staying current with any changes, ensuring that your application adheres to the law.

Personalized Guidance: Each immigration case is unique. An immigration lawyer in Kitchener can offer personalized guidance, tailoring their services to your specific circumstances and objectives.

Application Preparation: The process of preparing immigration applications can be time-consuming and overwhelming. An experienced lawyer can assist you in completing the necessary paperwork accurately and efficiently.

Avoiding Mistakes: Mistakes on immigration applications can result in delays or rejections. An immigration lawyer can help you avoid common pitfalls and ensure your submissions are error-free.

Advocacy and Representation: In the event of disputes, appeals, or challenges, your immigration lawyer can act as a strong advocate, effectively representing your interests.

Why Choose a Local Immigration Lawyer in Kitchener?

Selecting a local immigration lawyer in Kitchener offers several unique advantages:

Familiarity with Kitchener: Local lawyers understand the city's unique dynamics, including its job market and local customs. This knowledge can be invaluable in tailoring your immigration strategy.

Accessibility: Being based in Kitchener, a local immigration lawyer is more accessible for in-person meetings and consultations, offering a personal touch during the immigration process.

Network: Local lawyers often have established relationships with immigration authorities, which can streamline the process and address any specific challenges associated with the region.

Community Ties: A local immigration lawyer is typically well-connected within the Kitchener community, offering access to resources, support, and advice as you settle into your new life in Canada.

Choosing the Right Immigration Lawyer in Kitchener

To find the best immigration lawyer in Kitchener, follow these steps:

Research: Begin by researching local immigration lawyers in Kitchener. You can utilize online directories, review platforms, and recommendations from friends or family.

Credentials: Verify that the lawyer is licensed to practice immigration law in Canada. Examine their qualifications, experience, and track record in handling immigration cases.

Consultations: Schedule consultations with potential lawyers to discuss your immigration needs. Pay attention to their communication style, understanding of your case, and willingness to address your questions.

Client References: Do not hesitate to request references from previous clients to assess the lawyer's effectiveness and client satisfaction.

Fees: Discuss the lawyer's fees and payment structure upfront. Ensure they are transparent about costs and any potential additional expenses.

Conclusion

Emigrating to a new country is a life-changing decision, and an immigration lawyer in Kitchener can be a crucial asset on your journey to Canada. Check their legal expertise, local knowledge, and personalized guidance can make the immigration process smoother, increasing your chances of a successful transition. With the right immigration lawyer in Kitchener by your side, you can look forward to a new life in this dynamic Canadian city with confidence and peace of mind.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“Seize Still And Arrest Four Men,” North Bay Nugget. December 30, 1932. Page 1.   ---- Niagara Falls, Ont., Dec. 30— -(By Canadian Presss)— Five men were arrested and an automobile, a 40 gallon still, and a quantity of “moonshine” seized by Corporal Pat. O'Connell and Constable Armstrong, of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, at Fraser Station today. The men arrested are Florian Filipovich, Ness Cabor, Nick Taber, and Mathew Frenozen, all said to be Hungarians and former residents of Kitchener.

[foldingfittedsheets]

No one made any distinction to me when I was growing up when a word wasn’t English. Andale was just another way to be told “hurry up,” and I was certain other parents told their kids, “Watch your cabesa,” when getting into the car. I laughed myself sick the first time I saw Dragon Ball Z because a ladies name was Chi Chi and I only knew that meant boobs.

All my moms family was brown and I desperately wished I was too. I wanted beautiful black hair like my mom and dark skin that didn’t burn. I didn’t like when people asked my mother if she was my nanny when they saw us together. I didn’t like that people told me I looked like my dad. They just meant I was pale.

I’d proudly announce to people that I was Mexican and become furious when they gaped or disbelieved me. My dads side has no cultural roots. When questioned my dad shrugs and says, “English maybe? I dunno.” I just wanted to be Mexican growing up. Alas, I’m only a quarter descendant of an immigrant family who vehemently didn’t want to be Mexican.

My great grandmother announced that we were American now, not Mexican. She embraced American culture as much as possible, while never learning English. My nana was put into school and punished anytime she spoke Spanish. She got caught halfway between both languages. Forced to spend her childhood raising her younger siblings she never learned to cook tamales with her mother and her friends.

