King’s students aren’t as inclusive as they think

When I started at the University of King’s College last September, my worries were typical. Would I do well in my program? Was I making the right decision? Would I make friends easily?

One fear I never expected to face was whether I would feel different, or even weird, because of my ethnicity.

I’m a first-generation immigrant from Lebanon who moved to Canada when I was five. I grew up surrounded by two different lifestyles: the Lebanese lifestyle at home, and the Canadian lifestyle outside. 

As a kid, I was always aware that I was different to some degree. I wanted straight blond hair, blue eyes and, preferably, no noticeable accent when I spoke English. But as I grew older, my accent faded, and I started to appreciate, even love, my darker, non-white features.

Throughout my previous degree at Saint Mary’s University, I was surrounded by people from

many ethnicities and walks of life. I never felt like I didn’t fit in because of where I’m from.

I’d heard that Dalhousie University was also culturally diverse, so I assumed King’s would be similar, given its proximity to Dal and SMU. It wasn’t.

I was shocked at how little diversity there was at King’s. Even more surprising was the

judgment I faced for my lifestyle, which is directly tied to my culture. I realized just how central my Lebanese identity is to who I am when I found myself having to explain why I live

differently: because I’m Lebanese.

The biggest point of contention was the fact that I don’t live with roommates; I live with my parents and three brothers. I regularly see my aunts and cousins, and if I go more than a month without seeing them, it feels like a long time. We celebrate every birthday, graduation and holiday together. 

Moving out at 18 is largely a Western idea. In my culture, and many others, children stay with their families until they have families of their own, and even then, continue to support aging parents.

One of my main priorities is my family. But for some reason, people have insinuated that I’m less mature because I live with them.

In a school where students pride themselves on being “woke” and aware of their privilege, I felt the most judged by these very students.

I was told I wasn’t growing by living with my family, and that I needed to be on my own to gain perspective — a distinctly Western idea of individualism. 

I was told I needed to travel the world to broaden my mind. I guess it didn’t click that I come from the opposite side of the world, and that travelling often means encountering cultures that are similar to mine. 

The world doesn’t only include the West. Prioritizing my family isn’t immature. Being there for my parents and brothers isn’t childish. It’s part of what makes me who I am. 

Just because my life experience is different doesn’t mean it’s wrong.

I thought I’d passed this stage. I went to a French high school in Halifax, where most students were white, but there were many Lebanese classmates, so I never felt too different.

Even my white friends didn’t make me feel weird when we graduated high school, and I didn’t move into residence like them. On the contrary, they made an effort to understand and appreciate my culture, and didn’t make me feel I was living life incorrectly.

But things are different at King’s.

Even something as simple as the way my first name is pronounced is often ignored. 

Even when I introduce myself using the correct pronunciation, some people ignore it and stick to the Western version. To a certain extent, I get it. It’s easier to stick to what you know. But each time it happens, I feel unseen — like part of my identity is being washed away. 

When someone tries to pronounce it correctly, even if it isn’t perfect, I feel acknowledged. I feel like myself.

Sometimes I wonder whether I would be more palatable to King’s students if I looked more traditionally ethnic or traditionally white. I look ethnic enough that people who aren’t from the West immediately recognize I’m not from here, but light enough that white people assume I am. 

I exist somewhere in between. And because of that, I feel my culture isn’t respected the

way it deserves.

Maybe it’s not that I’m weird or immature, maybe I’m just not white.