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Last Thursday, June 12, six Montrealers met in the offices of La Converse. Maria, Ikram, Karim, Charline, Luce and Sydney all have in common a history related to immigration — they were born in their country of origin and immigrated to Quebec at a very young age, or were born directly in the Greater Montreal region and come from multiple cultures. It was about their identity constructions that we exchanged for nearly two hours.
They take their seats in the living room, where chairs are arranged in a half circle. While waiting for all the guests to arrive, the discussions are light. Everyone gradually gets to know each other without revealing too much about the reasons for their presence; they save those answers for the recording.
Around 6:30 PM, everyone is ready. The official introductions begin. Maria, in her thirties, works for the youth component of the Centre d'aide aux familles latino-américaines (CAFLA). Questions revolving around identity construction deeply affect her, both in her work with the public she serves daily and in her personal development.
Ikram is the same age as Maria; they've been friends since childhood. Ikram has worked extensively in the community sector, with various immigrant and vulnerable populations. That's why she was keen to be present.
Luce did not specify her age or profession. She was invited by Ikram and Maria and played along, listening attentively to the discussion.
Charline has only been in Montreal for five months. She is not a Quebecois. She was born in Hawaii, USA, and her parents are from Hong Kong. She's slowly adapting to her new environment and enjoys stepping out of her comfort zone. She's more comfortable in English but makes a remarkable effort to share her experience in French.
Sydney works with high school students. For her, this exchange is an opportunity to discuss answers, strategies, and solutions to the identity crises experienced by most of the young people she works with. She also represents the organization Brique par Brique, which advocates for access to social housing in the Park Extension neighborhood.
Karim represents the organization Philo-Boxe, located in the Côte-des-Neiges neighborhood. He and his team combine boxing classes with philosophical discussions for local youth. He is also in his thirties.
How do we define our identity when we come from a plurality of cultures?
This first question, central to this dialogue evening, opens the discussion for our participants. Slowly, hands go up. Everyone has something to say, their opinions to give.
Ikram takes the microphone first. She places her glasses on her head and adjusts her Palestinian keffiyeh on her shoulders. All eyes are on her, very attentive. She was born in Algeria and fled terrorism and civil war with her parents in the 90s. Therefore, she clarifies, she is not from economic immigration. For her, it was the violence of their journey that pushed her parents to distance her as much as possible from her roots.
"My parents told me: 'You are going to be Quebecois. As Quebecois as you can be. You're going to speak French!' " she emphasizes. "So I don't speak Arabic, but I understand it." During her childhood, she did everything to integrate and resemble her Quebecois classmates, erasing her Algerian roots. It was over the years that her parents managed to appease their anger towards their country of origin and returned to their culture and religion.
Ikram often visits her family, but once there, she's also treated differently. "Even though I was well received, I was never able to fully integrate there, even on vacation," she says in a serious tone. In short, for Ikram, the construction of her identity is a long and painful process that is still ongoing.
The microphone is then handed to Maria. She also adjusts the keffiyeh on her shoulders. Maria wears yellow-tinted glasses, and her dark hair is tied in a slicked-back bun. She begins her story: "I am of Colombian origin. I was born there; both my parents are from Cali. I arrived at the age of 5. I immigrated with my mother, who raised me alone here. At the time, I think we were fleeing all the violence after the period of Pablo Escobar and narcoterrorism."
Maria spent her childhood in predominantly white schools. Like Ikram, she integrated as much as possible, particularly by adopting the Quebecois accent, she specifies. For her, a large part of identity construction happens through language. She felt a lot of opposition between her two cultures. The title of the evening – Neither from here, Nor Elsewhere – therefore has a lot of meaning for her: "You're never Quebecois enough, but you're never Latina enough to be who you are. You are always, constantly in duality with these identities."
Over time, Maria has managed to find a balance that suits her. For her, working in her native language is important. "I maintain that connection with my community. I retain this sense of belonging," she says happily.
Karim then speaks. He picks up on the concept of duality discussed by Maria. He was born and raised in Montreal, in the Côte-des-Neiges neighborhood, and is originally from Guadeloupe. He also experiences not being considered Quebecois in Quebec and Guadeloupean in his country of origin.
Today, the foundations of his identity are clear: "I define myself as Black. I define myself as part of the Creole identity. I define myself much more as a Montrealer than anything else."
His work with young people in his neighborhood and the many relationships built throughout his life have shaped his construction: "I've been through pretty much every possible school system in my journey: French, Quebecois, private, public. I've met many types of people, many types of identities. So I know how fragile identity is."
Karim jokingly calls himself an anarchist. He's not a fan of systems in place, whatever they may be. "I grew up in a very, very multicultural neighborhood, in Côte-des-Neiges. I never really felt a disconnect [with Quebecois culture], except in school systems. I had friends who were Sri Lankan, Latino, Filipino. It was like a balance. No one dominated the other. Whereas when you go into institutions, there's certainly someone who dominates the other. There's a way of thinking, a way of acting, a specific way of doing things..."
He finds it difficult to identify with Quebecois culture. He often felt excluded, that he was "the other." He recognizes several similarities between Guadeloupean culture and that of Quebec, particularly through language and identity struggles, but it doesn't affect him much beyond that.
Charline, at the other end of the circle, continues the discussion. She is facing away from the cameras and towards the rest of the group. She speaks in a low voice, almost whispering. In Hawaii, she didn't feel different from those around her because a very large Asian community is present on the island. So she grew up alongside children of immigrants, mostly from East Asia.
