“I am Canadian”: Challenging stereotypes about young Somali Canadians

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Parailia somalensis

“I Am Canadian” Challenging Stereotypes about Young Somali Canadians
Rima Berns-McGown


Summary

This study challenges the perceptions that the Somali Canadian community has failed to an unusual degree to integrate into the wider society; that this is the fault of the community itself; and, moreover, that this supposed failure represents a threat to Canadian security because of suggestions that some Somali Canadian youth have been lured to the radical extremism of the al-Qaeda-linked al-Shabaab movement in southern Somalia, and because some have become involved in drug traffi cking and street violence.

Drawing on her previous research and some 40 in-depth interviews with young Somali Canadians, Rima Berns-McGown fi nds that most of these youth self-identify as Canadian and want very much to be a part of this country, which they see as their home. They also, and not in contradiction, feel strongly Muslim and Somali. Extensive quotations from the interviews provide insights about these multiple identities. To the extent that integration involves the identifi cation of newcomers with their adopted home, most of these young Somalis appear to be integrating well.

But integration is a two-way street: it entails the willingness of new Canadians to embrace their new home and — equally signifi cantly — the willingness of the wider society to lower the barriers to their becoming active and productive members of their adopted home. And in that regard, many young Somali Canadians encounter signifi cant roadblocks that are not conducive to integration or social cohesion. These include systematic, institutional racism on the part of schools, police and intelligence agencies, and the media. In light of the signifi cant challenges the Somali Canadian community has faced, the author’s assessment is that its achievements have been quite extraordinary.

Berns-McGown found no widespread or signifi cant support for al-Shabaab or any other organization that threatens the public safety of Canadians, and she maintains that characterizations of the community as disengaged and a security threat are unwarranted and deeply problematic.

The author concludes that social cohesion would be much better served by addressing the specifi c challenges Somali Canadians continue to face, rather than stigmatizing the community and contributing to the criminalization of its youth. She offers proposals for school boards, law- enforcement agencies, federal and provincial governments, and the media, among them targeted supports for Somali Canadian youth and ways to address institutional barriers and stereotyping. According to Berns-McGown, these measures could both enhance Somali Canadians’ inclusion in the wider society and foster a balanced approach to public safety issues within the diverse, diasporic space that is Canada.​
 
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Background:

The Somali Canadian Community There was effectively no Somali community in Canada prior to the late 1980s. The fi rst wave of Somalis, almost all of whom were refugees, arrived in the late 1980s and early 1990s with the breakdown of civil society and the outbreak of war in Somalia. The community grew fairly rapidly to between 40,000 and 50,000 people in Toronto, and another 20,000 in Ottawa, by the mid-1990s; today, it is about double that number.4 Although Somali Canadians live primarily in Toronto and Ottawa, they are also present in smaller cities such as London, Waterloo, Calgary, Saskatoon, Edmonton and even Inuvik.


Most Somalis who arrived in those early years were traumatized by what they had witnessed and experienced leading up to and during the civil war.5 Loss of homes, employment and property; sexual assault, rape and kidnapping; murder, torture and imprisonment: they had seen or suffered through all of it (Elmi 1999; Jorden, Matheson, and Anisman 2009).


The fi rst wave of Somalis who made it to Canada was composed of people of means. They had been the professionals, the educated classes, the business people of Mogadishu and Hargeisa. This is not surprising: it took money, knowledge and planning to transport their extended families to Toronto. It was often a journey that took place in stages — via Kenya or Ethiopia, and then through the way stations of Rome, London, New York City or Buffalo. Almost all of those fi rst arrivals were refugees; they had lost everything in the breakdown of civil society and in the passage to safety.


When they arrived, they were further horrifi ed: they found themselves in cold places, met by a barrage of hostile media and suspicion (see Christmas 1993; Stoffman 1995). They were assumed to be looking for an excuse to freeload on Canadian generosity; they were assumed to prefer “First World” Canada to “Third World” Somalia. They were bewildered by these assumptions and perplexed that anyone would think that they had willingly traded a life of sunshine, fresh food and relative wealth for a cramped existence in the grim, grey apartment complexes of Etobicoke and Scarborough.


