Dust

In 2010, Ayush Singh moved to Canada with his mom when he was 7 years old. His father was already living in Canada since 2007 to make sure he developed a strong platform for his immigrant family. He grew up learning from his parents and respecting his cultural background. In his early years of education, he went to Christ The King Convent School in India. The English language was mildly implemented through his early years of education in India, but he was unaware of Canadian culture. He is now a 17-year-old athlete representing Team Ontario in Canada. In these 10 years, he has connected with the Canadian Community and obtained his Canadian Citizenship. He is currently the president of the Sci-Tech Academic Development Committee and takes part in various community activities such as food drives, tree plantation, community road cleanup, etc. To get here, he had to go through racial discrimination from the age of 7 due to immigrant status. He learned to defy all odds set against him and overcome the negativity in schools. Through his personal experiences, Ayush wants to raise awareness about how racial discrimination towards new immigrants in Canadian schools is very common; harming both the student and the parents.

I had weak lungs... Growing up in undeveloped India, surrounded by a population of almost 1 billion people, the mixture of dust and pollution only made it worse. Doctors insisted that my parents move to a different city or even a different country. I think my dad may have said to my mom, “We need a better life for him,” while I was on an oxygen ventilator in the hospital.

I was 7 years old when my mom and I moved to Canada to live with my father, who was working full-time to support our family. Canadian education was very new for me, however, since the beginning, I got a lot of language support from the brown support staff. They understood me, just like my first friend that I made. Who was able to communicate with me about the work we were doing in school. The reformation did not seem that intense to me as of yet, as I was still exploring/adjusting, and paid very little attention to what others had to say about me.

However, as I thought I was starting to merge into the culture, I started to find out that I was actually not part of the culture. The more people I met, the more I started to get separated from others. Almost everyone had the same initial stereotypical “Indian immigrant” impression of me. It was very hard to fit in and try to be like what others wanted me to be.

The Indian culture in the early 2000s was a wannabe version of Western culture. The way foreigners would dress had a huge impact on fashion. However, we as a country would try to mold the trends to our liking; consequently, if the Western trend was hair spray/gel to make the hair look shiny, our version would simply be oil.

In third grade, I decided to go to school by putting oil on my hair. I was all dressed up, and ready to meet my friends. I loved learning at school, but this was the day it all changed. (My teacher was old; therefore, the following behavior is subjective to old-fashion thinking.) With my classmates, I was sitting at the front waiting for the teacher to read a book to the class - such education was hard to find in India. As the teacher took her place, she told me to go sit at the back of the classroom. Why? “Your hair is too oily, eww,” she smirked, meaning it. She did not like the way I presented myself. Or now that I think about it, maybe it was because I was a foreign Indian who was different from her. I felt embarrassed in front of my classmates as I walked to the back, and this started my real journey in school.

Since that day, I have never oiled my hair before going to school again.

Such discrimination occurred to me more than once. It. Became. Habitual. It was also starting to harm both my parents and me.

At school, I got falsely accused of throwing a small piece of paper into the toilet. Small issue right? Of course not. I was accused of vandalism. I tried to tell the teacher that the other student was lying. However, my voice was not heard and I got sent to the principal for serious action. I fearfully told my mother that I didn't do it, and they were falsely accusing me. To my surprise, she reacted calmly. She was pregnant but defying all odds, she went to the school to speak with the principal, just like my favorite comic book hero fighting the villain.

To my disbelief, the barrier between expressing our voice actually helped the teacher win. The principal was better off believing the story from the white teacher, than a brown third-grader and his brown, immigrant mom. My mother told me, “I know you are right, there is no need to worry. The truth always wins.” But why did I feel defeat?

There is nothing like getting suppressed when you know that you are right. It feels like swimming underwater with your hands tied. I would always see the white kids and their parents arguing with the teachers. Surprisingly, the teachers would listen. I felt that even though we were all humans, other kids around me were the elite class. I thought their parents probably knew the teachers. No. Their families just had a voice that was heard. However, ours was mute.

Discrimination became like dust. It is tough to see specific dust particles, but they are everywhere. It was starting to get exemplified by my peers as I was given names based on me being an immigrant, and my race was starting to become a poking point for me. Like every kid, this was a phase in my life that I started to hide from others. I would make new friends every year until I found the ones which supported me. I always look back and wonder, what if I spoke back to that teacher? What if I was not an immigrant? What if my parents had the voice that they have today? Life would have been far more different, I would have felt accepted and included at school. Maybe I would have had strong friendships when I was young.

As I have gotten older, my voice has started to become diverse and powerful; consequently, allowing me to speak up for what is right. Even today, whenever I see a new student at school, I feel a special connection with them. I try to reach out and allow them to feel comfortable with the environment, with the intention of preventing what once occurred to me. I have become the person with whom they can share their voice. A listener is the only person who makes a speaker powerful.

The next line pretty much sums up my life.

I came to Canada to avoid literal dust, but Canadian schools forced me to become immune to it.