Beef With Thy Passport to Nowhere
As this piece was written while Daniel’s student visa application was still under scrutiny by the embassy in question, some names have been changed to maintain anonymity. This is a true, ongoing story
Over the past two weeks, Jun’s helped Daniel, a guy in his early twenties from so-called Latin America, translate and edit a motivational letter. It’s one document of far too many he must submit to a European embassy as part of his student visa application. His goal is to attend a six-month intensive English-language course at a school in Europe.
Meanwhile, anyone from the “old continent” can hop a flight to Latin America for tourism or tourism con derechos; gaze patently at the exoticism of indigenous groups; wander almost aimlessly as they do; to study Portuguese or Spanish, or just plain fuck around, no major or overly intrusive questions asked by immigration officials. For them, the mzungu traveling clan, or circus, a multi-month visa-on-arrival is stamped gratuitously in their passport at the airport lesser a motivational letter, bank statement with at least seven-thousand yankee-junk bills deposited in their accounts, certified school degrees or whatnot. So-called third-world or global south passport holders such as Daniel, being denied a visa, the first he’s ever applied for and having that decision registered in “the system”, beares negative consequences for global north countries he may want to visit in the future.
“I have a passport to nowhere,” he once said. C’est la système.
Jun’s been doing what he’s been tasked and paid to do. Keep in mind, Daniel had already received tips on motivational letter structure and wording from an advisor at the language school he wishes to attend. It was the least they could do. Their prospective student had already forked out the $3,000 inscription fee, added assurance to the European embassy that his financial bearings sufficed the cost of attending school in their country. Hot under the collar due to the bureaucratic shit race and countless loops made to run and go through, Daniel sat pensively one evening. “What—Europeans think they’re better than everybody else or something”?
“I promise to obey all of the laws, rules, and regulations during my stay”, read a sentence in the school-prepared motivational letter. Privy to this error, Jun, almost swifter than he had noticed it, deleted ‘obey’, replacing it with ‘adhere to’. Even some self-proclaimed British-Italian chick Daniel had met said that it, along with several other passages, sounded as if he was “grovelling”. Though Jun was unimpressed by this wannabe-cultured, loudmouth bitch, he couldn’t have agreed more. All she wanted was a hit-and-run with Daniel. All she got was a kiss with which to swoop back and reminisce about on her old and increasingly cold continent.
In half politer terms, Jun tried to wise Daniel up to self-absorbed, nonsense individuals of this nature, staying clear of them like the potato plague. If given the chance to attend the English-language course, he’s certain to meet women prettier, more intelligent, more humble, and genuinely sophisticated compared to such a nutty brawd hopping planes and boats on a whim, going wherever she so desires then speaking as if she’s some brain-fuck-expert about a country she barely spent a month, if that. Hopeless and helpless she was—is. But Jun got the impression that Daniel was too infatuated, slightly head over heels to hear what his translator had to say. Anyhow, offering relationship advice was not what Jun was paid to do.
After Jun completed the translation and editing job, Daniel sent the letter back to the English-language school advisor for final review before forwarding it to the European embassy. The expert in his or her field returned it with the following note: “It looks good. Real good. One thing. Where’s “obey”?
Overridden, Daniel, not wanting further harassment much less forfeiting the service fee, hundreds of dollars, of his course downpayment, obeys.
❉ ❉ ❉
Nearly two months have passed since Daniel submitted his heap of paperwork comprising his student visa application. With no response from the European embassy, apart from acknowledging receipt of his documents, and relief transitioning to anxiety and frustration, Jun advised Daniel with the following note.
Your passport to the world doesn't stem solely through the whims of bureaucrats housed at the European Embassy. Through paperwork. Rubber-stamps. Through the calculated and, oftentimes, discriminatory nature of visa requirements, acceptance or denial.
A more solid basis for any passport worth mentioning is continuing to cultivate your talents, intangible qualities that embassy officials may lack themselves. Being mindful. Learning and growing from experiences. Not taking lessons, good or otherwise, for granted.
In this direction, you've already set yourself on a good path and for it, your passport to world, not just towards Russia, Ukraine, or The Congo—visa-free entry countries in Daniel’s case—not just towards Britain, USA, Germany—countries with strict visa requirement applications prior to travel—or wherever else you may want to set afoot, is within reach.
