M.G. Vassanji's Nowhere, Exactly: On Identity and Belonging

Reviewed by Sumaiya Matin

(Penguin Random House, 2024)

M.G. Vassanji’s Nowhere, Exactly: On Identity and Belonging is an intelligent, articulate collection of fifteen essays which examine identity and belonging in Canada, with specific relevance for the immigrant settler writer.

In a reflective tone, Vassanji reaches into Canada’s history, as well as his own memories, to explore several timely and pressing questions. What is the center of a “Canadian” identity? What is the place for artists such as writers who are situated in this ever-shifting, ambiguous landscape of national identity? 

The series of essays follow the author’s own journey growing up in Tanzania, Africa, migrating to the United States of America, and then Canada, and afterward, visits to his ancestral homeland of India. Vassanji shares personal experiences and observations which drove urgency to reflect on his identity.

This is an exploration of his intertwinement as a writer and immigrant settler with Canada’s own immigration journey and identity politics—an exercise of meaning-making that I’d argue is necessary in current times, particularly for artists, writers/editors and policymakers. I’d describe the autobiographical aspect of his collection as raw and honest, giving insight into the inspirations behind his previous works and also into the complexities and contradictions that many immigrant settler writers navigate in the present day.

The first two essays “Nowhere, Anywhere” and “Voices in the Wilderness: The Nowhere Artist” set the foundation for the rest of the collection. In the first, Vassanji posits that there is a difference between identity and belonging. Identity being “what you tick off in today’s official forms declaring your particulars: South Asian, Indo- Canadian, Black Canadian, LGBTQ, etc.…Belonging, on the other hand …i.e. that unequivocal, sentimental call of the land to the heart.”
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To the immigrant settler in Canada, however, home “is never a single place, entirely and unequivocally. It is contingent. The abstract ‘Nowhere,’ then, is the true home.” It may also be that the “immigrant in a new country is caught between two lovers…” given the different loyalties that may claim them.
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The country they have arrived to—Canada—is redefining itself, beginning to slowly acknowledge its colonial bedrock and the need for reconciliation with Indigenous communities: 

​Being a Canadian then is, besides everything else, also to bear the burden of its history of colonization and racism; more than that, it is to accept the fact that the modern nation was built on a foundation of broken treaties and cultural genocide against a population that already thrived on this land. It is not an easy situation.

​Canada is also outgrowing and challenging its identity as a multicultural mosaic, a limited concept, if not damaging. Although Canada’s policy of multiculturalism “encourages the retention of the nation’s many cultures and by implication promotes equal public space and representation to all its ethnicities and cultures,” there’s a stagnation that happens when an individual or community becomes limited to an identity box: 

​Immigrants do not cross thousands of miles proposing to remain the same, whatever their own wishes (and they are often contradictory) or their public portrayals are. But they need time to evolve, each group in its own way.

Vassanji writes about the benefits of living in a country working on addressing institutional bias and actively encouraging diversity, such as the freedom to walk down the streets in cultural garb without much hesitation, being able to access one’s own cultural cuisine and places of worship, and having opportunities to learn about others. However, the depth of true curiosity or understanding about others varies, and is dependent on personal bias and habit, even. Prejudice at an individual level lingers. The prejudices are sometimes linked to unresolved issues in countries of origin (which are often suffering from the impacts of their own colonization). Furthermore, efforts to understand others may be met with the attitude that one simply cannot ‘get’ what it is like to be in another’s shoes, especially when it comes to particular historical oppression. Hence, there are impediments in achieving a sense of true belonging—and might I add, connection—at a very practical level.

Canada’s identity has also historically revolved around a comparison to its neighbour, the United States—the more inclusive, nicer cousin perhaps, or an underdog. This is not enough for Vassanji, who boldly asks, “What kind of identity or ‘sense of self’ did [Canada] have in the past except as a distant dominion of the empire and a subservient neighbour to a growing, belligerent superpower?”

With skill and research, Vassanji articulates the need for a more evolved Canadian identity, then moves forward with a reflection on where the current one, lacking essence and core, leaves artists, particularly immigrant settler writers who face daunting questions about where their work fits into the Canadian literary landscape. The essays “Writing to Somebody Somewhere: The Telling is Not Easy” and “Am I a Canadian Writer?” examine the sophistication that “writers from elsewhere” bring, the nostalgia and inspirations they carry, the linguistic and intellectual variety that shapes their telling, and barriers they come upon in making their work “Canadian” or “universal.” As Vassanji says, “…a work becomes universal, as far as it can, only once it is understood,” and those doing the understanding (as gatekeepers of the industry) often sit “in a position of protected privilege as a recognized cultural or academic commentator in a Western metropolis, learned in a single tradition (European).” The answer, then, he posits, is in line with cosmopolitanism, a literary identity beyond mere citizenship.
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In the other essays, Vassanji expands his exploration of identity and belonging by taking us through his connections to the Partition of India, the reasons his family left Africa, and his experiences belonging to a religious minority group in South Asia, the Khoja Ismailis. He shares what led him to religious syncretism, marrying elements of both Islam and Hinduism despite the conclusions of Gandhi—an inspirational figure of his youth—who believed the two religions are fundamentally different. In another essay, he tells us about his visits to India, feeling like an outsider, particularly when noticing the dividing faith politics, but also finding himself at home upon hearing a local swear word he knows. In all of the essays, sprinkled with personal examples and references to various writers, philosophers, and scientists, Vassanji points out the strange ways we slip in and out of belonging, and what implications this has for us when we’re asked to define ourselves or when others define us. A conclusion he arrives at which I resonate with is that ultimately,

