Photography of author and award | Image Credits: David Gagnon
It’s been a long time, hasn’t it. Believe me when I say I have sat down multiple times across these past few months desperate to share something with you. But each time, my mind wandered, anxiety flared, and without hesitation I would close my unfinished document feeling no satisfaction and immense desperation for the words to once again flow effortlessly through my fingertips. It’s funny because I initially told myself I wouldn’t write this post. I said, “Ra’anaa, you have finals, prioritize that, focus on that.” I had settled for an Instagram post, short, sweet and concise. But as I began writing the post I noticed it started to get longer and longer. I tried to cut myself off, but my fingers wanted to say more, no they demanded it. So, against my better judgment, instead of writing an essay due next week, I wanted to write to you all about being selected as the Sudbury YWCA’s 2021 Young Woman of Distinction.
I’ve struggled writing this next part because I don’t want to come across as self congratulatory or narcissistic by any means. Being selected for this award is first and foremost a huge honour. I am proud and still in awe to have been recognized in this community that I have for so long called home. I’ve hemmed and hawed about what it means to be a Young Woman of Distinction and if I’m being honest I can still barely quantify it. By their own definition,
“This award recognizes the significant contributions of a young woman between 16 to 30 years of age who has served as an inspiration to other women through her accomplishments in her studies, work or community activities.”
But when I first read this it felt out of my depth. Aside from being within the allotted age group, part of me felt like when you put on an old pair of underwear that only stays on because you folded it over one time, like it sort of fit me. If I’m being totally honest I felt like an imposter. In reading this I thought, hey this could be me, I could aim to be her, but am I already? And I told myself no. You see, as a woman and a person of colour, I am all too familiar with the world of minimizing my own accomplishments. I have been in rooms where people speak over me, around me and through me. I have been called bossy for running teams that I was the leader of, I’ve been told I have a need for control when I wanted to see something I built from the ground up flourish, and I can only imagine the atrocities that have been said about me behind closed doors.
I recall a particular instance where I was sitting in a room with two classmates, one another woman of colour and the other a white male. At this time I was the President of our student association, the other woman was our Events Coordinator and the man was our French language representative. We were all in the same year of our courses. As President I had called the meeting between the three of us and a faculty member. I had prepared our list of talking points, and I was chairing (more or less, our meeting. I can’t remember the exact purpose of the meeting, but what I can never shake is how invisible I was made to feel in that space. I had asked a series of questions and the faculty member, also a white male, was responding. After he finished his piece he went to ask “us” a question, at which point he leaned forward, looked around me and directed the question to the other white man in the room. It was a generic question about our colleagues that any of us could have answered. And yet, he went out of his way to call on my classmate by name and completely ignore the women of colour in the room.
In another year of my undergrad I was a part of a team of students selected to participate in a competition in Toronto. I was excited and proud to be part of a group representing our new institution at an event with the likes of Waterloo, U of T and X University. We were asked to participate in an interview on a local morning show to discuss our project and I was so eager to be on air, I had yet to do so before. I told my parents, siblings and friends the time, my dad even set up his computer to record the interview because he was so proud. That morning myself and two other white male classmates went in and went live on the show. I went in with a big smile, but soon to my dismay I was made to feel incredibly out of place. The host consistently pronounced my name wrong when referring to the team, despite me pronouncing it to him before we started. I was then witness to a conversational volley between men as the host would address each question to one of my classmates and completely ignored me.
I was finally permitted to talk when the host asked a question about our use of paint that changed colour based on heat, much of the basis for our project, and one of my classmates directed the question to me since I was in charge of that part of the project. I leaned into the microphone and spoke timidly about thermochromic pigment and how it pertained to our project. After that the host recognized me, I could see it in his eyes. Believe it or not he actually directed a question my way after that. Since then I have done numerous interviews with this person and he still incorrectly pronounces my name, he’s laughed at me on air when I was discussing Black mental health and I doubt he remembers any of those interactions that I can never forget.
I have been in numerous positions of unpaid labour where I have given it my all and then folks have turned around and patted my male, and often white, counterparts on the back for their contributions while I stood on the side lines. I have been overlooked for grants, awards and recognitions more times than I dare to count. None of these instances are unique, they are part of a larger story of oppression that I live in everyday of my life. Men and women alike have underestimated me, ignored me and made me feel small. Through this diminishment of my character I have learned that privilege and hatred surrounding me will present itself in ugly ways. And that oftentimes those whose voices are minimized the greatest, have the most powerful things to say.
I used to get so mad. My face would burn from the heat and I’d clench my fists. But what I once mistook for rage I now realize was hurt, embarrassment and shame. How would you feel if you put everything you were into everything you did and no one even glanced in your direction? It hurt a lot, because I cared and still do care so much. I have dedicated my short life to my community, whether it was my community at the School of Architecture, the downtown arts community or the Black community of Sudbury, Ontario, I’d give it all to do something incredible for the people surrounding me because in my eyes they deserve the best, they deserve my best. And so that’s what I’ve committed to each and every day, to giving the best that I can.
So, to go back to my previous question of what it means to be a Young Woman of Distinction? To me it means that I have given my best every day of my life no matter what anyone may say. It means sometimes I’ve put my work first and from that I’ve made not only a community, but found a family of the most incredible individuals. Being a Young Woman of Distinction means that at 25 I have done things I never imagined I could, that above all I want to make a difference and it means that I am just getting started. I am allowed to congratulate myself, I am allowed to recognize the work that I have done, I am allowed to relish in my accomplishments. To those who have overlooked and underestimated me, I don’t need and will never beg for recognition from you. To those who have supported me across my journey, your love and compassion means the world to me. And to that hurt, embarrassed and shamed Black woman, girl you cannot even begin to understand how special you are and the places you’ll go.
Cheers,
Ra’anaa
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