Being welcomed a moving experience

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 18/10/2021 (1592 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

A few weeks ago, I attended a conference called Breaking the Shackles of Racism.

The two-day national event was put on by the Islamic Social Services Association and featured several speakers and panel discussions about human rights, justice, policing and the media. I bought a ticket after meeting the association’s executive director, Shahina Siddiqui, this summer.

I learned a lot, and I shared a lot — more than I expected. The experience changed me.

One of the panelists couldn’t make it on the second day, so they asked me to fill in. I humbly joined Council on American-Islamic Relations spokesman Ibrahim Hooper, who joined via Zoom, and Azeezah Kanji, the director of programming at the Noor Cultural Centre in Toronto. Kanji is a legal academic and writer whose work focuses on issues relating to racism, law and social justice.

I held my own on the panel, which was about racial and religious bias in the mainstream media and the impact on marginalized communities… at least, I think I did. I am anxious speaking in front of groups of people. I felt shy and awkward, but I spoke when it was my turn, filling the room with my words and my own lived experience of working in and for the machine that is the media. I explained the Reader Bridge project I manage at the Free Press, and how we are working to connect with communities who have historically been underrepresented in our news coverage and tell their stories.

I spoke sincerely and from the heart. When I finished, it didn’t feel like enough, but it was all I had to offer. I knew the message I delivered, but much of what I said — the sentences I formed and the exact words I uttered — was a blur. It was a moment that made me appreciate all I’d learned and realize I still have so much to learn.

Afterwards, when the conference was nearly finished, we all took part in a sharing circle led by Indigenous spiritual caregiver Michael Pierre and Wally Chartrand, a traditional pipe carrier, sweat lodge holder and sun dancer.

We passed around an eagle feather as each person shared what we were grateful to have learned or experienced over the course of the two days. When it was my turn, I shared my thoughts and thanked Michael and Wally for giving me a piece of my own culture and inviting me to take part in the circle. My voice broke, and tears started rolling down my cheek when I said that. I felt such a profound sense of welcome and belonging.

I haven’t been in many sharing circles. I resigned myself to the notion that we (my family) weren’t the kind of people who took part in ceremony or practised in our culture. Our path was different. That traditional way of life died a long time ago with my ancestors. Truth be told, I was fine with it for a long time, because I spent so many of my young years being embarrassed about being Indigenous. I feel such a deep sense of shame to admit that, but it’s the truth, and it’s part of who I am and my journey.

In the last decade or so, I’ve started to accept and embrace who I am, even though I don’t fully know my roots. I feel a great sense of pride in being an Anishinaabe woman, but I often don’t feel as though I am Indigenous enough. The imposter syndrome is fierce, and it’s not uncommon to hear the same sentiments echoed from other Indigenous folks. This is a result of colonization and the loss of our culture.

Being welcomed into that circle after spending two days sharing and learning from one another was a moving experience. It was a gift. I didn’t expect it, but I’m grateful for it.

shelley.cook@freepress.mb.ca

Twitter: @ShelleyACook