​…home is that unique place that speaks to the heart. You could be denied that home; but you could still claim to belong to it. Your belonging to a place cannot be defined by those who currently happen to rule over it.

What I found fascinating about this essay collection is that it reads partly like a travel memoir—I was taken to the United States, Africa, India, and Canada—so when Vassanji returns to the Canadian landscape, the reader can really appreciate the sophistication of every individual living in Canada, the myriads of ways their beings may be linked to histories, other lands, traditions, artistic inspirations, both physically and in their memories.
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The collection also considers generational differences between writers, which encourages us to think about ways writers are stratified and are responded to differently, even within particular identity boxes:

​And yet, isn’t this multicultural space, which we may define as allowing people to be as different or exotic as they wish, simply a waiting post, a holding area for immigrants, a quarantine to hold the alien virus and keep the peace while succeeding generations have time to emerge fully integrated and assimilated?

​In all of Vassanji’s musings and arguments, the cohesive call to action that stands out for me is that it is time to evolve—as both an individual self and as a national self. The path forward is not assimilation, for assimilation does not erase memory. We’re in a position where all of the world’s histories can and must be Canadian history:

​In this kind of convex reality, in which the world comes in, gets refracted and reimagined through Canadian writing, there is perhaps a place for writers such as I, who will always wash upon these shores, with stories to tell.

As an immigrant settler writer myself with previous experience working on government policies related to diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI), Vassanji’s musings hit home for me on various levels. As a writer, on multiple occasions, I’ve asked myself: Who will care to read about this very particular world I am writing about, that lives on in my memories and soul? Which character identities can I write from and which can I not? Who really is my audience? The process of situating oneself as an immigrant settler writer in the larger industry landscape is a tricky one. Similarly to Vassanji, I find the weight of writing under an identity cumbersome. Vassanji is forward-thinking when he suggests that perhaps it is time to re-examine what a “Canadian” novel is and that “the story of Canada must be the story of all its peoples; and that story gets augmented and changes."

Identity politics is not just relevant in the world of writing and publishing but every single industry. When I previously worked in government policy/programs as well as the social service field, I hit a number of walls when advocating for equity whilst knowing the detriments of such initiatives being reduced to buzz words, witnessing oppression Olympics, and fears of backlash/getting “cancelled.” My firsthand experience of the limitations/barriers of moving DEI programs through large bureaucratic systems or witnessing the contradictions of well-intended leaders or even social justice workers in everyday dynamics, tells me that the landscape is fraught with tension and that most people are overwhelmed in one way or another. Navigating such tension while attempting to unlearn all that has been taught through colonial frameworks (for me, while moving through various institutions in Canada and as a South Asian with deep history of European colonization) is no easy feat.

Nowhere, Exactly prompts us to take ownership of defining ourselves while all this work is happening, valuing the unique experiences that make us, despite how irrelevant or miniscule they may seem in any larger conversation or setting. It expands the individual from the inside out, pushing past the borders set by larger systems. It asks us to consider fluidity and nuance, for ourselves and others, as we navigate these larger systems with their own historical substratum. Vassanji’s genuine voice in Nowhere, Exactly is humanizing and relatable. He allows us to believe that at a very personal microlevel, we are shaping the trajectory of the places we inhabit. This is empowering.

Vassanji is a thoughtful writer with clear arguments and an ability to look at many sides of the same coin. The writing is accessible, and he engages not just with existing scholarship in the field, but a broad range of thought leaders, scientists, historical and religious figures—this itself exemplifying the richness “writers from elsewhere,” immigrant settlers, and of course, Indigenous communities carry within themselves. The only con (although I debate the use of this word) of this collection would be its overall organization and flow, for Vassanji takes us on a journey through his mind (which is not always linear for the writer from elsewhere; Vassanji writes about this as well), and some readers may not have the patience to meander through the process before reaching the destination.
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For thought leaders who are seeking a way forward and calling for an evolution of national and artistic place—and everyone else wondering what’s going on with diversity and equity work in Canada—this collection of essays is for you.

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Sumaiya Matin is a writer living in Alberta, Canada. She is the author of the literary memoir The Shaytan Bride: A Bangladeshi Canadian Memoir of Desire and Faith (Dundurn Press, 2021). A Master of Fine Arts (in Creative Writing) candidate at the University of British Columbia, Sumaiya is passionate about exploring the intersection of literature and mental health. Follow her writing journey on her website or on Instagram @sumaiya.matin.