When she had her own children she didn’t teach them Spanish. She used it to gossip with her own friends about them on the phone and resisted teaching them more than to come running when she shouted “Araña!” to kill a spider for her.

Thus came my mom, with her brown skin and dark hair, adrift from her culture but treated as lesser by her adopted one. My great grandmother would rejoice to see me as her descendant, white, ignorant of Spanish, the perfect American she wanted her family to be.

When I was born my nana shouted, “What’s that red on her?” only to realize it was my hair. She delighted in her palest grandchild, telling me often I was her favorite.

I’m used to the disbelief now when I tell people I’m Mexican. I can laugh and show pictures of my mom. My friend from work joked to me that I’m always coming out of the closet, over and over, because both my minority statuses aren’t as visible as her black skin.

I was recently lamenting this to a white southern friend the same one I cast psychic damage on during a DnD day. “I wish I could feel more connected to my culture, but I’d be such a fraud pretending my life is the same as other Hispanic people.”

“Skin color doesn’t matter,” he announced blithely to the choked outrage of our Indian friend in the kitchen, “You’re just as Mexican!”

I regarded him in astonishment and said, “I think skin color matters a lot. I am Mexican, but I don’t have the same cultural roots or experiences of people who are perceived as Mexican. My family didn’t pass the cultural heritage down. I think a lot of immigrant kids feel this way but it’s different for me.”

He rambled about how I’m just as valid and I quietly disregarded his advice. I could try to reconnect with my roots, but I know I’d just be another white girl pushing into a POC space.

Instead I make tamales by myself, sweating over the steaming corn husks, and I snap at people who make racist jokes about my family to me, feeling safe because my skin is the same color as theirs.

[mariacallous]

Goldie Finkelstein was just 13 when she was sent to Wiener Graben, a work camp that later became a concentration camp. The youngster lost her entire family in the war, and among the things she never learned from them was how to cook. She had no family recipes and, according to her son, when she married Sol Finkelstein, also a Holocaust survivor, she didn’t know how to boil water or cook an egg.

Eventually, other survivors taught Goldie the necessary skills, and she was a quick learner. She soon became known for the copious amounts of baked goods she would provide for any occasion. Her recipes, some of which are included in the “Honey Cake and Latkes: Recipes from the Old World by the Auschwitz-Birkenau Survivors” cookbook, include cake mixes and other ingredients that wouldn’t have been used in pre-Holocaust Eastern Europe. Her whiskey cake, for example, calls for both yellow cake mix and vanilla pudding mix.

Goldie’s experience illustrates the ways in which recipes, including those we think of as quintessentially Ashkenazi Jewish, have changed over the years. Survivors lost the ancestors who passed along oral recipes. Families’ personal artifacts, such as handwritten recipes, were abandoned when Jews were forced to flee. 

Most significantly, perhaps, after the war, survivors had access to different ingredients in their new homes. Sometimes that was due to seasonality, such as was the case for those who moved from Eastern Europe to Israel and had access to more fruits and vegetables year-round, including dates and pomegranates. Other times, it reflected changing tastes or newfound wealth  — liver soup, pates with liver and offal were classic Eastern European dishes in the early 1900s, when there was an intention to use every part of the animal, but became increasingly uncommon. In other cases, like Goldie’s, packaged goods replaced homemade. Another survivor whose recipes appear in “Honey Cake and Latkes,”Lea Roth, detailed making noodles for Passover from the starch leftover at the bottom of a bowl after grating potatoes before the war. After the war, most people added “noodles” to the grocery list.

“Some of these recipes changed because of New World versus Old World,” explains Jeffrey Yoskowitz, author of “The Gefilte Manifesto: New Recipes for Old World Jewish Foods.” Yoskowitz and his co-author Liz Alpern work not to replicate pre-war Ashkenazi Jewish recipes, but to reclaim and modernize them. To do that, they’ve had to examine the ways in which recipes have changed.

In the Old World, for instance, almost every recipe called for breadcrumbs. At Passover, the leftover crumbs from the matzah were used to make matzah balls, leaving nothing to waste. But when immigrants in the U.S. could use Manischewitz pre-made matzah meal, then recipes started calling for it to make matzah balls.Today’s recipes for kugels with cream cheese, cottage cheese and sour cream would not have been made in the Old World, where dairy products were expensive. Again, ubiquitous cows in the New World made that “celebration of dairy” possible, Yoskowitz says.

