Ask me where I'm from
A hot take on the question people of colour are asked most frequently
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A while back, I read a beautiful piece from my friend,
of . It was called, Tell them where you’re from. In it, Marc walks his newborn son through a list of responses he can share when the inevitable question is asked. Every item is imbued with love, history, tenderness. Every item is a link to their family’s origin story, a thread entwined with many others, to make the quilt of their being.
The prevailing wisdom is that you’re not supposed to ask anyone where they are from. That it’s racist to assume that because someone is not white, they’re not “from here”, wherever here may be. I have subscribed to this thinking myself, as a well-educated, culturally sensitive, worldly woman.
But I’m here to tell you that I have now changed my mind. I love the question, “Where are you from?” And I love the opportunity to answer it.
Let’s first consider what these four words mean, and how the intent of the question can dictate so much of the vibe that comes with it.
Being from somewhere implies a sense of belonging. A sense of history. The assumption of this as a question that is ignorant at best, and racist, hurtful, or intentionally othering at worst, comes from the implication that the asker is telling the asked, you do not belong here. Tell me where it is you do belong.
But what if the question is not asked in this way? What if the question is asked with curiosity? Since the victors win not only the spoils, but also get to write the history in every war and colonial project, it is their story that has been told. What if the question is asked with with a longing to understand a narrative other than the default?
From a young age, every time I walked into a shawarma place or a middle eastern store, the Arab man behind the counter would ask me, even before taking my order: Tahkee araby?
Do you speak Arabic?
A question tinged with hope, with recognition.
When I would answer with my bumbling Egyptian, “aywa” (yes), he would follow to the next obvious, seeking enquiry. “Min wayn?”
Where are you from?
Through out my childhood, I was annoyed by the whole exchange. Why couldn’t I get my shawarma and leave, like everybody else? But I was trained to be polite, so I would answer with my prepared one liner, again in my bumbling Egyptian Arabic. Min Masr. Bass mawlooda hinna wi 3ishti hinna tool omry — From Egypt, but I was born in Canada, and I’ve lived here my whole life.
The answer, while factually true, was haughty and elitist. You are looking for commonality. But I am not you. I am a native Canadian. I belong here.
Belonging is a fundamental aspect of the human experience. The need to belong is so critical that it predicts various mental, physical, social, economic, and behavioural outcomes.1
In my childhood and young adulthood, I was concerned with my place, my belonging, in my peer group of other Canadians my age: schoolmates, neighbours, fellow hockey fans and people waiting at the bus stop.
It didn’t occur to me until years later, when my sister moved across the world and told me of the difficulties of adjusting to a life where she was the newcomer, that the man serving me shawarma was also trying to find his place. That the switch to Arabic would be a short reprieve for his tongue, unpracticed in this foreign language he now had to speak. That the recognition of a face with the same complexion, the same general features, would be a moment of familiarity in a day of strangeness.
And then there is the curious person who isn’t asking the loaded question out of spite, but rather to learn. Where are you from doesn’t have to mean, you don’t belong here. It can also mean, tell me a bit about all the things that make you, you. After all, we don’t spend a lot of time studying the history, philosophy, theology, or mythology, of non-European cultures. So if someone wants to know more, to understand more, about my origin story, about the tapestry that was woven to bring me to my current moment, why not embrace that?
Perhaps Where are you from can be the question that takes us from an assumption of a default culture, a default worldview, to the recognition that we live in a world with so many ways of being, believing and seeing. Perhaps it can be the question that helps us to learn more about the ones about which we are mostly ignorant.
So, ask me where I am from. I am telling you, little by little, with every conversation we are having here.
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Let’s chat in the comments:
Has anyone ever asked you where you are from?
Does that question bother you?
Do you feel as though you belong in your current home or do you feel like a stranger?
I am continuing to share resources, links, and information that I have found helpful regarding the crisis in Gaza and the West bank. This week, I’d like to share this CBC News piece with Journalist Adrienne Arsenault, interviewing Canadian Surgeon Yasser Khan on his experiences working in Gaza for 8 days recently.
Belonging: A Review of Conceptual Issues, an Integrative Framework, and Directions for Future Research - https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC8095671/#:~:text=A%20sense%20of%20belonging%E2%80%94the,%2C%20economic%2C%20and%20behavioural%20outcomes.
Appreciate this take. I feel like I’m saying the same thing every week about us being similar. I’m in Birmingham, AL now, and largely get asked this question by people who look like me. It’s interesting because I was born and raise here. When I tell them this, but add my family is Haitian they snap their fingers and say, “I knew you weren’t from here.” I’m confused because one I was born here, and two I haven’t visited Haiti since I was 2. While I know at times it’s a question about invitation, no matter who’s asking it makes me feel like I belong elsewhere. And maybe that’s more about me, and less about them. As always, friend, each week the story telling is just great. The bit about the deli took me right to Brooklyn.
Have you ever seen this video?
https://youtu.be/DWynJkN5HbQ?si=l6DATS9MLibLDRJh
I use to teach it when I was in the classroom.
Thank you for the food for thought. I often ask people where they are from if I detect an accent. I also often say I’m glad they are here in this country of peace, like the young Ukrainian woman I spoke to at the lost and found at the airport. My questions come from my heart and genuine interest. I am a second generation Canadian whose parents came here as refugees. They were called displaced people at that time by the UN. Thank you for helping me understand your perspective.