I acknowledge that I wrote this piece with the help of critical education acquired on the traditional lands of the Anishinaabek, Haudenosaunee, Lūnaapéewak, and Attawandaron peoples. With this, I respect the longstanding relationships that Indigenous Nations have to this land that we now call Canada, as they are the original caretakers. I also acknowledge historical and ongoing injustices that Indigenous Peoples (e.g. First Nations, Métis and Inuit) endure in Canada. My deepest hope is that this post will lift your voices up by prompting others to consider their place in our country.
April, 2019. For many, a month of transition between cold and warm seasons. For college and university students in Canada, culminating projects and end-of-year exams. For me, the last month of my academic education, or so I thought at the time.
The Huron College library is modest in size compared to its Western University counterparts. At 3 p.m., light would poke its way through the tall bay windows, spreading across rustic desks and second-hand textbooks. This combined with the college’s chateau-like features and conical roof makes student tour guides refer to it as "our very own Hogwarts”. You would see them shepherding groups of high school students through the stacks on a weekly basis. It was my favourite place to study.
I remember one day in particular, in my fifth and final year of undergrad, recognizing a few faces in the other study pods. Current and former classmates. Specifics of the notes in front of me were a blur; I could have been reviewing anything from gender and development, to critiquing capitalism, or management paradigms. The range of topics in the Centre for Global Studies (CGS) extends far and wide, which is what I loved about the program.
My revision was interrupted by a friend and former classmate of mine.
“Benny!”
“Hey Florian, what’s going on?”
Florian was the kind of guy that was friends with most of, if not all, the people in our CGS class. I admired him for that. I blamed my late transfer to CGS for not getting to know more of my classmates, but in reality I was just reserved.
“Not too much, on my way to grab a Fireroast and then back to the grind as usual.”
The library staff had their coffee brought in daily for the caffeine-deprived pupils. In my four years at Huron I never bought one. Coffee made at home and brought in a mug was more comforting.
“What’s up for you when you finish fifth? Any grand plans?”
“I’m going to Tanzania. Dr. Savino helped me land a volunteer internship with that Uniterra program.”
“Dude that’s awesome, you’re gonna have such a good time.”
“Thanks, yeah, a change of scenery will do me some good I think.”
“Hmmm.”
Silence punctuated the chit chat. I wondered if Florian was going to leave so I could get back to studying. Usually, I’d take any excuse not to study, but that end-of-year clock was ticking, and my time in university was, too. There wouldn't be a second chance to finish a first degree on a high note.
“Hey, listen Ben, I want to talk to you about something.” He sat down in the chair across from me and grabbed a blank piece of paper and a pen from my binder.
“Help yourself.” I joked. Slowly, it became obvious he was drawing a two-circle venn diagram.
“I haven’t seen one of those since third grade. What are you doing?”
“My family is from South-Eastern Europe, Albania specifically. I was born there.” He wrote Albania in one of the circles.
“We moved to Canada when I was young. I’ve lived here most of my life, went to school here etcetera.” He wrote Canada in the other circle. I nodded along politely, trying not to laugh at how serious he was being, something I hadn’t seen from him until now.
“So what does that make me?” he finished, drawing a question mark in the middle of the diagram and looking up.
“Florian, there are so many South-Eastern Europeans who have settled in Canada,” I said, thinking he may be feeling the identity crisis of being a first-generation Canadian, something I knew nothing about. “I mean we’re all immigrants from somewhere, except for Indigenous peoples.” Knowing well I wasn’t answering his question whatsoever.
“I’ve spent hours recently talking with my dad, and my grandparents about where we come from. My grandparents came to Canada after we got established here. It’s strange to think how foreign it feels for them despite how comfortable and familiar it is to me.”
I still wasn't sure what he was getting at so I stared back at him and, sooner than I deserved, he obliged.
His dad often told him of life and traditions in Albania, stories that, despite the quality of their retelling, didn't make Florian feel any more connected to Albania when he visited. It was another world. One he knew existed, and couldn't completely recognize as his own. But it was his. It was his family's. It's where his roots were, and are. Florian's parents and grandparents added Canada to their identities, as he learned about pieces of himself forged in Albania he never had the chance to know.