They were viewed — and portrayed in the media — as strange people with strange habits. They were depicted as unfamiliar with technology and Canadian transit systems. They ate with their hands. They circumcised their daughters at the age of eight or nine. They had multiple wives. They were both black and Muslim. They were secretive and did not talk to non-Somalis. They were keen to live off Canadian taxpayers and not pay for what they took. They were prone to violence (Christmas 1993; Stoffman 1995).


Women frequently found themselves the trailblazers. They bore the brunt of these racist and Orientalist assumptions, expressed not only in the media or during casual street incidents, but also in the world views of the social service personnel, administrators and bureaucrats with whom Somalis had to deal on a daily basis. There were many single-mother households in the
 
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Parailia somalensis

diaspora, for a number of reasons: because extended Somali families did not organize themselves according to Western ideas of nuclear family units; because these families were large and frequently made their way piecemeal across the Atlantic; and because stress or violence tore these families apart over the course of the move and in their early years in their adoptive homes.


For all of these reasons and more, women most often found themselves keeping their families together, fi nding housing and income, fi nding education for their children, dealing with the complex legalities of their precarious position in Canada and fi ghting with bureaucrats. Until 1991, for instance, refugees were not eligible for social housing in Toronto. It was Somali women who fought the battle that changed that rule (Mohamed 1999).



Importantly, Somali women found themselves fending off the tidal wave of social change that threatened to sweep their children away and render them unrecognizable to their elders. In Somalia, they had not concerned themselves much with questions of identity or religion. They had not had to. The vast majority of Somalis are Sunni Muslims. They are not as homogeneous a people as they are sometimes portrayed, but clan divisions have not always plagued them. Until Siad Barre and his divisive and irredentist politics caused the breakdown of civil society and the subsequent exodus into the diaspora, Somalis had little reason to be particularly conscious of what it meant to be Somali and/or Muslim, or to spend much time on defi ning it.


Coming to the West, though, meant addressing these questions. Somali women, in keeping with their responsibility for their children’s well-being, were preoccupied with what it meant to be Somali and Muslim in the diaspora, and with passing their identity and heritage on to their children, who they feared were in danger of losing these things in the fl ood of societal demands competing for their attention.


In the process of becoming conscious of what it meant to be Somali in the diaspora, the women — and this was a movement led by women — began to redefi ne and reevaluate the role of Islam in their lives. They began to read the Qur’an and to form study circles to discuss and analyze its meaning for their new lives and its implications for how to live in the diaspora. They did this because it helped them to deal with their own trauma and to fi gure out how to keep their children’s identity strong. In other words, it enabled them to identify what they considered essential as they transformed into a diasporic community and gave them tools to manage their extended reactions to trauma.



This phenomenon was described over and over to me by the Somali women with whom I spoke in 1995, and it was described again and again to me by their children in this most recent set of interviews. Much of the scholarly literature on the renegotiation of Somali youth identity tends to downplay this aspect of their diasporic lives, apparently either treating the shift in their practice of Islam as unimportant or regarding their practice as “traditional” (see, for example, Forman 2001). I emphasize this point because it provides important context for understanding the current situation of the Somali community and the “radical extremism” of some of its sons.



The transition was not led by imams outside the community; it was led by Somali women themselves, and it was a response to the trauma of moving into a hostile diaspora.

When they described it to me at the time it was happening, they said that it helped them to find meaning in their lives and a measure of peace amid chaos, and it provided them with a tool to ensure they would not lose their children to a cacophony of religious choices — or, worst of all, to atheism.



There were, it is true, a couple of Somali Islamist groups in the West at the time that the women were undergoing this transition. Both of them — al-Ittihad al-Islamiya and al-Islah — had been formed by Somali political dissidents who, having fl ed Somalia when it became too dangerous, made their way to Egypt, Saudi Arabia or Sudan and thence to London, Toronto or other major Western cities. In the early 1990s, they advised Somalis on how to live in the West as Muslims, but most women did not trust them. They suspected them of clan bias, among other things, and preferred to work matters out among themselves in their study circles, practising ijtihad — or independent reasoning — in judging how to read the Qur’an and its exhortations on how to live.



