Translator: Geoff Jensen Reviewer: Ryan You
Three years ago, I was presenting at a conference,
and the keynote speaker was speaking two hours before me,
so I had plenty of time to kill.
At this particular keynote,
I didn't want to go in the auditorium to listen to the talk.
I didn't want to go because the topic was about something
I didn't think I could relate to.
It was about the speaker's experiences as a Jewish gay man.
(Laughter)
I knew I couldn't learn anything from this man.
(Laughter)
After all, I'm not gay,
I'm not Jewish, and I'm not a man.
So what could I possibly learn from him?
But I had nothing else to do before my presentation,
so I decided I would sit in the auditorium and just play on my phone.
Once the speaker started sharing his message,
I was instantly taken aback
that I even forgot I was there to play on my phone.
First, I was shocked by how much this man had gone through
just to be accepted by society.
And then I realized that even though his experiences were different
from my own journey, we were not all that different.
That day, here is what I learned:
that whether you're gay or straight,
black or white,
Jewish, Christian, or Muslim,
Democrat or Republican,
human beings at their very core are yearning for the same thing:
to be accepted for who we are.
In my early days of coming to America,
I struggled with sticking out as different.
Whenever people asked me, "What's your name, hon?"
I would say, "My name is Seconde,"
and they would say, "Oh, you have a beautiful accent,"
and I would reply, "Thank you."
But I was aware that my accent had an accent.
So I already knew the follow-up question, which was: "Where are you from?"
I would pause, think,
and then say, "I'm Canadian."
(Laughter)
But they would ponder my answer, give me a once over, and ask again:
"But where are you from originally?" with a fat emphasis on "originally."
It wasn't until, one day, my two teenage daughters sat me down,
looked me in the eye, and, with a teenage attitude, said,
"Mom, we've noticed that each time people ask you where you come from,
"you lie."
(Laughter)
Yeah, it was like a mini-intervention or something.
(Laughter)
What my daughters didn't know was why I was trying to hide my origins.
At that time, they were too young
to fully understand the many scars I carried within,
scars of a childhood lived in a war-torn country.
I was born and grew up in Burundi,
a small country located in East Central Africa.
From the age of six, I had experienced civil wars,
constant unrest and destruction in my country,
that I felt ashamed of the war stigma
and the many invisible wounds it inflicted on me.
And as a result of the ongoing civil wars, I became a war refugee,
and I lived in Canada for 12 years before moving of the United States.
Moving from Africa to Canada and then to America
meant that I had to deal with a set of new expectations
from different people and different cultures.
As a newcomer, there was always a place
where my being different was pointed out,
and not always in a good way,
which is why I was trying to hide my origins
when people asked me where I came from.
I wanted to belong and to be fully accepted.
Today, I consider myself fortunate to have experienced life
in these different cultural settings.
They gave me a new sense of appreciation,
and new perspectives when it comes to diversity and inclusion.
Now, I'm not saying that it was all smooth sailing,
but what I learned came from some of the most difficult situations,
especially as a mother -
situations like when my children came home from school crying
because they had been called names by their classmates
when they had started school -
names such as "chocolate milk"
or asked whether their mom drank too much black coffee
when she was pregnant.
Granted, these words had a racial connotation,
but five-, six-, and seven-year-old children are not racist.
Those kids were only acting out of what they didn't know,
and what they have not been taught.
I could have blamed their parents, their teachers, or the principal,
and to be honest with you, I did.
But then after some time I realized that no amount of blaming
could have restored my children's self-esteem
or reduced my own pain.
When people think "different is bad for you,"
and you buy into it, before you know,
you might start denying your own self-worth
and self-identity, as I was doing
before my teenagers set me straight.
That's when I decided that the only thing I could really control
was to choose how to respond.
I could be bitter,
or I could be better.
It was my choice.
So instead of fear, I started using
my differences and my adversities
to fuel my compassion for others.
I chose to advocate for and educate about diversity,
and to bridge the cultural gap between our communities.
That became my passion and my mission.
Today, I see how the fear of our differences
is affecting the youth in our schools and communities across America,
and the growing disconnect young people feel
when it comes to their social identities.
When I speak to students in high schools
or colleges and universities,
the number one hurdle they share
is not about academic achievement.
No, it is about the fear of being different,
and the threats they sometimes face
on their campuses or in their communities,
mostly because of their race, gender,
sexual identity, and religion.
Some of you have walked into a situation where you were put in a box,
maybe because of how you look, who you love,
what religion you practice, or how your name sounds.
At times, we've all been a victim and a perpetrator
of stereotypes and biases.
But when we unleash our capacity for human connection and human empathy,
we give others the gift of living in their own truth.
I now look at racism, sexism,
or any other type of discrimination that plagues our society today
with these two perspectives:
One, it's what it does to the person it's committed against,
and two, it is what it does to the perpetrator
of that discrimination.
I truly believe the victim as well as the perpetrator
are both wounded, and they need healing.
Deep in my heart,
I know we are more alike than different,
so I have hope that we can build an even more beautiful world
if we choose to use our differences as a catalyst
to uplift one another.
If we choose to see others for who they are and not what they are,
we might even change the world.
Sometimes people ask me, "Seconde,
"so what we can do so that our next generation
"can live in a world where differences are celebrated?"
So let me just share three things today you can start to do today.
Number one, start where you are,
and where you have most personal power to impact change.
It can be in your home, your school,
your community, or your workplace.
And number two, be brave.
What do I mean by that?
Be brave by having conversations
that are sometimes uncomfortable.
Race issues, for instance, in America,
is an uncomfortable topic for many people.
But it's not going away just by ignoring it.
So let's have a conversation about race,
and seek understanding from one another
and heal each other.
And number three, be flexible.
Even when something you don't understand or you don't agree with,
have an open mind and learn what you don't know.
In the end, it really comes down to
giving a kind smile to a stranger,
a handshake or headshake
to acknowledge somebody and say,
"I see you."
"I love you."
"You matter."
Thank you.
(Applause)