Contested Integration: Class, Race and Education of Second- and Third-Generation Minority Youth, Through the Prism of Critical Pedagogy

Appendices

Responses

• Quentin VerCetty

• OCAD University (formerly the Ontario College of Art and Design University),Toronto, ON, Canada

• (Author’s note: This response contains some usage of Jamaican vernacular).

In 1995 Reggae/Dancehall artist Buju Banton created what was known as the “ghetto people’s anthem” with his two hit songs “Untold Stories” and “Not an Easy Road,” both talking about the poverty, violence, and struggle that plagues Jamaica and Jamaican communities. Over two decades later the sentiments of those songs are still evident in the struggle and optimism that swings as a double-edged sword for many Jamaican-Canadian youth of today. Jamaican youth at home and abroad are aware of the double standards, the barriers, and the hardship that loiters above their heads like a stubborn storm cloud. But progress is difficult for the many who are in poverty and can’t find access to resources or support to be able to obtain the right tools and weaponry, to fight for their goals or a chance at a prosperous future.

There are many studies about Jamaican youth that focus on the mishaps with and in the justice and prison systems, but writers will often negate to create a correlation between race and poverty to crime. Then there will be writings about poverty among Jamaicans communities without factoring the lack of financial literacy which relates to the quality of education that the so-called third world countries of majority people of African descent don’t have. For me, connections between Jamaican youth involved with the law and in poverty reflect on how tied the hands of the caregivers are. Whereas, as in my household and many others, Jamaican parents or guardians are often neither qualified, nor available or capable to teach their children, as they are caught up with “styll tryna ting”; in other words in the midst of trying to figure it (living situations in a new country) out themselves – which is a huge barrier. At the age of 20, I had taught my parents about a Tax Free Saving Account and how to maximize on their RRSP and that they should not touch it no matter what. But even for parents or caregivers in commerce “bock inna yawd” (in Jamaica) and “inna faryin” (in Canada), statistics will also show the number of business owners and entrepreneurs to actual property owners is grossly disproportionate. This causes further constraints on businesses’ ability to thrive with soaring inflation and gentrification being a deadly assassin.

But this also takes a toll on the physiological level on the minds of Jamaican youth. How can they achieve something that they have never seen done before by someone who looks like them or hails from where they are – “it’s not an easy road,” Buju chants. And this is true especially when that despair transmutes into silent frustrations and high stress levels that moves like a virus as it gets transferred from parent to child and vice versa, especially with a lot of tension being built up and very few affordable outlets available. In my youth days as a student, that virus led to my disengagement in the classroom settings and desiring to just “gwan hold a vibez” and have fun. I thought to myself that, I had no use for school “no need fi boddah with dem tings,” because virtually my future was as visible as Jamaican business complexes existing in downtown Toronto - “it gwan lyk wun duppy dream” - a ghostly fantasy.

There’s a Jamaican proverb that says, “if yuh see tukle pon post yuh fi hask em, ‘ah born yuh bawn suh or ah put dem put yuh suh?’” In English it translates to “if you see a turtle on a post you should ask it, “is that how you were born, or did someone do something to make you become that way?’” The woes seen among the youth of Jamaican descent in Canadian society are very much an echo of this proverb. This means to question the source of other people’s distress because someone might have caused it.

In many ways, the Canadian education system and job/career pipeline were set up to make little to no efforts to support Black youth, especially if they are of Caribbean descent and are either new to Canada or are first- or second-generation born. My older siblings, cousins, and I can give numerous testimonies of how we experience barriers like racism, prejudice, and discrimination for looking the way we do and for talking funny or for not engaging with the school’s dogmatic styles of teaching the ways others do. I remember my mom taught me how to memorize speeches and bible texts through songs and movement. She told me that was how they were taught in school “bock inna yawd (Jamaica)” growing up. In school here we just sit still and try to just plainly read and repeat the static text until you can’t think of anything else.

