By Paromita Naidu

British Columbia is slowly beginning to reopen.

Peering out from my isolated existence of the last three months, I am cautiously optimistic about our return to normalcy. 

What gets me really excited though, is the potential for a reimagining of a wide range of things normally perceived as “fixed”. The stuff we never thought could be different.

Things like: how we work, how we travel, how we address environmental issues, how we educate children, how we feed ourselves, how we connect with family, how we distribute resources, how we support front-line workers, et cetera. The list is endless.

Let’s think about Mother’s Day, for example. 

How has this day been practised in the past? How can it be reimagined in the future?

But why think about it in the first place?

It’s a very interesting symbol of how we function, think, and act as a collective. It’s a space for reimagination.

Every Mother’s Day I am reminded that “motherhood” is not a universal sentiment or practice. I am reminded who this day is for, and who it ISN’T for.

This Mother’s Day, in particular, is especially poignant, given the circumstances. Our realities have been rendered precarious to say the least.

Unpacking the mythology behind Mother’s Day means we must recognize several things, including a deeply embedded ideology that mothers, and their experiences of motherhood, are a monolith. 

We all know our unique histories make us different. I want to go a bit deeper here: to the intersections that tend to get really fuzzy every May. Let me explain further.

Not a lot of people seem to want to resist, disrupt or reimagine the idea of “Mother’s Day” and its essentializing nature. And I get it… I have many beautiful memories of Mother’s Day in Canada. Many people cherish sanctified holidays to honour those we love, those who have passed on, and to remind us of familial sacrifice. I know this and I honour it.

The mothers in my life are deserving of admiration, praise, and a special day (commercialism and gendered ideas aside). 

But I also think it’s valuable and important to acknowledge that the idea of a shared experience of motherhood is a misnomer. And that many mothers sit outside this paradigm we have constructed.

I am a first-generation settler in unceded lands, raising two teens as a single mom. I have advantageous class and caste roots. I identify as female. I am dark-skinned. I am able-bodied, educated, housed, and healthy. I have had mentors. I am employed. I have citizenship. I speak the language that allows me to move about freely in my city. I have had opportunities. I have hope. I have love. My kids are healthy and (cap)able in all ways. 

I position myself this way to show my privileged existence, because it is in THIS context that I have raised my children. My privilege has afforded the three of us to thrive on Coast Salish land. We work and live within a set of systems that has rewarded us with safety, security, and stability.

This is not to say I haven’t had struggles in my life. I’ve had many actually… all deeply impactful, never to be erased, but as a mother, I have not had the following:

...A mother’s worry that her child will be a target of loathing and violence because of their Asian ancestry. Asians have been viewed as somehow “responsible” for the COVID-19 pandemic. There have been 20 anti-Asian hate crimes have been reported to Vancouver police so far this year.

...A mother’s stress of an economic and immigration system that requires her to work in dangerous life-threatening conditions like Alberta’s Cargill plant—even during a pandemic. Loss of (a wage-earner’s) life is a risk many immigrants must take in order to survive. 

...A mother’s concern that as rates of infection skyrocket in her remote First Nations community—instead of much needed staff, clean water, road access, housing, and medical supplies/resources/infrastructure—the federal government will, once again, send bodybags (as they did in 2009).

…A mother’s dread about letting her child go jogging only to be hunted down because of their skin colour and a legacy of systemic subjugations. Jogging, talking, hanging out, walking, working, sitting, playing, gathering with friends, et cetera—now all life-threatening activities for Black people in various cities across the United States.

…A mother’s pained realization that her child’s romantic relationship with a toxic partner has resulted in their murder. Deeply embedded beliefs about power, masculinity, control, and violence serve to protect abusers. Reports of violence against women and trans women has exponentially increased during the pandemic. 

These are just a few of the issues many mothers carry with them, highlighted in our current context.

This Mother’s Day let’s make space to reimagine.

Space to contemplate that we actually aren’t all in this together.

Space to accept struggles can look very different from our own.

Space to learn about entrenched systems of power affect our lives in profound ways.  

A mother’s experience can range from worry about keeping our families fed, healthy, educated, and connected during this pandemic (HARD) to literally being traumatized each time their child walks out the door (HUGE). But we need to see something here. It is only our privilege keeps us safe from the latter. Let’s own this. Then let’s pass the “bouquet of flowers” to our left.

Only from including and listening can we begin to dismantle some of these systems and concepts that impact many mothers and leave them and their families struggling in ways we simply cannot perceive.

Eventually, if we are able to work towards equity and justice for all the mothers not like us, in some deeply meaningful ways—we will finally truly honour them and reimagine the Mother’s Day as we once knew it. A new world is opening up.