I am not really cadaan, but….

 

 

 

 

 

 

A few years back while I was in university, a friend of mine shared a strange story that happened to him. After spending the day with his friend, her mom came to pick her up. While his friend was getting into the car, the mom audibly asked – an in the most polite tone – if her “coloured” friend would like a ride. Completely taken a back, he accepted the offer and sat silently for the majority of the ride. Later as we recalled the event, we genuinely asked ourselves “should he have been offended?” “Should she have known better in this day and age”? “Is the usage of ‘coloured’ even wrong”?

Damn these racist people.

And that’s how it’s has been. Always on one side of the fence.

I suppose through all these experiences and shared anecdotes, I came to feel a sense of moral superiority. Thankfully, the universe has a bad habit of showing us our hubris. Like Icarus crashing back down, my belief that I could not be ignorantly racist fell from its lofty heights.

In the summer of 2015, something was gaining traction, Caadan Studies. (see here, here, and here for the discourse). I can’t truthfully recall how I first found out about it, but I was so excited to find out that members involved in Caadan Studies had been invited to take part in a conference at York U (a university in my city). I enjoyed it immensely. Seeing other Somalis interested in such a subject brought relief to some loneliness. Other Somalis questioning are out here!

Unfortunately, this was also the occasion I acted like an ignorant racist. After the discussion in the lecture hall, a few who were still interested in talking with the panelist and organizers stayed behind. After conversing with some of the other laggards and congratulating the organizers and panelist, I started talking to a habaryar who was one of the panelist and began lamenting to her about the unfortunate situation that those of my generation (and after) are in since we lack narratives from marginalized groups.

Every time I recall this exchange, I shake my head from embarrassment and a tinge of disgust at my arrogance. That’s because what I asked her (though a legitimate issue and one I still have strong feelings/support for) was approached in a bit more offensive manner. I said something closer to “ I want to know about the midgaan story is” or “how I wish I could here personal accounts from a midgaan”.  I had no idea how inappropriate what I was saying was. The word midgaan to me was simply descriptive and no alternative existed in my mind or experience. To appreciate severity of the exchange, substitute the word midgaan with nigger. Can you imagine, a white individual requesting to know about the ‘nigger story’!? Maybe this is close. Poor Cumberbatch.

It was not until sometime after that incident did I realize my “faux pas”. For a better understanding of the issue and word, read the article by Hawa Mire. In fact, it was this article that retrospectively framed the situation for me – like reliving a memory as it was being re-written. However, even this wonderful piece isn’t authoritative. Essentially it’s an issue of label.

Most frustrating is that this whole episode has left me somewhat confused. Should I be calling an Asian person indha yar? How far down this rabbit hole should I go? I was starting to have more empathy for the mother of the girl. As a Somali, it seems like my language is riddle with these words and my weak grasp of it does not help. Walking a line so thin that it’s almost invisible. These words we use are simply descriptive. What makes it pejorative are its speakers and time, right? Nigger was simply descriptive one time. Reading this short article from NPRs Code Switch for transformation of language helped a little. But where does this leave us ignorant people (i.e. all of us)? No choice but to sometimes straddle a line and have a few missteps on the wrong side.

Still something’s not right. Why don’t we call ourselves madow?