“That’s great man,” I mustered in response, “I’m happy you’re taking the time to connect with your family about this stuff.”
“It’s more than that, Ben, it’s about history and where you come from, your place in the world.”
I nodded in partial agreement since I’ve only ever known Canada as my home.
“What’s your ancestry? Where are your parents from?”
“Well, my mom grew up here, in London, and my dad grew up in the U.K. They met in France, then moved to Canada before I was born. I’ve never lived anywhere else. I’m white.” I chuckled. “That’s my ancestry.”
“Okay that’s a good starting point, your dad being from the U.K. Do you have any other family in Europe?”
“My dad talks about a cousin in Sweden, but I don’t know if they’re Swedish or just moved from the U.K.”
Another silence. I stared at Florian curiously.
“You know you’re probably much more than just ‘white.’ Just because you’re ‘white’ doesn’t mean you don’t have a diverse background.”
“Sure, I guess you’re right.” I shrugged.
“Know your heritage. Talk to you dad, talk to your mom, talk to your grandparents. Know where you come from and embrace it.” He leaned back in his chair. “Well, I’m gonna get back to it.” and Florian left for the coffee counter before I could say anything.
Was he going around to everyone in the library with this story? I didn’t think he and I were such good friends to merit a conversation about self-discovery. The implications of this blind-siding conversation made studying seem all of a sudden unimportant.
June, 2021. In two months’ time Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, and Hyde Park will all be my backyard. Another Tanzania-sized leap of faith. The overarching emotions are similar to what I felt before my departure to East Africa, feelings I was only beginning to grapple with on that enlightening and confusing April day in the library.
Both experiences entail extended periods away from home, friends and family. Both leaps are a little scary, really, and not just for the part where my feet leave the ground. Because they'll land. And then, well, then what?
In 2019, I was a new graduate with little to no idea of what I was going to make out of living in Tanzania. Now I've transitioned away from university life. I have my first real job. I stopped running competitively. Coming to know and recognize my passion for human interaction has been a silver-lining of the past two years of often uncomfortable change, and I know that my self-development will continue.
Through these changes, I’ve had the opportunity to have constructive discussions about social issues with close friends and family. Prominent among these issues, of course, is the global Black Lives Matter movement and the more recent discovery of a mass grave at the Kamloops Indian Residential School on Tk’emlups te Secwepemc land where the remains of 215 Indigenous children were found.
I’ve always struggled, as I’m sure many other white people do, with knowing how to engage in meaningful and positive allyship in response to these events. The aftermath of reading an article about a white cop killing a young Black man, or cases of missing Indigenous women found dead, or never found at all, leaves me feeling heavy -- angry at the world we built; aware of my whiteness and my white privilege to be reading these headlines instead of living them; self-conscious over when to speak up and when to listen; guilty because people are dying while I write a blog. Though, in navigating our quest for mass social equity, we sometimes forget the value of a single story.
“Positionality” is a term I first heard in Dr. Lucas Savino’s Critical and Anti-Oppressive Methodologies class at Huron.
You might hear Dr. Savino use positionality in the same sentence as age, class, ethnicity, gender, language, marital status, nationality, parental status, profession, religious beliefs, or any and all combinations of the above. The list goes on, and the way these social facets intersect is what makes us who we are and influences how our lives unfold.
Holding positionality to me means being conscious of who you are, where you come from, and how these roots influence your interactions with other people.
Although not explicitly explored in every CGS course, having positionality is imperative for anyone who wishes to have a meaningful and positive impact while working in a foreign community. Living in the U.K. is a simple example -- a historically white, caucasian society, but one that has variable and sometimes different customs from the same demographic we know in Canada. It can, however, be extended much further than exploring the relations of two different white communities.
My understanding of positionality was acquired through an extreme, yet rewarding experience. But you don’t have to go halfway around the world to learn about yourself. Like Florian told us, talk to your parents, your grand-parents, aunts, uncles, even your close friends. Understand your heritage and how your inner circle perceives your background. This is a crucial first step in becoming an ally.
