“I feel terrible about the position I have put you in.”
“You exposed Aydin too,” I retorted, and my cousin shut up.
Imam Abdul Bari smiled as he walked over, Aydin following behind. “Please let me know if you or your family need anything, Sister Hana,” the Imam said, then returned to his office, leaving the three of us to stare at each other.
Rashid broke the silence, surprising Aydin with a hug. “You must forgive me!” he wailed, hanging from Aydin’s shoulders. “I thought you would both be pleased I had posted the video. My friends back home are jealous I have gone viral so easily. They thought it would take me at least a few months.”
Aydin and I exchanged bemused looks as he disentangled himself from Rashid’s embrace. “I know you didn’t intend this reaction,” Aydin said. “Maybe something good will come out of it.”
I filled them both in on the latest news, and Aydin confirmed that he had been getting media requests as well. “It’s all been too much,” he admitted. “The online rumours about Wholistic Grill, the delay with the construction, and now this...” He trailed off, face grim. His usually sleek clothes were rumpled, I noticed. I wondered when he had last slept.
“We need to divide and conquer,” I said. “For the next few days, forward all media requests to me. We need to separate the attack from the businesses on the street. I’ll keep an eye on the online comments, too. Rashid, you and Aydin continue to work, and let Zulfa handle the PR for the launch of Wholistic Grill. All this attention and sympathy might even help our businesses.”
A look of relief washed over Aydin. “You’re going to help me?” he asked, voice uncertain.
“We’re going to help each other,” I said firmly. “If we’re very lucky, this will all blow over soon.”
A MESSAGE ON AYDIN’S VOICEMAILforwarded all media requests related to the “CN Tower race attack,” as the media had dubbed it, to me, and I spent the next few days responding to queries from all over the province. The constable who had recorded the details of the downtown confrontation was in touch again the next day; the police had not identified our attackers but they were working on it.
Marisa finally convinced me to do a brief on-air account of what had happened to the three of us downtown, but I drew the line at aphone-in segment. Reading the online comments had been painful enough; I had no wish to hear hateful words or mean-spirited conjecture spoken out loud.
I managed to record and post another episode ofAna’s Brown Girl Ramblesand put in more time onSecret Family History. When I checked the view count on Rashid’s video a few days later, it still hovered around one hundred thousand, and the comments had slowed to a trickle. I had been right—things were finally returning to normal.
I did one last thing. I deleted my fake Instagram and Facebook accounts and scrubbed my timeline of all rumours related to Wholistic Grill. I even posted a few comments under my own profile, refuting the pile-on commenters and their swirling rumours.The food at Wholistic Grill will be halal, I wrote.The owner’s family is Muslim, and his restaurant is a welcome addition to the Golden Crescent neighbourhood.I wasn’t sure if it would do any good, but it went some way towards righting my wrongs.
* * *
Listener friends, sometimes your world is a trash fire. This episode will be about how to survive and thrive when things are going up in flames. There are things happening IRL that have made my life more chaotic than normal, and my commitment to remaining an anonymous Brown girl podcaster makes this episode particularly difficult to record.
The reasons for that are complicated. For one, when you are the daughter of “Suck it up, buttercup” immigrant parents, you learn pretty quickly that all your problems pale in comparison to the existential ones they faced when they were your age. Sad about a boy? Try staying afloat in a strange land. Worried about your job prospects? That’snothing compared to facing deep-rooted systemic discrimination, language barriers, a lack of job experience, and no family ties to help you stay off the streets when you first shift continents. You get the picture.
I recently told my mom about a hateful thing that had happened to me. Her response was to casually share a story I had never heard before. When she was new to the country, she was rammed by an irate fellow shopper in a grocery store, a random, race-motivated attack. Translation: What I had faced was nothing in comparison to how things used to be. According to my folks, I should get over it, because in the grand scheme of things, I am winning.
But am I? Compared to what she had to face on the regular, yes. Compared to what I dream for myself, no.
It is this personal accounting that gets me every time, listener friends. And here’s the truth of it all: thingsarebetter for folks like me—the Brown, the Muslim, the Other. But because two truths can exist simultaneously in the universe, things are worse for us too. Real change is a boulder we keep pushing, but don’t fool yourself into thinking it doesn’t push back. Because it does. And sometimes it pushes backhard.
In my parents’ time, simply being acknowledged as worthy of notice, as having your own history and worth, was enough. That’s not enough for me. I want to be included and celebrated. I want nuanced and plentiful stories to be told about my people, and I don’t want it to mean something when one of us breaks through, because there are so many of us breaking through, all the time, in every field.
When things (because, trash fire) remind me how far we still have to go collectively, it gets me down. And then it makes me mad. I want it to change. But I don’t know how to make that happen.
I’ve learned a few things, though. When you are pushed out of the safety of anonymity and made to stand in the glare of public derision, here’s what you should do:
Find allies and gather them close.
Figure out who your real enemies are.
Plan out the best course of action over the next few days, and then the next few weeks, before worrying about the amorphous future with a capitalF.
Remember that it’s okay to be in survival mode.
I know this all sounds bleak, but I hope to return to better times soon. In the meantime, if you are the praying sort, pray for me, or send me some of that good energy. I’m thinking of all of us tonight.
StanleyP messaged me soon after I uploaded my podcast. It was good to hear from him after our last awkward conversation.
StanleyP
I’m getting worried now, Ana. Are you okay?