When we talk about Jamaican youth in Canada, there is an unspoken culture shock that has stolen African people’s past that is often not taken into account – a very deep, unresolved generational trauma and wound that is struggling to heal. We are very much like lost sea turtles stuck on a post, but our optimistic souls continue to say every “mickle makes ah muckle,” which is a way of saying, every effort counts to help make improvement. The solution in my opinion is not about supporting conformity but about assisting with adaptability.

Issues of Race and Class Among Luso-Canadians

• Benjamin BrancoDepartment of French Language and Literature & Department of Diaspora and Transnational Studies, University of Toronto, Toronto, ON, Canada

Within Canada’s cultural mosaic, the notion of identity remains a sensitive topic. I have seen how some immigrant youth have fully assimilated into Anglo-Canadian culture, while others have preferred to cultivate a dual identity. The balance that the latter offers has allowed Canadian youth to live out their ancestral languages and traditions.

It was not until my late adolescent years when I considered how race or class could impact my identity as a Luso-Canadian individual. Personally, I find it tremendously important to discuss issues pertaining to race and class since these strongly impact how one is perceived by citizens of the host nation.

I believe that race and class are interconnected. Having grown up in a city where there was a strong Portuguese presence, there were opportunities for me to live my culture through my parish church, Portuguese school and the city’s Portuguese club. Although I knew that the Portuguese language and traditions were recognized, I never felt that they were fully accepted by the wider community. Quite often I felt that others hinted that any Portuguese-related aspects of my life belonged in the home. Regardless, my ancestral language and family traditions brought me joy in my ability to cultivate two cultural identities. As for other Luso-Canadian youth, the option to assimilate seemed more accessible. If I or any of my classmates assumed Anglo-Canadian culture, it was simply to escape feelings of exclusion from non-Portuguese individuals.

Most of our parents and grandparents, having known only four years of basic education in Portugal, could not learn or speak fluent English. Thus, they could not access jobs in the professional or management sectors. Every Portuguese child can remember having translated for a parent or grandparent at one time or another! Students chose to assimilate at moments when they preferred speaking English over Portuguese. In hearing the language spoken, non-Portuguese people commonly inquired “what is that language you are speaking... why are you speaking Portuguese?” In moments such as these, Portuguese youth experienced an uncomfortable tension and rejection. Aside from language and class-background, there were also instances in which our traditional, family-oriented values, deemed as old-fashioned, would be considered strange by some teachers and classmates. Some examples included religious processions, having your grandparents live with you, bifana sandwiches for lunch and other perfectly acceptable cultural norms. It was always a problem trying to balance “old world” ideas about dating, sports activities, home obligations, and proper behavior with more liberal Canadian values. For many of my Luso-Canadian friends, it was much easier to integrate, rather than live in clashing realities.

Assimilation brings into question a lack of pride in one’s culture originating from an inner sentiment of inferiority. Historically, for many newly arrived Portuguese immigrants, employment was found in childcare, construction, and factory work. These areas of employment continue to be dominated by descendants of working-class immigrants. Many mainstream Canadians falsely assume that Portuguese people are limited to manual or skilled trade labor. Without a vast array of professional or artistic role models, it is hard to propel a generation of youth with new ideas. Other later waves of immigrants and other races have had more success than Portuguese immigrants in breaking into professional fields or entrepreneurship. Many of these later immigrants did not step into the working-class job sector, but focused on re-training, re-certifying, or other business opportunities. The city where I grew up had a large contingent of around 30,000 or more Portuguese immigrants. There were a handful of businesses operated by Portuguese owners, but there were no Portuguese restaurants, daycares, old age, or community hubs because historically there was no social cohesion.

Although I have seen an increase in Luso-Canadian youth enrolling in post-secondary programs, I feel that a negative stigma continues to pervade the Portuguese culture. There is an urgent identity crisis in our community which causes us to have the highest dropout rate of any immigrant group. It would be best to focus on positive role modeling to help Portuguese youth aspire to higher grounds. In my opinion, this reality reflects how the Canadian government has disregarded the socioeconomic concerns of different cultural communities.