It was upon her arrival in Montreal that her relationship with cultural differences evolved. "I really felt my ethnic difference, especially in Montreal. I felt it a lot, much more than when I went to study in the United States. I feel it might be a language thing. French is quite difficult to learn. Coming here, I sought to spend time with communities of diverse people," she confides.
She can't yet put her finger on what's different in the metropolis compared to other cities where she lived: "It might be because of a cultural element that I'm not aware of, and that I haven't assimilated well. But I don't know, I feel it's a bit difficult to express exactly what's happening here, what made me feel that way."
What has helped build your identity?
Maria is the first to speak on this second question. She takes a moment to think and explains: "Our identity is not fixed. It evolves over time, through our perception of the world, our perception of ourselves, our culture, our backgrounds, and our experiences." The rest of the participants nod and agree with her.
Maria is keen to highlight her intersectional perspective. According to her, this is what best explains the development of her identity over the years: "I am a racialized woman of a certain age. In my culture, normally, at 31, you're married, you have children. And I'm single, I'm pansexual. I only recently came out. All these elements expose me to certain things, to a complexity, on another level."
More concretely, back-and-forth trips to her country of origin have allowed her to recharge and reconnect with her roots, somewhat neglected by her life in Quebec. Maria is also grateful to have grown up in the heart of Montreal, alongside diverse cultures. "It strengthens my identity. I am very open-minded because of it; it opens me up to certain realities that I might not have known in other contexts," she emphasizes.
Karim then takes the microphone. For him, the strongest elements of his identity construction come from his close circle: his neighborhood, his family, and his friends. He then adds a nuance about what, in his opinion, makes all the difference in how one builds oneself. "I sincerely think that identity is not a problem as long as you are not in a system. It's not a problem to be with the other as long as you're not in a system that confronts you with the other, that confronts you either with your skin color or your gender. Otherwise, we can live together, in my opinion." Systems, as Karim calls them, are spaces that can be related to education, health, the professional environment, or many others.
He has faced situations where he has had to more or less justify his presence in professional spaces, where he became aware of his difference in the face of a majority that did not resemble him. "I'm a manager and I'm on a consultation table. So I enter a system. And it's once in that system that I say to myself: 'Okay, oh shit, I'm black as f**k!'" he says, laughing.
"My identity construction is not finished because I am angry, I am full of resentment."
- Ikram, participant of the Dialogue Evening, Identity Construction: Neither from here, Nor Elsewhere?
Ikram is next to respond. The others’ speeches have touched her. Anger makes her voice tremble. What frustrates her is, in particular, her relationship with the Algerian diaspora in the metropolis: "I am 32 years old, and I have never been so angry in my life. I have been in white spaces my whole life. I am not ashamed to talk about it: my community rejected me here. I went to school with them, I tried to integrate with them, I tried to enter those circles, but my community wanted nothing to do with me."
She adds: "My identity construction is not finished because I am angry, I am full of resentment. I try [to calm down] every day of my life, and that's why I appreciate it so much when my friends introduce me to environments like this. (...) To try, precisely, to reconnect with something that can just soothe a little of this anger and pain, because there is nothing that can fix it."
Sydney continues the conversation. She recently realized the significant impact of members involved in her community. The "Brique par brique" organization gives meaning to who she is. "I met so many people who have similar concerns to mine. And we talked about these concerns. And it was so healing to have that," she says with a gentle smile.
What is your relationship with the question: "Where are you from?"
For the first time, Luce speaks. This question seems to touch a nerve with her. She, who has been very attentive and silent throughout the discussion, has a lot to say about the famous "Where are you from?".
"I don't even answer anymore; I say to myself: 'Come on!' For me, when people ask that question, it's already to create a division. You are 'them,' and I am 'the other.' It's already to create an identity separation. It's to establish that we are different," she calmly explains.
Luce has often felt observed. A heavy gaze that has profoundly influenced her identity construction. She feels judged by a majority that celebrates the individual successes of Black people but attributes their failures to the entire community. This double standard has placed an overwhelming sense of responsibility on her for too long. "When you build your identity around that, you risk always building your identity in the eyes of another person," she adds.
Maria agrees and elaborates: "I'm used to being asked the question. I think it depends on how it's asked and by whom. That has an impact on how I receive it." All participants agree. For everyone, if this question is asked by someone from an immigrant background, it is necessarily out of sincere curiosity. Conversely, misplaced curiosity, fetishization, and ignorance are poorly received.
What elements best represent your identity now? What represents your home?
The most common answer was to connect with Montreal as a place where they feel good, a little more at peace, at home. It's where family, friends, and the people who shape their personality are.
Maria feels an evolution in her attachment to the metropolis. The community sphere in which she has worked for several years now shows her a darker, less inclusive side of the city where she grew up. She finds the social and political context harsher for newcomers, and it exasperates her. Ikram agrees with her.
The Algerian-born woman grips her keffiyeh and adds: "I feel at home through my struggles! With everything that's happening in Palestine, everything that's happening with immigration. I find a bit of myself whenever I find myself in a community that is fighting for something bigger than us. It makes me find a bit of my humanity."
For Karim, what will always shape him is something spiritual, his emotional connection with the people in his life. "What represents my home is always my neighborhood, but also always something deeper. It's being with people, being surrounded by love, my family, my daughter," he emphasizes.
Sydney echoes this thought: "It might sound a bit cheesy, but for me, home is when I'm surrounded by people like you. The fact of discussing, we vibe on another level, on a spiritual level." All participants smile and nod.
The evening is drawing to a close, and the discussions deviate slightly. Almost all participants work with community organizations and young people, so they share their experiences and points of view.
After an hour and a half of discussion, the dialogue evening concludes with applause and thanks.