Stay focused. Take some time for yourself. Don't overwork. Don't over-dream about your British-Italian chick-fling this one or that one, some of these gringos sprawling about so-called Latin America from day-to-day. Here one day. Many go the next.
Surely your boss has given you the lowdown about some of these matters. Still, enjoy yourself and your youth. Read a book or two. Or three. Read the short article or two I sent. With the beauty of your voice and guitar playing skills, I'm surprised your girlfriend has yet to ask you to compose a love song. If not, then compose one for yourself or somebody else. Seize the time.
❉ ❉ ❉
Postscript
Of note, what we or at least Jun observes on occasion, consciously or otherwise prior to or during the course of helping Daniel prepare his motivational letter, are random genocide survivors, those unmistakeable descendants of enslaved Africans and diasporic Africans traveling by way of French, British, U.S., or most other passports from global north western countries. Whether they are simply wannabes or have totally succumbed to westernization, their transformation is terribly noticeable. To what degree have they, Africans on the continent or anywhere else in the world, been miseducated, blinded, co-opted around this business of passports, its presumed strength or weakness faced with stringent visa requirements for some or blasé passage at immigration control for others, is always questionable. Is there a greater political alibi than for western countries to have Black people who’ve forsaken their own heritage trotting around the world in obedience to the very system that has robbed them of their own names, religions, educational and political systems, and more? Nowadays, at least they’re afforded something they’d previously been denied, “first-world” passports. Now, with relative ease of international travel, they go on to eat. Fuck. Roam in search of paedophilic pleasures. Organ harvesting anyone? And some will snort with the best of their “compatriots.”
The staunch contradictions of their travels, especially those pampered tour groups where one black man or woman strolls hand and hand with a mob of Europeans or their settler descendants are, in most cases, bewildering. Jun has even seen a few copy-cat their handlers, tightly squeezing their book-sacks or carry-bags to their chests and stomachs in Plaza Grande in broad daylight, directly in the shadow of the Palácio Carondelet, official workplace of Ecuador’s head of state. The likelihood of them being robbed in this heavily guarded place is next to nil, however, it is as if they’ve, for reasons unbeknownst to Jun, compressed the entirety of their worldly possessions into a single bag and made their way to Quito’s historic center as part of their travel tour. Overwhelming is the rush of seeing so many brown and black people. The irony of it all.
Gringos in broad daylight grasping their belongings in Plaza Grande (Quito, Ecuador), Image courtesy of Jun Cola
While Jun has come across enough travelers, people of different ethnicities and backgrounds living in the west, to understand that the aforementioned types are not blanket descriptors for all who come south of the border, it would be criminal negligence on his part to pretend as if they don’t exist. Then there’s a lesser-spoken about phenomenon, that is, white women from western metropolises in search of their own flings, as was the case with our young Italian-British chick trolling Daniel. It all provides for scenes and scenarios of multiple case studies, may their thesis suit history, psychology, anthropology, or social pathology university departments. To not establish a deeper theoretical framework of the gaze and underlying intent of white settlers and the relative ease with which they travel abroad is to underestimate or ignore your own position, capacities, and responsibilities in Canada or elsewhere in the developed (so-called) western world.
"Oh, what a tangled web” they’ve weaved, Walter Scott. Yes sir, you are correct.
For these reasons, Jun was struck with immense pleasure when crossing paths with a Chinese-Canadian mother traveling with her three children, two young daughters and a teenage son, one day in Quito. Mother told him that she was homeschooling her children for, “come to find out, we were not really learning what we needed to learn in traditional school settings.” Yes, her eldest daughter was going into her third year of studies at University of Regina but the family hadn’t traveled to Ecuador, as well as Colombia and Mexico, to complete their master’s or doctorate degree in indigenous studies, to save the Amazon, or anything of the sort. Their travel, humbly and respectfully, was to see for themselves, to listen and learn beyond Canadian controlled classrooms.
Decision
Days before this piece was published, roughly three months after Daniel submitted his heap of paperwork as part of his student visa application to attend a six-month intensive English course, he finally received a response. The Irish embassy denied his request.