As I have written elsewhere (Berns-McGown 1999), this was no static notion of textual Islam to which they turned without thought. Rather, they debated and transformed it as they took on new practices. Yes, they began to wear the hijab — or the jilbab — and, yes, they began to pray more assiduously. But they were ever aware of the environment in which these things were happening, and they redefi ned what was acceptable, how and why, as they worked through the transition.



At the time, their children were sceptical. They described to me how, back home, they would not have been told to cover themselves, to read the Qur’an or to pray fi ve times daily; they were impatient with these requirements and — understanding of their mothers’ pain and unwilling to increase it — they indulged them. At the same time, they were undergoing their own identity redefi nition, a process that their younger siblings have continued.
 
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Importantly, this respect for others includes respect for people of other religions and other ethnicities, as well as for people who self-identify as gay, lesbian or queer.6 If I want to be respected for who I am, I have to respect someone else for who they are, even if I don’t agree with them. (Hawa) My liberalness is Canadian — my open-mindedness — the fact that I will talk to anyone — that’s defi nitely my Canadian side. I’ve started to notice this over the last couple of years, especially after I came back from the United States. Everyone in Canada is free to be who they want.

Being Canadian gives me tolerance that Somali culture doesn’t. I’m willing to learn about other people and other religions. My Canadian side makes me willing to listen. I may not agree with you, but I will listen. (Asha) Being Canadian is being respectful of difference and not pushing your own beliefs onto people who have different ideas…being aware of how people were different and that being okay…not wanting to hurt people who believe different things. Being Canadian also means being able to speak up and say what you believe, even if that isn’t expected or appreciated. (Abdullahi) Being Canadian is being allowed to be who you are and celebrating other people’s cultures. It’s being a part of an experiment where you’re curious to see how it’s going to come out, but it’s really trying the whole peace-on-earth thing where you can have people from different religions living together: Can we live amicably together? That’s what being Canadian is. Being celebrated for who you are, but learning so much about everybody else. I have Indian friends, for instance, and I get to celebrate their culture here in Canada. It’s respect that helps you so you don’t lose who you are. People are getting it right and I see it working on the streets. It’s politicians who are messing it up, and academics who say it isn’t working. (Hamda)


At the same time, respondents did not always believe that other Canadians saw them as Canadian or accepted them as such, and they described encountering both colour racism and Islamophobia. This racism took different forms, including teachers assuming that they would not be able to cope with university or succeed as professionals. I was discriminated against many times by teachers and told I would never amount to anything, even in high school. There are three strikes against me here: being black, being a Muslim, being a woman. (Sahra)

One friend of mine was with a group of guys. Some of them were on probation so they weren’t supposed to be out. The police came up and started questioning them and because she was with them, one of the policemen grabbed her up and shook her. She said, “You can’t do this; I have rights.” He said, “What rights? I could take you in the back of the car and f— you, and then we’ll see what kind of rights you have. No one would say anything.” This happened recently, two months ago...How much fi lth could you have in your soul to talk that way? (Hawa)

In middle school my mom sent me to Islamic school for three years and I encountered a lot of racism from Arabs there: the Arabs were white and I was characterized as a slave. I wasn’t able to be friends or go to their houses. It was rough. It made me hate these Canadians — they saw me as black and not Canadian. The slave trade was not discussed at Islamic school. I was called “Bilal” — the freed slave. It was actually a terrible experience. I hated the white Canadians at that point — the Arabs. My identity got defi ned as black against the world. This had never happened in elementary school. (Ali)

Then in high school, on the fi rst day of high school, the math teacher walks into the room and picks out the four black kids in the class and says, “You, you, you and you…you better leave my class. You’re going to fail.” She didn’t know who we were. It was the fi rst day of grade 9. It was just because we were black. We all stayed in her class, and two of us did very well, but she failed the two others. (Yusuf)

A lot of ignorant people live here; they think they’re better than everyone else. You’ve gotta respect different cultures. Everyone is good in their own way. (Hassan) It wasn’t until I went to U of T that I started running into racism. Growing up I didn’t. I come from Scarborough. Caucasian kids were the minority in my school. There was no one, dominant group. Everyone came from somewhere else...Away from that neighbourhood I face racism. It’s always older white men, not usually women. And Islamophobia — someone just now told me to go to hell, just fi ve minutes ago, on my way to meet you here. (Hawa)