At first, recipes may not seem like the most essential thing to recover from Holocaust survivors, but they paint a picture of what life was like before the war. It is essential to see the Jewish experience as one that is not solely as victims, and learning what people ate and cooked is part of that.

“Bringing back recipes can help bring people back to life,” says Edna Friedberg, a historian and senior curator with the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum. “In particular, it was women who were in the kitchen in this period, and so this is a way to make the lives of women very vivid and real for people.”

The idea is not to romanticize Eastern Europe, says Maria Zalewska, executive director of the Auschwitz-Birkenau Memorial Foundation, which published “Honey Cake and Latkes,” but to see the memories connected to togetherness, like picking fruit toward the end of the summer and using that fruit in a recipe, such as cold cherry soup with egg-white dumplings. 

In addition, examining recipes gives us a sense of what role cooking and food played in trauma processing, Zalewska says. “Remembering the foods and the food traditions of their lives before imprisonment were some of the ways that survivors coped with starvation,” Zalewska adds. These are things that survivors say they are not often asked about, but when asked they report remembering dreaming about food during incarceration. 

“We have quite a number of testimonies, where survivors talk about being in situations of starvation, and food deprivation and ghettos and camps and in hiding, and that dreaming about and remembering food from before gave them emotional sustenance,” explains Friedberg.

Exploring such memories have been meaningful for those survivors who were young when they lost their families.

New Orleans’ Chef Alon Shaya has been working for several years to recreate recipes from a book belonging to the family of Steven Fenves, a survivor and a volunteer for the museum. The book was rescued by the family cook, Maris, when the family was forced to flee their home on the Yugoslavia-Hungary border in 1944. The recipes are largely written without measurements, times or temperatures, and many of the ingredients are different from those used today. (Like the Fenves family, Goldie’s son, Joseph Finkelstein, says his mother wasn’t big on using measurements as we think of them in recipes today. She knew the quantity of an ingredient, for example, if it would fit in her palm.) Unlike Yoskowitz, who is looking to update recipes, Shaya has been working to replicate them as closely as possible  — and has come across a few surprises.

Many of the desserts use a lot of walnuts, for example, which, of course, are also used in contemporary baking. But Shaya is using what he says are “copious amounts of walnuts” in various ways, such as grilled walnuts and toasted walnuts. The Fenves family walnut cream cake, which includes both walnuts ground in the batter and in a cream in-between the cake layers, has featured on the menu at one of Shaya’s restaurants, Safta, in Denver.

For all the recreation, and Shaya’s goal to bring the tastes of his youth back to Fenves, he says “it is impossible that a recipe in New Orleans would be the same as one in Bulgaria. The seasons are different, what animals are butchered are different, and the spices taste different.”

Indeed, place matters, Yoskowitz says. Ashkenazi food has a reputation of being terrible, he says. Take mushroom soup, for example. “There is no good mushroom soup in a deli. It is made with mushrooms that don’t have much flavor. But if you have it somewhere made with mushrooms grown in the forest, then that is going to be good soup.”

Many Holocaust survivors settled in new lands with new ingredients, and little memory of how things were made before the war. They knew they used to eat mushroom soup but didn’t specifically remember the forest-grown and harvested fungi. So, dishes morphed depending on what survivors had in their new home. In Eastern Europe, veal was plentiful, but in the U.S. and Israel, schnitzel began being made with chicken instead (a process Yoskowitz calls the “chickentization” of cuisine). And the beloved Jewish pastrami on rye? The pastrami would have traditionally been made with kosher goose or lamb. It wasn’t until Jews came to the U.S. that beef was easily accessible. 

The same is true of what is likely the most iconic Jewish American dish. “Bagel and lox are what we think of as the most Jewish food. But the only thing that came over was the cured and smoked fish,” Yoskowitz says. “Cream cheese was a New York state invention. Capers were Italians. It was a completely new creation, and it became a taste associated with Jewish people.”

One of the most poignant recipes in the “Honey Cake and Latkes” book is a chocolate sandwich, a basic concoction of black bread, butter and shaved dark chocolate. Survivor Eugene Ginter remembers his mother making it for him in Germany after the war, to fatten him up after years of starvation.

Adds Shaya: “We have to continue to adapt, and I think that that is part of the beauty of it.”