My favorite place to be is near any body of water. As soon as I see the horizon of blue, my body instantly settles and my anxieties feel insignificant. How ironic that my favorite place to be is also the place my Dad took his last breath. Was there something about the Bluffs that brought you back to yourself, Daddy? Was that your safe haven in the chaos? When everything felt like it was falling apart and there was no resolution in sight, is that the place your mind instantly thought to go to? Maybe if the water was the place you found yourself, maybe you needed it to be the place where you lost yourself too? I hate thinking of your last breath in that cold November water. Did you try screaming for help or did you let yourself fade away? Did you fight when the water overtook your lungs or did life steal all the fight you had left? I'll never know exactly how your last days on this earth ended. But I know you spent your last minutes in that water. Sacred, holy water. There's symbolism in that I think. That the place that can heal is also the place that steals and destroys. How ironic that water has all that power. Sacred, holy water.
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When you ask me where I am really from, you unknowingly remind me that I don’t truly belong here. But what if, Canada is the only home I know? What if, I was raised in a Canadian household just like yours because my mom was raised by a Nova Scotian mother? What if, when I say I am half Nova Scotian, I say so as an act of resistance. What if, I need you to know that I am just as Canadian as you are? That this is my home just like it is yours. What in the world does it mean to be Canadian anyway? Are you truly a Canadian if you are the original descendants of the English and French settlers? Or are you truly Canadian if you identify as Indigenous? What makes a true Canadian and who has a right to truly belong here without question? Why is that my grandmother’s ancestors have lived in Canada just as long as some of your ancestors, yet my Canadian identity is constantly questioned while yours is accepted? Maybe that is why Canada has never truly felt like home, because my identity and affiliation to this country has been questioned my whole existence simply because of the color of my skin. I remember going to Guatemala in 2017 and for the first time, I felt so at home in a place. I felt more at home in Guatemala after being there for a few weeks than I felt at home in a country that I lived in my whole life. And maybe it had to do with the fact that the people’s faces in that country were closer in skin tone to mine? Maybe it had to do with the Guatemalans' hospitality, their ability to embrace you and welcome you into their home as if they’ve always known you? I felt at home in a country that was supposed to be foreign to me, because for once, my skin color did not seem like something that signified my difference and my inability to belong. And no one ever asked me where I was really from, to them I was just a Canadian, no questions asked.
"Where do I come from? Where am I going? Why am I here? Who am I? All children, regardless of their racial or socio-economic backgrounds, need to know the answers to these questions. They need to know who their ancestors are, who their heroes and villains are; they need to know about their family's traditions and cultures and the community they are a part of. Our children must feel that they are loved, valued, and worthy members of society who belong in this world exactly as they are." I didn't always talk about and think about my blackness this much. To be honest, it really wasn't until I was in University that I started to really understand what it means to be black in this world. Growing up, I attended a mostly white middle school and high school and I never really felt like I fit in in any of these spaces; I felt like an outsider and like I didn't really belong. It wasn't until I was in University that I started to realize the ways in which race and culture might have played a role in the disconnection that I felt between many of my peers in school. Back then, I didn't even know much about the concept of race and how others like me experienced exclusion and a feeling of otherness because of their skin color and culture. But when I came to University I started to learn so much about race and social justice and how race impacts how we navigate different spaces. I remember I went to Urbana in 2015 and they talked so much about race and racial reconciliation and my heart felt so alive when I heard people talk about people who looked like me and their experiences. For most of my life, I didn't have many role models outside of my family who were black. I didn't see myself represented in the children's books we read in school nor in the history lessons that were taught to us. So when I heard black speakers share their experience of being black in America on a stage with a crowd of 16,000 people, I felt so excited and like this is what I had been waiting for, for so long. At Urbana 2015 I saw black people represented in the speakers and worship leaders and conversations we had and for once, I felt like I was being seen and recognized for my black heritage. And for the first time, I saw how I could use my blackness in a powerful way to stand up with those who were being silenced because of their blackness. At Urbana 2015, my heart was lit on fire for the struggle of people who look like me and I felt like God made me black for that very purpose, to stand with other black people. Some people may wonder why I talk about race so much. Some people might honestly get annoyed whenever I bring up how I am the only black person in a specific space. But I need you to understand that I only celebrate my blackness