My sister became a lawyer — she went to U of T and then got a scholarship to an Ivy League university in the US. But in high school, when she told her teacher what she wanted to do, the teacher said, “You? Be a lawyer? That’ll never happen.” (Sadia)

In grade 9, [the] gym teacher said, “Do you need to wear that thing [the hijab] all the time?” and embarrassed me into taking it off. Later I felt bad and thought God would be mad at me. She shouldn’t have asked me that. I felt bad and limited and wasn’t sure I could wear it at school at all. (Sadia) After September 11 I was really hesitant about being Canadian. Before that I was really into being Canadian, but after that I felt I didn’t belong to this country. I felt really confused. Everywhere I go I don’t really fi t in. Before 9/11 I played hockey. I was so into the Spice Girls. I played all the games in school. I stood up for national anthem. I made essays on what it means to be Canadian. I saw myself as [a] normal Canadian kid. Then 9/11 happened: my Canadian-ness was questioned because of being Muslim, not because of being Somali. It became important to me to be part of an umma that has no nationality. (Layla)


https://irpp.org/wp-content/uploads/assets/research/diversity-immigration-and-integration/i-am-canadian/IRPP-Study-no38.pdf
 
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hussein

Akh Right movement
Canadian somalis are gangster wannabes who have failed in life. The faraxs kill each other and the xalimos become a street
 
Timo Jareer and proud

Timo Jareer and proud

2nd Emir of the Akh Right Movement
I've never heard any Somali from Ontario that went to go fight for Al Ciyaal however there was a fag from British Columbia that joined ISIS.

On a side note, I was gasping when I read that the girl's got bullied by sand niggas LMFAO kullaha "freed Bilal" looool yeah nevee happened.
 
Strike6times

Strike6times

Dsavv is a fucking muppet
Any new immigrant group to a country will have people not claiming their host country as their nationality
 
G

Ghengis Kaarhis

VIP
That poor kid that went to an islamic school and was getting called Bilal :jcoleno:
miskeenka wallahi that hit me in the feels, his parents sent him there so he can keep his deen but she has no idea she sent him where there's a whole bunch of ayrab devils :pacspit:

wallahi i dislike carabs as much if not more than i dislike cadaans.
i try my best to cool these thoughts, but wallahi o billahi it's been YEARS since i cried for palestine or any other ayrab country that is suffering or facing injustice, and i don't hesitate to voice it either , abohodo a wassan :pacspit:
 
Strike6times

Strike6times

Dsavv is a fucking muppet
The Mad Mullah said:
That poor kid that went to an islamic school and was getting called Bilal :jcoleno:
miskeenka wallahi that hit me in the feels, his parents sent him there so he can keep his deen but she has no idea she sent him where there's a whole bunch of ayrab devils :pacspit:

wallahi i dislike carabs as much if not more than i dislike cadaans.
i try my best to cool these thoughts, but wallahi o billahi it's been YEARS since i cried for palestine or any other ayrab country that is suffering or facing injustice, and i don't hesitate to voice it either , abohodo a wassan :pacspit:
Click to expand...
Arabs are our Muslim brothers shouldn't hate a race
 
G

Ghengis Kaarhis

VIP
Strike6times said:
I used to feel like this about Madows but I learnt that not every Madow is a low tier criminal that tries to violate malis
Click to expand...

wallahi Madow have more honor and decency then our arab brothers/sisters in faith

forget even how they deal with somalis, look at the treatment of indians, SE/S asians in their countries, habashi maids, or how they settle in certain african countries (lebanese namely) and open up spots and deny access locals from accessing it.

wallahi o billahi i'd send money/zakat to any non-arab country before i would to any of them.

the priority will always be my own, beyond that it's our neighbors (our people in ethiopia/kenya and the locals)

i know this emotion and way of thinking might not be the best, and wallahi i do pray that Allah swt doesn't harden my heart to these people who seem to be heartless themselves
 
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