Thomas was already in our shared office when I rushed through the door the next day, late and flustered.
“Marisa is looking for you,” he said with a cheerful smile.
Shit. My boss was a stickler for punctuality.
“She wanted to talk to you about co-producingThe Wrap-Up. We agreed that to be equitable, we should both get a chance to produce. My turn is today.” Thomas’s smile moved into smirk territory. “Marisa also wanted to let you know about a big opportunity.”
I was instantly wary. “What opportunity?”
Thomas shrugged. “I’m not your secretary. Ask her yourself.”
I shrugged off my jacket and made my way to Marisa’s office, knocking once before poking my head in the door.
“Hana! Thank god you came to work.” Marisa was dressed in a navy-blue blazer and black jeans, a red and black scarf tied jauntily around her neck. “Thomas said you had some family drama going on. You know you can talk to me about anything, right?”
What was she talking about? I decided to change the subject. “You wanted to speak to me?”
Marisa leaned back in her chair, eyes shining with enthusiasm. “Nathan Davis is coming to our studio in a few days, and he wants to hear more about your fantastic idea for a show.”
Nathan Davis was the director of broadcasting for our parent corporation, and every radio station in the province was under his jurisdiction. He was several steps above even Marisa’s boss. What was he doing visiting our station, and what fantastic idea was Marisa talking about? She had shot down every suggestion I had made since I started working there, almost a year ago. The confusion must have been clear on my face.
“Thomas told me all about your radio partnership. I am so excited to hear more about this strategic diversity initiative to access multicultural target markets!”
Though I still had no idea what Marisa was talking about, I was pretty sure this was all Thomas’s fault. I gritted my teeth, thanked her for the opportunity, and went in search of my “radio partner.”
A contrite-looking Thomas was waiting for me in our office. “Don’t get mad,” he began. “Really, this is your fault for being late all the time. Marisa just burst in, babbling about Davis visiting the station and how it would be a good opportunity to pitch a show to him. Lucky for you, I’m great at thinking on my feet.”
Thomas was terrible at thinking on his feet. From the twitchy expression on his face, he knew the next words out of his mouth might very well be his last. “I told her we wanted to host a show that teaches listeners about our different cultures,” he said, and braced himself.
I stared at him, appalled. Thomas was a weasel, so I would have assumed he’d be eager to take the opportunity for himself. Then again,he could be strategic when required. I thought I knew the answer, but I asked the question anyway. “You don’t like me. Why should we work together on this?”
“If there’s two of us, they’re more likely to give us a chance to do our own show. I need you for this, Hana!”
He meantusas in “two Brown people.” He meanttheyas in the higher-ups, who had lately been coming under attack for their lack of diverse programming in one of the most diverse cities in the world. Thomas was taking his shot and dragging me along with him.
I didn’t punch him. At heart I’m a pacifist. Instead, I walked out of the office without a word.
WORKING ON A SHOW—ANY SHOW—WASall I had ever wanted to do. So far, all Thomas and I had done in our internship was file, photocopy, archive, and research other people’s stories. The first time I had done a job that excited me had been the day before, when Marisa let me co-produce Big J’s show.
Hosting a show about culture and religion was not what I wanted to do. The worst part was, Thomas knew how I felt. We had talked about it before.
“Who is going to tell the stories only we know? We’re South Asian, we’re second-generation immigrants, you’re Indian Muslim and I’m Indian Christian—both minorities within minority communities. We have things to say and diverse perspectives that people would love to hear,” he had argued.
“Is that your tag line?I’m Brown, I’m interesting, listen to me?The minute I start writing stories about the Muslim or desi community, I’ll be put in a box, and that will be all I’ll ever do or ever be known for.I’m too young and interesting to be the ‘exotic Brown-person expert’ for the next thirty years,” I argued back.
“Hana, you could be the person who changes people’s minds about Muslims!” Thomas would counter.
That comment always made me laugh. “The bigots are never going to listen to me. And everyone else already likes me because, as an Indian-Canadian, I stand for samosas and maple syrup. I’m good.”
The truth was, Thomas had less to lose. When a man talks about politics and religion next to a brown-skinned woman who wears hijab, guess who attracts the misogynist trolls and violent death threats? I come by my cowardice honestly, through the experiences of those braver than myself. I had no desire to be a social justice martyr.
I wanted to follow my instincts and my own interests, not use my faith and skin colour to provide teachable moments to listeners on demand. Thomas knew how I felt, yet he had pitched his stupid idea anyway. He really was the worst.
I took out my phone and messaged StanleyP.
AnaBGR
How good of an advice-giver are you?
