Rupi’s perspective
"What’s your nationality?”, “Where are you from” or “Where is your family from?” These are questions that people of colour commonly receive. Such questions can be welcome, if the intent behind the question is a genuine curiosity or desire to get to know one better, or unwelcome, if the intent is not clear or to “other.” And then there is the unintended consequence of even genuine curiosity: unintentional “othering.”
“Othering” can be defined as a phenomenon in which some individuals or groups are defined and labeled as not fitting in within the norms of a social group. This definition sheds light on how questions regarding the background of a typically person of colour can have the consequence of “othering”.
This definition also contextualizes the fact that the answer to these types of questions, from the perspective of a person of colour, can be complicated. In the past, we would often respond with stating the name of the country where we were born or where our ancestors were born, followed by a hyphen and the “Canadian.” Examples include Chinese-Canadian or Japanese-Canadian or Indo-Canadian.
However, for many people of colour, the hyphenation of their Canadian identity feels like a mechanism to other them. It serves as a reminder that, although we immigrated to Canada or may have been born in Canada, our Canadian identity still needs explanation. It is also not something that is regularly used to describe the ethno-cultural heritage of a Caucasian person. It’s very common to hear an Asian person in Canada referred to as Indo-Canadian or Chinese-Canadian. However, it’s not as common to her a Caucasian person referred to as Scottish-Canadian or German-Canadian.
How do people of colour prefer to describe their ancestry or ethnicity? The short answer is that it depends on the person and can bring forward a range of answers as unique as the people that are answering such questions.
With respect to how I prefer to describe myself, a little hyphen may not seem like a big deal, and yet it carries with it so much unsaid context that I would much rather explain my background in what seems like an overly long rambling sentence (or paragraph!) than use the words “Indo-Canadian.”
I prefer to use the word “Brown” when describing myself. Where nationality is involved, however, I am firm in describing myself as Canadian. When someone wishes to know my ancestry, I often describe myself as South Asian, with a further explanation, specifying Punjab, India as the origin of my parents. This multi-option description is reflective of the many lived experiences that people of colour often face and try to describe in just one word when referring to their background, origin or identity.
I don’t use the term Indo-Canadian. To explain why would require me doing a deep dive into the history of the Indian, predominantly Punjabi diaspora in Canada, which would require an article of its own to do proper justice to the issue.
Focusing on my personal reasons, I can boil my refusal to use the term Indo-Canadian to two: first, the hyphenation of my Canadian identity still feels as a mechanism by which to “other” me. To me, it serves as a reminder that although I was born in this country, my parents weren’t, and for that reason my Canadian identity is one which needs an explanation. Being “Brown” or visibly not white, I find also automatically adds a little asterisk to my identity that often requires further explanation.
The second, is that I find it difficult to be associated automatically to a country, which, although was the homeland for my parents, was never, and will never be, mine. Persecution of my people by the Indian government is one complex reason why this is the case. Current events in India surrounding the blocking of internet services by the Indian government in Punjab, among other human rights abuses, is a chilling echo of the historical persecution of minorities in India and further solidifies my refusal to adopt the “Indo” moniker when describing myself. Indo-Canadian is simply not a description that is accurate or meaningful for me.
How do I describe myself then: I am a Canadian, Sikh, Punjabi woman, happy being described as “brown” or with any of the other descriptors: just don’t add any hyphens.
Scott’s perspective
I have a mixed view on the use of the hyphen for myself.
My ethnic background is Japanese. My paternal grandparents were born in Steveston, B.C. Their families were originally from the Wakayama prefecture in Japan and part of the diaspora that settled in coastal B.C. to work in the fishing industry.
In 1942, my paternal grandparents were dispossessed of their property and forcibly relocated as part of the Japanese Canadian Internment. They were interned in southern Manitoba and forced to work on a sugar beet farm.
After the war, due to systemic racism, interned Japanese were prohibited from returning to the coast. Many were forcibly deported to Japan. The Canadian government also encouraged voluntary repatriation. Given they could not return home to the coast, many felt they had no alternative and moved to Japan, despite being born in Canada. Some of my father’s uncles chose this option. Unfortunately, they experienced considerable hardships in Japan and were treated very poorly. They were unwelcome in Canada and unwelcome in Japan.
Eventually, the prohibition on returning to coastal B.C. was lifted, but the damage had been done. The Japanese community in Canada was permanently uprooted and dispersed. One of the most devastating consequences of the Internment was the rapid assimilation of Japanese Canadians into the dominant Canadian culture, with the associated loss of language and cultural traditions. This was certainly the experience of my family.
I grew up in the Lower Mainland of B.C. I’m of the age, where in the early part of my life, the region was not nearly as diverse as it is now. I grew up having very little curiosity and interest in my Japanese background or culture, and in some ways, I felt discomfort or even some shame about it.
Growing up I was often asked where I’m from or what nationality I was. My response would always be: “I’m Japanese-Canadian,” with the hyphen. In writing this article, I’ve reflected considerably on why I did that. The simple answer is that it’s what my parents and relatives all did. I suspect that the Internment has played a considerable role in why all the Canadians of Japanese ancestry I know use the hyphen. More specifically, I think it’s deeply rooted in all Japanese who were impacted by the Internment to prove our Canadianness — that we are not “enemy aliens.” And saying we are “Canadian” results in the follow-up question of “no really, where are you from,” while saying we are “Japanese” results in us being othered.
My indifference toward my Japanese culture has changed significantly in the past 10-15 years. I can’t identify the precise catalyst, but I think a significant factor is that as grandparents and older relatives have passed on, I’ve become more mindful of the corresponding loss of cultural history and traditions. I also traveled to Japan for the first time in 2017. Although I cannot read, speak or write Japanese, Japan feels very comfortable and familiar to me. But, as my own Japanese relative reminded me on my last trip there, I am still a “gaikokujin” (i.e. a foreigner).
I have a complicated relationship with the hyphen. I have very little in common with Japanese people in Japan. Culturally, I have much more in common with other Asians here in Canada. But despite the problematic nature of the hyphen, I have difficulty letting go of it. And the reason I do is because the term Japanese-Canadian is inextricably tied to my family’s history and experience here in Canada — both good and bad.
How do I describe myself then: I am Canadian, Japanese, Asian and, somewhat reluctantly, Japanese-Canadian.
This article is part of a 4-part series on issues CBABC members face as BIPOC lawyers