Canadians love to believe that here in Canada, we are accepting and unbiased in nature.
However, those of us who belong to a visible minority group can agree, this is not the case. From a young age, I realized I was different from many of my peers. My skin colour was not the only difference I could recognize. I also noticed differences in the ways I understand, view, and fit into Canadian society.
Growing up in the mono-cultured town of Manotick, Ont., was not easy in many ways. I was the kid with the stinky ethnic lunch who was singled out for being the only non-white student. I had friends, but the type of friends who would constantly remind me of how I was different.
“I can enjoy country music just as easily as bhangra music.”
To make things worse, I was targeted for being Muslim. I remember sitting at the lunch tables in Grade 11, defending Islam and my faith against my racist peers. I would argue Islam isn’t synonymous with terrorism and it was fundamentally a religion of peace.
I remember being ostracized during most of my grade-school years, and feeling as though few people truly respected me for who I was. They liked my personality but hated how I looked, where I came from, and what I represented.
At one point, partially as an attempt to fit in, I threw a party at my parents’ house. As people walked through the door, I remember hearing: “your parents have…money?” or “your dad doesn’t operate a…taxi?” or “your mom is allowed to…work?”
They quickly realized the kid they had grown up with their entire lives didn’t fit into their concept of a person of colour or a Pakistani Muslim. I was tormented even more, because my peers couldn’t understand why I had certain privileges while being a person of colour and how my family could possibly have material wealth.
It was simply something my peers had never seen, first-hand or in the media they consumed.
My parents, who were both born in Pakistan, immigrated here with the same story you have probably heard thousands of times: to create a better life for their children. But, at what cost?
My mother, who was at the top of her classes in school, gained entrance to medical school in Canada after only two years of undergraduate studies. She is now working as a physician, while completing her masters’ degree at the age of 57.
My father struggled to gain stability in Canada, as he immigrated at the age of 16 and spoke little English. With a degree in electrical engineering, he now holds a senior position at an aerospace engineering company and has received offers of employment from NASA.
As my parents struggled to raise their children with the same values and morals that they themselves had been raised with, they came to realize Canadian culture provided extensive barriers. Growing up in Canada with competing Islamic, Pakistani, and Canadian values created an environment which prevented me from gaining a strong sense of belonging.
Ironically, my Pakistani family and peers claim I’m whitewashed, that all my friends are white, and that I’m losing my Pakistani culture. My religious friends say I’m not really Muslim at all, since I drink and eat bacon from time to time.
Similarly, my white friends treated me differently for being brown and continue to subtly remind me of how I am different than them. The worst part is that neither of these groups realize the isolation that this brings. No, I am not half-white and half-brown and yes, I am Muslim.
I am my own category, one that expands and contracts certain expressions of being Muslim, Canadian, and Pakistani, one which allows room for growth and change, and makes me distinct from everyone else. I am proud of who I am and I refuse to allow anyone to put me in a box. I can enjoy country music just as easily as bhangra music.
I encourage anyone else who feels they don’t belong in a predetermined social category to challenge those barriers. Strive to be you and nothing less.
Graphic by Sara Mizannojehdehi.
