The Language of Courage: Breaking Silence, Building Voices

The first time Khadija spoke up in a community meeting, her voice shook so violently that she could barely finish her sentence. She was advocating for her daughter's right to wear hijab during school sports activities, a simple request that shouldn't have required courage, but in that moment felt like the bravest thing she'd ever done.

“In Somalia, I was known for my voice,” Khadija remembers. “I was a teacher, a community organizer. I spoke at meetings, led discussions, advocated for change. But when I came to Canada, it was like my voice got lost somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean.”

Language barriers were part of it, the careful translation of thoughts into unfamiliar words, the fear of being misunderstood or dismissed because of an accent. But there was something deeper at play: the quiet erosion of confidence that happens when you’re constantly navigating systems you don’t fully understand, when you’re grateful just to be accepted and hesitant to ask for anything more.

For three years, Khadija stayed quiet. She attended parent-teacher conferences but rarely asked questions. She shopped for groceries but never complained when items were mislabeled or expired. She accepted housing conditions that weren’t quite adequate, employment terms that weren’t quite fair, treatment that wasn’t quite respectful.

“Your voice isn’t foreign here—it’s necessary here. Every time you stay silent about something that matters, you rob the community of your wisdom.”

“I convinced myself that keeping quiet was being grateful,” she reflects. “I thought speaking up would make me seem ungrateful for the opportunity to be here. But silence wasn’t protecting me—it was diminishing me.”

The breaking point came when her thirteen-year-old daughter Amina came home in tears, having been told she couldn’t participate in track and field while wearing her hijab. The coach had cited “safety concerns” that felt more like cultural misunderstanding than genuine safety policy.

“When I saw my daughter’s disappointment, I realized my silence wasn’t just affecting me anymore,” Khadija says. “It was teaching her that our voices didn’t matter, that our needs weren’t worth fighting for.”

That’s when Khadija found Global Citizen Incorporated’s advocacy support program. Sa’adatu didn’t just offer to speak for her—she offered to help Khadija find her own voice again.

“Sa’adatu told me something that changed everything,” Khadija recalls. ‘Your voice isn’t foreign here—it’s necessary here.’ She helped me understand that speaking up wasn’t being demanding. It was being responsible.

The advocacy training began with personal storytelling—practicing articulating her experiences and needs in ways that others could understand and connect with. Khadija learned to frame her daughter’s hijab not as a special accommodation, but as a basic religious freedom that strengthened the school’s commitment to inclusivity.

“I practiced my presentation twenty times,” Khadija admits. “But when I stood up in that school board meeting, something shifted. I wasn’t just speaking for my daughter anymore, I was speaking for every parent who had stayed silent because they didn’t think their voice mattered.”

Her advocacy succeeded. The school district not only accommodated her daughter’s needs but developed comprehensive policies ensuring religious accommodations for all students. More importantly for Khadija, the experience awakened something she thought she’d lost forever: her sense of agency.

The transformation rippled through every aspect of her life. At work, she began suggesting improvements to customer service procedures that would better serve diverse populations. In her neighborhood, she organized a tenant meeting to address maintenance issues that had been ignored for months. At her children’s schools, she joined the parent council and championed programs that celebrated cultural diversity.

“People started asking me to speak at events, to share my story, to advocate for policy changes,” Khadija says. “But the most important thing was that my children saw me using my voice. They learned that speaking up isn’t confrontational—it’s powerful.”

Her daughter Amina, now a confident high school student, credits her mother’s transformation with her own leadership development. “Watching my mom find her voice taught me that I don’t have to choose between being respectful and being heard,” Amina explains. “She showed me that using your voice responsibly is actually a form of respect—for yourself and for your community.”

Khadija’s advocacy work has expanded beyond individual issues to systemic change. She now serves on the provincial integration advisory committee, helping to shape policies that affect newcomer communities across Newfoundland and Labrador. Her recommendations have led to improved language access in government services, enhanced cultural competency training for service providers, and stronger anti-discrimination protections.

But perhaps her most important work happens in smaller, more personal moments. She mentors other newcomer women who are struggling to find their voices, helping them understand that speaking up isn’t just a right—it’s a responsibility to their communities and their children.

“I tell them what Sa’adatu told me,” Khadija says. “Your voice isn’t foreign here, it’s necessary here. Every time you stay silent about something that matters, you rob the community of your wisdom, your perspective, your solutions.”

The ripple effects of voice-finding extend throughout the community. When Maria spoke up about the need for Spanish-language health information, the entire community gained access to multilingual health resources. When Ahmed advocated for culturally appropriate funeral services, all religious communities benefited from expanded accommodation policies. When Fatima requested halal options in the school lunch program, the conversation expanded to address all dietary restrictions and preferences.

“We’ve learned that advocacy isn’t about creating special privileges for particular groups,” explains GCI’s advocacy coordinator. “It’s about identifying ways systems can work better for everyone. When you address the barriers faced by the most marginalized, you often improve things for everyone.”

Today, when Khadija speaks at community meetings, her voice doesn’t shake. Not because she’s no longer nervous, but because she understands that her nervousness is less important than her message, that her accent is less significant than her advocacy, that her gratitude for being in Canada is best expressed not through silence, but through active participation in making it better.

“I realized that the most Canadian thing I could do was use my voice to improve my community,” Khadija reflects. “Democracy isn’t a spectator sport. If you want to belong here, you have to participate here.”

Standing before a recent town hall meeting, addressing concerns about newcomer integration, Khadija embodies Global Citizen Incorporated’s vision of empowerment. Her voice—clear, confident, carrying the wisdom of two worlds—reminds everyone present that belonging isn’t just about being accepted. It’s about accepting the responsibility to speak up, to advocate, to use whatever voice you have to build the community you want to live in.

“My voice got stronger not because I learned to speak louder,” she concludes, “but because I learned to speak with purpose. And when you speak with purpose, the whole world listens.”