We all live in many worlds. For me there were three warring identities. There was my identity as a Christian, as the daughter of an immigrant and as a Canadian a minority. Almost everywhere I went I was surrounded by white faces. Not that there is anything wrong with that, but as I have mentioned before, it does something to you to never see someone that looked like you in any position of power or influence in your life outside of your family.
I didn't realise it yet back then but I would eventually wrestle with all these issues. Being in a world but not of it. I'm Haitian but I have never been to there, nor do I really speak the language. At the same time my mother raised me as a Haitian woman so there are naturally parts of me that are influenced in that way. But I am also Canadian by birth, nationality and education. I dress, eat, speak and sound like the rest. Other than my skin, facial features, and hair you would not know that my family is from a different land. Half the time people don't even believe I'm French speaking. (Which I always find amusing.) Then there's my faith. In my junior high years I made the decision to follow Jesus for myself, I became a Christian. And though on culturally both my other world seemed to be compatible with my faith, it actually seemed to set me apart more from the culture I was raised by and the culture I was raised with.
At 17 I began to really see for the first time what it meant to be a visual minority. I had heard the stories, my mother's speeches and what some of my peers were saying. But that year I began to understand that to some, no matter what my birth certificate or my passport say, I am just another black face. I am nothing but a stereotype or a statistic and the reason I surprised so many was that I didn't live up to the picture of blackness they had in their head. The strange thing was that rather than change their definition to include people like me, they would simply exclude me from "blackness"
Rose you're so white! You're such an Oreo
Once, in 9th grade, one of my classmates sat next to me on the bus and said "Rose, you're a 'bitey' you're the whitest black person I have ever met.' What people don't understand when they say those things is that they are equating, class, good diction, education with something that black people are devoid of. Which of course is ridiculous although some black people are guilty of it as well. (But I digress, this is a whole other blog post) What I didn't realise then is that it would be a foreshadowing of things to come. These experiences would one day influence my faith, my world view and approach to race and identity.
I have had the opportunity to reflect over the last few days on my time in high school, my identity, and what I have learned in the 10 years since I founded my school's black history month club. Today the students at Colonel By Secondary School celebrate ten years of celebrating diversity, progress and the black students in their midst. I am thankful we stuck to our guns 10 years ago. I am thankful we didn't let some kids' bad upbringing convince us that our voices shouldn't be heard. Because we did, I pray that there are kids in that school who never have to experience being spat on, slapped, harassed, discriminated against, or judged for their race. It may be the story my peers and I can tell, but it doesn't have to be the story of those who came after us.
I was invited to speak at their show today, but I couldn't make it since I'm out of town. The cool thing is one of the four founding members will be making it and I was given the honour of writing the speech that she will read on our behalf. In honour of BHM's 10th anniversary, and in honour of my warring identities, and every time I have been called an Oreo, lol I want to share it with you today. I think it is important that we remember where we came from. The art of reminiscing is sometimes forgotten or downplayed but it is so necessary. May we remember so that we can continue to become better.
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“Human progress is neither automatic nor inevitable… Every step towards the goal of justice requires sacrifice, suffering, and struggle; the tireless exertions and passionate concern of dedicated individuals.”
These words, penned by Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. in 1958, still ring true today as we honour the accomplishments of those who came before us. Today, more than ever we bask in the freedom afforded us by the men and women who dared to dream of a life after slavery, after Jim Crow, after the end of inequality. We have reason to celebrate for we have come so far. We are doctors, teachers, philanthropists, and business owners. We are leaders, thinkers and Nobel Prize winners. We are historians, philosophers and poets. We are even the President of the United States!
But tonight, as we celebrate these victories and accomplishments, for some the shadows of injustice remain. If there is anything the last year has taught us it is that although great leaps have been made and much progress has been seen it has not eradicated injustice from our midst. Mike Brown, Eric Garner, Tamir Rice, these names not only remind us of the work left to be done, but sadly they remind us of names of many others, Emmett Till, Amadou Diallo, Rodney King, Oscar Grant, Trayvon Martin and so many left out of the headlines. They are our fathers, brothers, uncles, cousins, and friends. They are our classmates, colleagues, and neighbours and their lives cry out still to be avenged.
