It鈥檚 hard to explain what it feels like to miss a funeral 鈥 not because of illness, distance, or timing, but because attending might get you flagged, interrogated, or barred from returning to your life.
That鈥檚 exactly what happened to me.
On April 20, Dr. Mohammed Azmathulla Khan passed away in Toronto. He was a brilliant researcher, devoted father, and quiet pillar of the Muslim and South Asian community in Canada. He was also someone I was deeply close with for most of my life.
To me, he was 鈥淎zmathullah Uncle鈥濃 a man whose presence shaped my childhood and early adulthood. He was the one who took my sister and me on sledding and skating trips in Montreal winters, in the back of his unforgettable orange Chevy Vega.
He carried me out of the hospital after surgery when I was a boy. He drove me to York University when I had no other way to get to class. He helped fill the space left by distant relatives, and in many ways, was closer to us than family.
His four sons 鈥 my lifelong friends 鈥 reflect everything he stood for: strength, service, and humility. So when he passed, I felt a deep urge to be there.
But I wasn鈥檛.
Despite being a Canadian citizen, a lawyer, a law professor, and a U.S. visa holder, I was strongly advised not to travel back to Canada 鈥 by friends, legal experts and even members of Azmathullah Uncle鈥檚 own family.
Why? Because I have publicly criticized U.S. foreign policy and defended the rights of Palestinians. I鈥檝e written about student speech, challenged anti-BDS legislation and spoken out on free expression in the post-Oct. 7 crackdown. These positions, while fully legal and protected under Canadian and American constitutional traditions, are now being treated as potential national security red flags 鈥 especially under the Trump administration鈥檚 second term.
And so, I was told: don’t take the risk. Stay where you are. You may not be allowed back.
The fear wasn鈥檛 paranoia. It was grounded in reality. Friends and colleagues have been questioned, delayed, and denied entry at U.S. ports of entry over far less. Immigration law, increasingly used as a tool of political repression, has created a chilling effect鈥攏ot only for undocumented individuals, but for legal residents, visa holders, and dual nationals like myself.
So, instead of saying goodbye in person, I watched the funeral over video. I texted condolences. I wept from a distance.
This should concern every Canadian.
We often think of civil liberties erosion as something that happens 鈥渙ver there.鈥 But for those of us with deep ties to both countries, the crackdown on dissent is already bleeding across the border. When immigration systems are weaponized to punish advocacy, when border security becomes a tool of ideological control, even Canadians feel the consequences.
It also raises tough questions: What does it mean to be free if you can鈥檛 speak your mind without fearing travel restrictions? What good is democracy if exercising your rights costs you your community?
Canada prides itself on being different. But we should not be na茂ve.
When Conservative leader Pierre Poilievre vows to deport foreign nationals for so-called 鈥渉ate marches,鈥 promises to defund universities over 鈥渋deological slants,鈥 and blurs the line between protest and criminality, it becomes clear: the same authoritarian impulses that chilled me into staying behind are gaining traction here too.
This isn鈥檛 just American policy creep 鈥 it鈥檚 Canadian political convergence.
I couldn鈥檛 be there to bury someone I loved 鈥 not because I was absent, but because I was warned that even showing up could jeopardize my ability to return to my work, my family, and my obligations in the U.S.
And it didn鈥檛 stop there. I was also planning to return to Canada to vote. That, too, became a casualty of this chilling effect. Had I planned to vote from abroad, I would have taken advantage of overseas voting procedures well in advance. But I intended to cast my ballot in person. I expected to be there. The decision to stay away wasn鈥檛 logistical, it was political. And in that moment, I was not only grieving, I was disenfranchised.
That is not freedom. That is not safety. That is the quiet spread of authoritarian logic.
Dr. Azmathullah Khan deserved better. So did I. So does anyone who believes that our most personal moments 鈥 grieving, mourning, voting, showing up for family 鈥 should not be policed.
Canada must resist this imported erosion of rights. As our own political leaders echo Trump-style tactics 鈥 targeting dissent, criminalizing protest, deporting 鈥渦ndesirables鈥 鈥 we can鈥檛 afford to stay silent.
Because if mourning, and now even voting, becomes a political act, then we鈥檝e already lost more than we realize.
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