so often because I have ignored it for so long. For half of my life I have been mostly disconnected from my culture and heritage and have been disconnected from people who look like me. Being so disconnected from a part of who I am has impacted me in profound ways. Growing up, I remember people would sometimes call me an oreo, meaning I was black on the outside but white in the inside and that would hurt me so much when people would say that. I have always wanted to connect to my roots and culture but I simply never knew how when I was mostly surrounded by people who had no understanding of my roots. I feel like now, as a twenty-one year old woman, I am rediscovering all the things that I lost as a child and teenager; the connection to my people, culture and heritage that most people have the privilege of having from a young age, I lost. I am finally learning what it means for me to re-discover a part of who I am and where I come from. So, be patient with me as I learn more and become really passionate about my blackness and culture. I feel like I am finding something that I have been looking for for so much of my life, and this process of connecting to my roots is slowly changing me in so many ways. "A people without the knowledge of their history, origin and culture is like a tree without roots" I have been in Teacher’s College for almost two months, but I have been in classes for only one month so far. As a black woman, it’s been disappointing to only see white faces as the speakers of every class I have. We have had multiple guest speakers and lecturers in this short month and yet I have only seen white faces staring back at me, sharing with me how they teach. There is nothing wrong with having white educators but ONLY seeing white educators who are known in the field is disheartening. I have always known that teaching is a white, women dominated profession but seeing it firsthand has been hard for me. Every single day I hear from people who have no idea what it means to live as a colored person in a white world; I hear from people who do not know what it means to carry your blackness with you everywhere you go within spaces that work hard to devalue your blackness. I have people telling me how to teach, yet they fail to discuss how colonization and systemic racism are embedded in our education system. Part of the reason I came to Teacher’s College is because I saw the huge need to have colored teachers in this profession. I guess seeing how white supremacy is steeped in education makes me realize all the more the great responsibility that I have to be in this profession. Black girls and boys deserve to have a teacher of color. Black boys and girls deserve to see themselves represented in positions of leadership. Black girls and boys deserve to have their histories and stories heard and celebrated within the classroom.
I am here in Teacher’s College because I have to tell a different story within education. I need others like me to see that they are not the only ones, that they matter and that they can be in positions of leadership even though they do not recognize their faces within these positions. I want black boys and girls to know that they have just as much of a right to become a teacher or doctor or scientist as much as their white friends. Having colored teachers represented in education is CRITICAL if we are to work towards dismantling white supremacy in the institutions where students are learning. Representation matters so much more than we would ever admit. For too long I have believed lies about myself related to my blackness and I will not allow other black girls and boys do the same if I can help it in some way. After being in mostly white spaces for the past 10 years of my life, I am starting to realize how I have hidden and neglected my blackness in an attempt to blend in with white society. I have failed to fully embrace and appreciate my blackness and all that comes along with it. I have missed out on the opportunity to really get to know my heritage and culture because I’ve constantly been fed messages about whiteness and white supremacy. I have internalized so many negative messages about myself and what it means for me to be a black woman. So often I have equated my failure to fit it, my inability to find romantic love and so many other outcomes, to my blackness. I have told myself that to be black in mostly white spaces is to never fully belong. In some strange and unfortunate way, I have told myself that to be black is to not be good enough; to be black is to fail in some sense. And what a shame, what a dishonor to my ancestors and my God, that I would disvalue my beauty and worth because of my blackness. What a shame that I would try to hide some of my blackness to blend in with the norm. There is a magic and a power that comes with my blackness. There is a strength and resilience that comes with my blackness. And how often I have forgotten who I am and where I come from because I have lost myself within white spaces. In white spaces, my blackness is not celebrated but it is silenced. In white spaces, my blackness is not acknowledged, it is ignored. I am tired of shrinking back to accommodate to white society. I am tired of covering up in an attempt to go unnoticed. My blackness is what makes me unique, it is the thing that makes me stand out in a white crowd. And I will not be ashamed of it any longer. I will hold it proudly and boldly. I will declare the brilliance and beauty and strength that is attached to my blackness. I will not shrink back; I will stand up.
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AuthorRecent Brock Graduate and First Year Teacher! I love to talk about life, justice and faith. Archives
March 2023
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