bout de papier, Vol. 12, No. 3 (1995) — Fall 1995 // Automne 1995, p. 42
During the operation to admit Ugandan Asians to Canada all applications were submitted by hand — no-one trusted the mail and time was tight. Each form was number stamped and a chit bearing the number was given to the applicant with an admonition to watch the local papers or the lists posted in our office windows for the date of interview. This simple system protected people’s security but let us communicate with them through the media with surprising effectiveness. The numbers became powerful talismans and two decades later I’ve rarely met a Ugandan Asian who can’t recall his or her “number”
In one case the number actually opened prison doors.
Several weeks into the operation Moe Benoit, who ran the front counter, interrupted an interview I was doing with the words “Mike, there is someone I want you to see RIGHT NOW”. Moe was not what you would call a flappable man and the chalky cast to his normally ruddy face made me nervous.
Sure enough two minutes later Moe appeared with a very large Ugandan policeman, immaculate in pressed khaki and Sten gun. The policeman had a very bedraggled Asian man literally in tow. The Asian obviously hadn’t shaved, bathed or changed clothes in several days. A quick four way consultation revealed that:
1. Mr. X ( the Asian) had been in the process of taking his new wife out of the country when the Ugandan border officials took exception to the amount of jewellery she was wearing.
2. Mrs. X was allowed to depart, sans jewellery, but Mr. X was trucked back to Kampala and chucked into prison for smuggling.
3. Mr. X’s family tried to get him out with no success.
4. After four or five days the family appeared at the prison triumphantly waving a copy of the “Uganda Argus” with the latest Canadian interview numbers list. Officials compared the numbers in the newspaper with the number on the now tattered chit Mr. X had secreted God knows where. Lo and behold there was the match and the family argued successfully that, if the Canadian Embassy was summoning Mr. X, it stood to reason the Ugandan authorities must produce the body.
I noticed that the policeman wore World War Two ribbons on his shirt and told him my Dad had the same ribbons. That put us on a friendly footing and I explained it was my duty to conduct a private interview with Mr. X and could he be released from handcuffs and chains? No, that would not be possible said the policeman politely. It was then agreed that two chairs would be arranged in front of my desk, one behind the other. Mr. X sat in front. The policeman sat behind holding the end of the chain in one hand and the Sten Gun, rather awkwardly in the other.
Interviews under these circumstances can be trying. I almost wept with joy when I learned that Mr. X was a mechanic (TEN POINTS!). In addition he had a relative somewhere near Chilliwack who sounded an awful lot like an Aunt (FIFTEEN POINTS!) if you didn’t look too close. I was not looking too close because my new police friend was having a hard time holding both the chain and the machine gun. He kept putting the gun on the floor and then, remembering himself, picking it up again. Each time this happened I got to peer down the barrel for a second or so. I noticed on the second pass that the gun was cocked and the fascinating details of Mr. X’s genealogy engaged less and less of my attention as I reviewed all I’d learned in cadets about the quirky behaviour of Sten Guns.
Somehow I did the math and found Mr. X qualified. I noticed as well that my fellow interviewers and their clients had gotten through their formalities with impressive speed and exquisite politeness and were drifting off to other places.
I explained to Mr. X and his guardian that we would now step over to the Medical Section for the Medical Examination. The head of the Section, Dr. Piche, discovered he had a small gap in his busy schedule and could accommodate us without an appointment. Mr. X ducked behind the curtain with Dr. Piche, while the policeman, the Sten Gun, the end of the chain and I remained on the other side discussing World War Two. Then off we went to visit the Medical Technicians, Dr. Piche having promised the Policeman free medical examinations for the whole family once Mr. X was safely out of the country. I remember Mr. X’s X-Ray but cannot and do not wish to remember what was done about the stool test.
I happened to know the kid who ran the air transport section and Mr. X was booked on the next morning charter flight to Canada with an unusual display of efficiency. Our police friend was instructed that the Government of Canada expected Mr. X to be delivered without fail to Entebbe Airport the next morning.
Delivered he was. Mr. X and the policeman were met at the top of the ramp at the door to the airliner by our boss Roger St. Vincent. Roger explained that inside the plane was Canadian territory. Mr. A must enter Canada a free man. The chains were taken off. Mr. X walked into the plane. The policeman wanted to take a peek but Roger was in the way. They shook hands and the policeman went down the stairs.
Epilogue
Mr. X and his wife were eventually reunited in Canada.
Moe Benoit established a successful auto dealership in Detroit.
Dr. Piche retired to Montreal. Roger St. Vincent lives in Slovenia.
The transport kid became Gerry Campbell, Director General, International Migration and Refugee Affairs.
The policeman, his wife, and eight children appeared for medical examination and were awarded “Certificates of Good Health” by the Government of Canada.
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Originally published in bout de papier, Vol. 12, No. 3 (1995) — Fall 1995 // Automne 1995, p. 42. Read the rest of this issue →