And so we remember. We spend the month of February in collective celebration for how far we have come as a culture, a people and a nation while simultaneously mourning. We celebrate because there is so much to be thankful for. Life is better for many than it has ever been. Young black, men and women have access to education, jobs, and opportunities that at one time would seem unimaginable. We celebrate diversity. White, black, Hispanic, Native, Asian, European, we are seeing more collaboration, innovation, and cultural exchange than ever before. Dr. King’s dream is closer today than it was all those years ago.
But we must also mourn. It is said that “Those who forget history are doomed to repeat it.” And as such it is imperative that we tell our children about the past, lest we live long enough to forget and repeat the atrocities contained within it. It would be a failure to celebrate Rosa Parks and ignore the reason she chose to sit down. Likewise, it would be an insult to applaud the civil rights movement and it’s non-violent proponents and forget the violence they experienced every day, the very strange fruit that that haunted their dreams.
With that spirit in mind, 11 years ago Rose-Ingrid Gracia an 11th grade student at the time noticed that there was no celebration for black history at Colonel By. Not having had enough traction to see it through that year, she held on the vision until the following school year. In fall of 2004 the stars aligned. I transferred to Colonel By and met Rose in first period data class, we became fast friends and partners in crime on a journey we had no idea would not only mark us for life but would impact generations after us. With the combined efforts of Chanda Mwansa, and Natacha Kenol,lead the charge to found Colonel By’s Black History Month club. Together with the support and help of Ms. Ryder, and the collective hard work of our friends and classmates we prepared to remember.
From creating displays for students to read as they walked the halls to crafting a multi faceted show that would reflect the heart, culture, history and hope we all held dear. We worked hard. Our spare time was filled with meetings, rehearsals, choreographing, writing scripts, and late night trips to the library.
It didn't come without obstacles and there were days we wanted to quit, but we took turns reminding each other that it was worth it to remember. For every person who’s ever felt discriminated against for their race, for the student who was the only coloured face in a sea of white faces, for every young black man who’s ever been treated like a threat because of his race or attire. It was for us, for every time someone was surprised at our diction, or told us we were “white” because we didn't fit into the stereotypes. It was for our parents, immigrants who came to this nation to give us better lives, for their tenacity and sacrifice, for their dream of something more. It was also for our classmates, many who may have never heard the stories we were to tell. It was for those who loved and celebrated with us. It was also for those who had not yet understood our worth. For the ignorant, the racist, and the naysayer, in hopes that maybe one day we would see eye to eye and celebrate our mutual worth and accomplishments.
As I look across this room 10 years later, I am moved, and encouraged that today at Colonel By, you continue to remember. The heart, passion and commitment of those who came after us resonates here today, and for that we cannot take the credit. We could not have imagined the breadth of what we had started that year. And as you move on in your academic lives, and pursue your dreams and aspirations I would encourage you to never forget what you learned in these halls for they will be the building blocks of your future.
If there is anything you can learn from us, let it be that dreams, even the impossible ones are worth fighting for. That truth, even when difficult, is always worth speaking. That justice must always be fought for, and change can always be made. Love your neighbour, stand for truth, respect the past, don’t be afraid to build the future, and make sure you always leave more behind than that which you were given.
Because at the end of the day “Black History Month” is about more than a month, more than song, dance, or poem, more than a fashion show, or an assembly. It is about us. All of us. It is a glimpse at our collective lives and a reminder that no matter our struggles, our heritage, or the colour of our skin, we are worthy of a voice, future and a history. For we are more than a statistic, or an ill-conceived stereotype, we are diverse, complex, and able to achieve any heights.
Our lives matter.
Our stories matter.
Not because we are special, but because we’re all human after all.
So let us always remember.
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