After all, how can you show empathy for others if you don’t understand and acknowledge yourself first? Let me start.
I am a caucasian, Canadian-born, heterosexual, 24-year-old male, who comes from a middle class background. I have an undergraduate degree and no student debt. Growing up in Canada allowed me to learn one of the most common languages in the world, which I have used to my benefit wherever I have travelled and lived. I benefit from the social structures that were and continue to be oppressively built on top of a nation of Indigenous people who lived here long before I did.
Because of all this, I do not worry on a day to day basis whether I will be accepted, nor do I fear being mistreated because of the colour of my skin. I am lucky to have won the genetic lottery.
Living in Tanzania and Ghana dropped me into the most extreme of situations that tested my understanding of positionality as a professional, and as a human-being. For the first time in my privileged life I was a minority, a mzungu. I guiltily relished the feeling of discomfort, of not fitting in. It’s something I’d never known before.
The relation of “whites” to the continent of Africa was, and continues to be, one of oppression, extraction and misunderstanding. So, although I was a minority with prejudice attached to me because of my skin colour, I was perceived to be wealthy, and oftentimes, more intelligent than I deserved. That said, I was rarely granted preferential treatment, but I also wasn’t discriminated against. Even as a visible minority in another country I did not feel like one. I was accepted.
White people will never truly understand the deep pain that systemic racism has draped across minority communities in Canada. And that’s not okay. Everyone has a different story and we are divided by the disproportionate understanding and awareness of these stories. Let that sink in, and then take your first step to becoming an ally.
Embrace your positionality.
Inspiration
A special shoutout goes to Joy Spearchief-Morris, a talented writer and friend of mine, who has been influential in my penning these thoughts. Her opinion piece was recently published in the Globe and Mail spotlighting her intersectional and marginalized experience of being of Black and Indigenous descent. She draws similarities between the social action of the minority Black and Indigenous populations in Canada, and how they can learn from each other despite not sharing the exact same history. Thank you for sharing your story.
Thanks to Florian Selmani, who agreed to let me write about our conversation. I later found out he was really just procrastinating his own studying.
And thank you, as always, to Thomas Ketko for his impeccable eye for detail, and for pushing me to find the perfect words.
Further Reading
Reflection
VICE Canada’s “Non-Indigenous People Have to Be Good Allies. Here’s How to Start” - steps to Indigenous allyship: https://www.vice.com/en/article/pkbk3b/non-indigenous-people-have-to-be-good-allies-215-residential-schools-heres-how-to-start?utm_source=vicecanadaig
Self-Education
Ijeoma Oluo’s “So You Want to Talk About Race” - a solid starting point for discussing racial issues for people of all backgrounds and walks of life: https://www.sealpress.com/titles/ijeoma-oluo/so-you-want-to-talk-about-race/9781580056779/
Arthur Manuel and Grand Chief Ronald M. Derrickson’s “Unsettling Canada” - learn about Indigenous action from front-line activists against the Canadian government’s abuse of power: https://www.chapters.indigo.ca/en-ca/books/unsettling-canada-a-national-wake/9781771131766-item.html?s_campaign=goo-DSA_Books&gclid=Cj0KCQjw5PGFBhC2ARIsAIFIMNdz_zsy4SUx-7ifyidEjfYsdn3KTSbl2WPgslfJfVew6IqaOMK9eewaAkpAEALw_wcB&gclsrc=aw.ds
The purpose of land acknowledgements: https://communications.uwo.ca/comms/land-acknowledgement/
Historical-Fiction
Lawrence Hill’s “The Book of Negroes” - a heart-breaking yet inspiring window into what it meant to be black during the peak of the trans-atlantic slave-trade: https://www.lawrencehill.com/the-book-of-negroes
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s “Half of a Yellow Sun” - a humanistic insight into the 1960s Nigerian civil war fueled by white colonialism: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18749.Half_of_a_Yellow_Sun