Celebrating multiculturalism and diversity is a great initiative; most countries don’t.
But as diversity celebrations and events pop up everywhere, I can’t help but wonder: is everyone genuinely included in the conversation around inclusivity?
I was born and raised in France, but my parents are Algerian migrants who moved to France in the 1970s. My grandfather fought for France’s liberation during World War II, but despite all of this, I faced the devastating effects of racism and bigotry growing up.
Being raised in a remote village in the Alps, known for its vines, picturesque pine tree forests and unwavering support for the far-right political party Front National, probably didn’t help, but we don’t get to choose where we are born, do we?
Moving to Australia alone at age 24 was a defining moment in my life. For the first time, when I told people I was from France, I wasn’t met with the usual question: “But where are you REALLY from?”
This dreaded question always made me question my identity growing up. The fact that in France I was perceived as being Algerian and in Algeria it was the other way around pushed me into this ‘identity limbo’. A waiting area of some sort that prevented me from figuring out who I was for years.
The much-needed respite I found Down Under gave me wings: it allowed me to create a life I aspired to and consciously chose without ever feeling the confines of predefined labels.
To me, Australia embodied the idea of a ‘fair go’, where everyone was welcome to start anew and leap for their dreams.
I saw Australia through these pink heart-shaped glasses for many years because I was so grateful for what it had done for me. And I still am!
However, my perspective completely shifted during my time at uni, particularly thanks to my course on Global Mobility and Ethnic Relations.
For instance, learning that despite only representing three per cent of Australia’s total population, First Nations children are disproportionately represented in child protection services compared to non-Indigenous children was eye-opening.
Indeed, the statistics show that in Australia, 4.2 per cent of First Nations children are subject to a child protection intervention compared to 0.65 per cent among non-Indigenous children.
Moreover, reading Dr Georgina Ramsey’s research on 35 African refugee women resettled in Australia, titled Black Mothers, Bad Mothers: African Refugee Women and the Governing of ‘Good’ Citizens Through the Australian Child Welfare System, highlighted how the system pushed women to adhere to (unattainable) euro-centric norms of neoliberal motherhood. Failure to do so exposed non-conforming mothers to a child protection intervention, ultimately marginalising them.
These teachings underscore the urgent need to reform current policies to address health inequalities and promote better outcomes for First Nations families and migrants.
These facts helped me see beyond my pink heart-shaped glasses and assisted me in questioning my newly found privilege, ultimately reframing my perceptions.
Racism, unfortunately, exists everywhere; moving to Australia only allowed me to escape the one I had always known.
Celebrating diversity is crucial; every country should have a Harmony Day or Week.
But celebrating inclusion without acknowledging the underlying issues of racism, discrimination and social inequality that go hand in hand with it is missing an important point, in my humble opinion.
I am grateful that the country I chose to live in holds such celebrations every year, but I cannot help but feel that more could be done to foster a genuine dialogue about what authentic inclusion should be all about.
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