stories put onto me: an autoethnographic zine by sam

stories put onto me

a zine by Sam

My mom stayed home with us while my dad worked. When my brother was old enough, my mom would volunteer at school as a lunch monitor (and bring my brother with her). When my brother was in school, my mom started to work at the schools as admin replacements and eventually at the school board. The school board office was right across from my high school, so when I started grade 9, my mom drove me to school every day.

My mom’s parents came to Canada from India. They are Zoroastrian, and my mom raised us the same. You know the way some Christian people only go to church on Easter and Christmas, we’d celebrate Navroze (and also Christmas). My mom’s family is the family I grew up with – the family I know. My grandma is my best friend, and I love to learn about our culture, and history from her. She is my only grandparent who has a college degree – a B.Sc. in Zoology from Nowrosjee Wadia College, Pune. For a woman born in India in the 1930’s, that’s no small feat.

I grew up knowing we were Parsi/Irani. I grew up learning Zoroastrian prayers. I grew up hearing about my mom’s parents lives in India, and as immigrants in Montreal. I also grew up being told I look just like my dad – same pale complexion. I grew up seeing visible differences between my cousins and us. I grew up knowing my dad was born in New York, that we had American citizenship, and that we should never bring it up (“just tell people you’re Canadian”). I did not grow up knowing my dad was Indigenous. I did not grow up knowing my grandfather went to residential school. I did grow up knowing he could be mean and intense, and that he only spoke French. I did not grow up knowing that he also spoke his language, and that we were Innu.

This was in the sixth grade. The extent of our education on Indigenous peoples in elementary school up until this point was one unit in grade 3 where we had to design our spirit masks and choose a spirit name (which we called each other for the entire unit). We learned about Algonquian and Iroquois nations and how they hated each other.

The week this happened we had an assembly in the gym about Indigenous people, from an Indigenous person (I think). I don’t remember what it was fully about, but I remember they talked about significance (or importance) of Eagle feathers. I remember thinking “I wonder if my dad has a feather somewhere.”

This was around the time that I learned that my dad was Indigenous, and that I was also Indigenous. But what did that mean?

When the kid in my class asked, “What are you?” the only possible responses I could think of were Iroquois or Algonquian…

THIS was crazy. I spent the first 6 months of my undergrad in bed, not eating, binging Drag Race and coming to terms with a horrible reality of abuse from a high school relationship. I had no friends because why would people be friends with the girl who is constantly having panic attacks and can’t keep food down…

Eventually I made friends there, everything’s fine. But one of those friends decided to get me a gift when she was out one day.

She didn’t want to show me the gift she got, but when she finally did, she was laughing, and I went silent. I took it, left to my room. Cried for a minute. Got very drunk.

Went upstairs to yell at her for being unchangeably racist. And told her that the shot glass she got our other friend was really cute.

“At least they got an education…”

McGill, Zoom U Breakout rooms open. *I think we were supposed to be talking about the impact of residential schools?* “*valid answer*” “*valid answer*” “The conditions weren’t good, but at least the church brought them education. Otherwise, they didn’t have access to school.” *silence*

McGill B.Ed. programs need to start prioritizing cultural safety and respect for lived experiences of the “diverse classrooms” that they love to say they’re preparing us (pre-service teachers) for.

We need courses on anti-Black racism and settlercolonialism and to understand how these theories are so deeply rooted in our society’s structure(s) that we cannot escape them. We need to acknowledge the impact that they have on our students and recognize the responsibility we have in stopping the spread of stereotypes and injustices, even if only in our classrooms.

Because these are the people that are becoming teachers. These are the people that are teaching history, and social studies, and overall social skills and behaviours.

I don’t think I ever considered myself “not white” until this job experience. If you look at me, I am white, I have all the white privilege in the world when I walk around.

That privilege is not something that has gone away as I discover new parts of my identity and what they mean to my lived experiences.

I understand that what was meant was “the other candidates have white, Eurocentric settler lived experiences,” and that my lived experiences are not that.

But what I heard, and what I felt was an obligation to speak on behalf of all marginalized experiences and stories when my own can only address one very unique perspective. And I had to do it alone, which felt even more inequitable.

But I was able to change that and fight for two positions after I left…

I think my depression takes residence in my face and/or outward appearance, because I still don’t know what prompted this teacher – paid MENTOR teacher – to warn me against taking my own life.

We work in Special Education. My classroom of students were unable to advocate for themselves - for what they need and want, for what the deserve. I am also, generally a bit of an outspoken person when it comes to speaking on injustice. I think that act of constantly wanting to disrupt the ‘norm’ doesn’t sit well with people. And, as she was running the school in an obvious sense, this lady was the spokesperson for the ‘norm’.

I don’t think I was always a person who spoke up, but maybe I was. At least now, in a lot of scenarios, that’s what I’m seen as doing. I do think it’s my responsibility as a teacher to advocate for my students. And I do think it is my responsibility as a person with privilege to speak against injustice.

That’s it, I quit McGill, Summer 2024 “We know you were doing all the work. And because you were, they abolished the coordinator position.”

Is there a raise or even title change available for me?

“No, unfortunately not at the moment.”

I’ll make more money teaching, and I don’t want to hate the work I care about.

“I understand. I want you to write down everything you know before you leave.”

As I’ve come into my own identity and have learned more about what I’m capable of, I’ve slowly been on a journey of learning my worth. What is left out of this interaction is the support from friends who helped me come to the conclusion that I was being overworked and taken advantage of by the system and institution that I was working for, and by people around me who knew I would work endless hours to fulfill the tasks I set for myself to support the Indigenous students I was working for and with. I was becoming bitter and tired, and losing the slight sense of confidence in abilities that I had slowly been building up. My friends helped drag me out of that, reminded me what I was capable of.

In class I’m learning about Indigenous refusal. In working in that space, I encountered Indigenous refusal in many ways. I myself am struggling to engage with the practice – perhaps because I’m not Indigenous enough to earn the right to refuse the system, or maybe because deep down I’m still a horrendous people pleaser. Either way, this concept is coming up a lot for me recently and I look forward to learning more about it, and celebrating more acts of Indigenous refusal across this campus.

These moments that I have chosen to share here – in this way, in this space – are moments that have fallen in and out of frame in my mind. At this point in time, I am entering a new phase of my life: a new journey in education, in friendship, and in building and reconciling with my identity(ies). Exploring these excerpts has helped to ground me in knowing what I have overcome, who I am, and what values and understandings are truly important to me.

I chose these moments because they happened at transition periods of my life. From learning I was “Indigenous”, leaving for university, trying to make friends in a new town, experiencing the B.Ed program’s attempt at including Indigenous Education, becoming the first “Equity Commissioner” of EdUS, my first teaching contract…and finally, the first time I decided that I deserved better.

Lately, these memories have been more prominent, as my anxiety about being back at school has been high. I am trying to learn to acknowledge and accept my worth, and stick to boundaries that protect my peace and safety.

Thank you to everyone in my writing group who helped me draft this, and allowed me space every week to complain and sometimes share my stories, and special thanks to...

Jenni Max Avery Dr. Strong-Wilson Everyone in EDEC 606 (and Siena for the technical support)