The Life and Times of The Canadian Harvard Jew

June 15 was an odd day to try crossing the United States border: the eve of a rumored June 16 ban on Harvard international students. I thought I’d smooth things over with a polite Canadian disclaimer: “Sorry, I should just mention that I’m a Harvard student entering on an F-1 visa.”

The customs officer squinted at me. “So that means you must be really smart, right?” he asked, with the tone of someone who had already decided otherwise. I considered offering him a swig of maple syrup as a goodwill gesture but wasn’t sure if that would count as a bribe.

Encounters like this are normal when your life is filled with contradictions. Instead of relying on concrete principles to navigate these conflicting realities, I have found that it’s easier to just improvise.

Three incongruities immediately confront me as a Jewish, Canadian, Harvard student. First, the U.S. seems less than eager to have me here as an international Harvard student. Second, the White House insists on protecting me, a Jewish student, from my fellow international students. Third, America occasionally flirts with absorbing my country, Canada, outright. I rest assured, however, that their best people are on the case.

According to my back-of-the-envelope logic, the third tenet would neatly resolve the first (assuming both citizenship by conquest and that America is somehow victorious) but would immediately violate the second (assuming Canada puts up some kind of fight — in which I would surely participate — which would place me, a Jewish student, at risk of death-by-America).

Upon discussing this with friends, we concluded that this dynamic mirrors that of a toxic relationship: the U.S. is attempting to banish me for my own protection (gaslighting), simultaneously contemplating the annexation of my homeland (extreme stalking behavior), while constantly alternating the reasoning for their desired actions (lying/manipulation).

Yet when people learn of my predicament, their reactions vary wildly.

In more conservative Jewish settings, the challenges assume a different form than at the border. Well-meaning acquaintances sometimes tell me how sorry they are that I’m “caught in the crossfire” but assure me the American government is fighting for my rights. They argue that the administration’s crusade against Harvard international students is justified — it is simply unfortunate that I, too, share their visa status. I never know quite what to say in response, so I either hum “International Love” by Pitbull or issue a rueful apology on behalf of my beleaguered F-1.

Liberal American reactions aren’t much better. They typically assure me not to worry because the U.S. doesn’t even really want Canada. Admittedly, this one stings. Firstly, baked in is the assumption that Canada, like my student visa, is now simply up for grabs. Secondly — and more importantly — Canada is fantastic, and just about anyone would be lucky to have it.

Still, the liberal response beats the alternative — an expansionist grin coupled with a worryingly enthusiastic cheer of “fifty-first state!” upon learning of my northern origins. I rarely have the heart to reject the fist-bump that inevitably follows.

After considerable thought, I’ve determined the ideal American reaction to my patrial predicament would be: “Wow, what an enviable country you have, but we have no intention of applying sovereignty to it at this time.” I’m still waiting.

In yet another ironic twist, part of the reason I came to America for college in the first place was because I found the notion of free speech so alluring. I was intrigued by Justice Louis D. Brandeis’s argument that “more speech, not enforced silence” was the solution to bad speech and was keen to investigate. Throughout, my American classmates joked that I came from an authoritarian country where saying the wrong thing could get you arrested. The frequency of such remarks has mysteriously decreased as of late.

In my quest to experience the American ideal of free speech firsthand, though, I didn’t bank on witnessing its rapid erosion in real time — checked at borders and chilled by visa threats. It reminds me of when I travelled to the Northwest Territories hoping to glimpse the aurora borealis at rest, only to observe the full shimmering dance across the sky. It was different from what I expected, but memorable all the same. The aurora, however, was unlikely to ship you off to Louisiana with questionable due process.

Due to the declining robustness of the free speech protections that I was promised, I’ve had to pivot.

In that same vein, the poet Robert L. Frost (attended Harvard, DNF) once claimed that “freedom lies in being bold.” In Canada, we believe that freedom lies in being cold. At Harvard, I suspect that freedom lies in being enrolled — and I intend to keep it that way.

Isaac R. Mansell ’26, a Crimson Editorial Editor, is an Economics concentrator in Kirkland House. For now.