navigating the complexity of community as diasporic kids
essential work for difficult times.
I grew up immersed in Panjabi culture from a young age.
I learned to speak Panjabi before I learned English, and I went to Panjabi school for several years to learn to read and write Gurmukhi. I visited the gurdwara nearly every weekend with my parents and grandparents, and listened to Panjabi music everyday, learning to do bhangra in my basement.
All this made me feel connected to the community in many ways, but it also came with complexity.
There was a constant comparison to siblings, friends and cousins, feeling like if one of us succeeded, the rest of us might lose.
There were codependent tendencies in almost every diasporic family I knew — dynamics where one person’s mood (often a father-figure) dictated outcomes for everyone else, teaching us a toxic version of collectivism.
I was taught that the opinions of others, and being accepted by others, was more important than what I wanted for myself.
As I grew up, this complexity distanced me from the diaspora, and tainted my idea of community.
I found these community “values” drowning out my voice and getting in the way of authentic connection to others. It felt like everyone was competing with me, or telling me what to do, rather than wanting the best for each other, or allowing us to be our own unique selves.
Most of us didn't even know who that was.
In an effort to find peace in my mid-20s, I found myself idealizing hyper-independence, focusing on growing my career and on securing financial stability to ensure I would never rely on anyone for anything. My goal was to be able to hire or buy anything I ever needed, and I was fixated on the idea of being “self-made”. I wanted to build my life on my own, without asking for anything as small as a ride to the airport.
As I look back on that period of my life, I now have the language and understanding that hyper-independence is a western value — one that made me feel closer to whiteness — and therefore superior to those in my community who relied so much on each other for validation and for direction on what to do, and how to think.
But both hyper-independence and toxic communities feel a little like heartbreak: they both leave us feeling lonely.
Even when we’re surrounded by people who love us, we don’t really want to connect with them — because both ideologies reinforce fear. Independence has us nervous about leaning too much on others, and a toxic community makes us feel like they may take advantage of us, or get something that we’re working towards.
In more recent years, I’ve been approaching my community with a sense of curiosity, asking questions of my family and friends, even intentionally of those who I’ve distanced myself from in the past.
Unpacking their stories and connecting the dots has led me to clearly see the impacts of colonization, generational poverty, migrating to a new country, and facing a scarcity of resources, access and opportunities.
This community, and others in diaspora, were forced to compete: survival required them to fear others getting what they needed.
Acceptance and belonging to an in-group was also critical for their survival in a new country — whether that was to make sure they weren’t ostracized from their own community, or in finding ways to assimilate in western spaces.
While circumstances have changed drastically for many people in the diaspora, especially for those of South Asian descent, they have trauma and wounds that they haven’t had the tools, time and/or energy (and in some cases desire) to manage, and that remain unresolved.
There is now also a desire for power and control, to finally get a piece of the pie for themselves after colonial histories. They don't have the awareness to recognize that this power often comes at the expense of others, and that they're perpetuating the same patterns that they and their ancestors are/were subjected to.
The reality is that humans are social beings, and we need each other.
And now, more than ever, as systems begin to collapse, and we finally realize we can’t rely on them, there is a call for us to rally in community, and to support one another in meaningful ways.
But given our complex and nuanced relationship with the idea of community, so many women of colour in my circle are especially cautious and hesitant to join others.
The middle ground between hyper-independence and a toxic community requires us to be very intentional about who we surround ourselves with, and to become the very people we’re seeking out.
It requires us to sit with and unlearn how we were taught and told to be in community, and decide how exactly we'd like to be connected to one another, now that we get a choice.
Healthy collectivism means relying on one another, but not in ways that require us to abandon ourselves. In fact, it requires us to embrace our roots and our identities, to be grounded in who we are, so that we can bring perspectives to the table.
There needs to be alignment in shared values that create room for each of us to thrive, lean into our strengths and passions, and find the best ways to contribute to a common goal.
One of those goals could be to root in love + care in an effort to navigate the collapse of existing oppressive systems, and to build new ways of living and working.
To do that, we have to learn how to build deeper connection, be interdependent, supportive, and uplifting of one another.
We also need to learn to resolve conflict, navigate disappointment, and repair harm in healthy ways.
We have to hold ourselves and each other accountable, and encourage our very best, sincere, and truthful efforts towards the cause — which might mean calling in, and calling out, our loved ones.
It's a difficult task, but an essential one. And it starts with each of us.
This work is not something we need to learn to do from scratch — we must lean on Black and Indigenous wisdom, feminism, and liberation work to help us understand it better. Black and Indigenous communities are, and have been, the most oppressed and marginalized within our societies, and their teachings and perspectives are the most important to listen to and learn from, especially on ways to build revolutionary community spaces. The writing (books, essays, articles), podcasts, interviews, speeches and documentaries already exist to give us a blueprint to follow.
The significance and weight of this work has never been more crucial.
Hey! I’m Kirn, a business + clarity coach, strategist + guide for creative women who are seeking sustained joy + alignment in their life + work.
I've spent over 8 years in the white male dominated corporate world, feeling like I was suffocating + completely out of place.
Like many daughters of Indian immigrants, I also spent a lot of timing feeling disconnected from my culture, facing + challenging misogyny, patriarchy + familial expectations.
A stress-induced breakdown in mid-2017 changed the way I viewed my life and put me on a journey towards finding myself, connecting to my core values, and living in deep alignment + joy.
Now, I support women in uncovering and living out their wildest dreams + desires in business + life.
If this resonates, learn more about working with me here.