Early Years and Upbringing

My mother is an independent working mom who has been successful in balancing both her home life and her work life. My father is a wonderful stay-at-home dad who did most of the child rearing. Although this dynamic is no longer uncommon in Canadian households, at the time it defied both Canadian societal norms and traditional Chinese gender roles. The confidence that my parents had in their gender identities played a large role in the formation of mine; it also led to my subsequent passion for gender equality. In fact, as the oldest daughter in a family of four girls and one boy, I tended to be more outspoken than my peers and often took on leadership roles that my classmates found boring. I think that it came with the bit of extra responsibility of having four younger siblings. Either way, Jasmine Pham as an elementary student was headstrong and unabashedly herself.

Unfortunately, this meant that I had no idea that girls were expected to act one way and boys another. As a result, my first experience with gender norms left me distraught. I remember playing house with my classmates and being handed an apron and a broomstick despite asking for a hammer. I then watched in horror as another classmate was given the toy instead. The reason? Well, he was a boy, and I was a girl. This happened when I was five, and even at 28 I still remember how disappointed I felt. Sadly, this was the first of many more events that left me feeling both angry and confused. I had no idea why this was happening to me or how to articulate how I felt. All I knew was that gender norms did not matter in the safety and comfort of my own home but meant the world once I took a step outside my front door.

My Primary and Secondary Schooling Experience

The gender socialization that I experienced in the playground was distressing, and what I faced in the classroom was no better. I went to a Mandarin bilingual elementary school and took Mandarin classes in junior high school. Unfortunately, the texts used in my Chinese classes often highlighted traditional Chinese gender norms. The poems that I memorized in class had subtexts detailing the habits that a girl had to develop to become the perfect wife, and the fairytales that we read usually depicted male warriors rescuing damsels in distress. The cultural expectations that came with my ethnicity intersected with the oppression that came with my gender (Manion & Shah, 2019), and these experiences often left me feeling conflicted. Was it okay to be proud of my cultural roots while also hating the patriarchal norms that came with them? I had trouble understanding what it meant to be Chinese Canadian and what it meant to be a woman. From the hidden curriculum of my playground activities to the texts used in my Chinese classes, my experience with oppression was complex, and my feelings of resentment were compounded. I thought that I was expected to be obedient because I was a girl, doubly so because of the submissive nature associated with being a girl who was also Chinese.

By the time I reached high school, I faded into the background. I put my head down, did my homework, and chose to express only the most colourful parts of myself among my small group of friends. I stopped taking on leadership roles in school. I quit the student council after serving for two years in junior high school. I also stopped volunteering in roles that required public speaking. Why? I didn’t want to be the “bossy” girl anymore. I wanted people to stop seeing me as some “smarty pants.” It was tiring having to defend myself. Just because I was a girl did not mean that I was bossy or pushy when I was simply being assertive. But I was a child who did not have the vocabulary to express myself the way that I do now. I was a child who was angry, confused, and in some ways lonely. It felt like nobody else understood why I was so upset.

Looking back, I realize that my peers did not understand what they were doing either. They were also children growing up in a world where girls and boys were expected to “participate in gender-typed activities” (Orr, 2011, p. 272). Even now boys are encouraged to engage in more physical activities, whereas girls are expected to participate in nurturing activities (Orr, 2011). And, though gendered activities such as childhood games might seem to be trivial, these expectations and perceived differences continue to affect how people socialize as teenagers and adults (Baily & Holmarsdottir, 2015; Marshall & Young, 2006). These social expectations put constraints on what boys and girls can and cannot do, which then limits their vision of the future in terms of their education and career choices (Baily & Holmarsdottir, 2015). Despite having positive role models and being an outspoken, rambunctious child, I struggled with the power of gender socialization. So I spent the rest of my adolescent years grappling with the freedom of expression that I had at home and the social pressure that I had at school.

Unearthing My Voice

As I got older, I started to find bits and pieces of myself again. I started my undergraduate studies in September 2012 and noticed how the brilliant women in my classes spoke up and shared their insights. I took classes with both female and male professors who praised my work and offered suggestions for student clubs. I started to feel less afraid. There was always that voice in the back of my head telling me to stop being such a “smarty pants” or to stop “being so loud,” but the voice became softer as the world around me evolved. And as I progressed in my undergraduate studies, the gender discussions that I had in class became more nuanced, enabling me to recognize that gender equality is not about pitting one gender against the other (Harris & Leonardo, 2018) but about embracing the multiple forms of masculinity and femininity. Equality means providing all genders with the option to choose what is best for them and what is best for me, the ability to speak up and speak out.

After receiving my Bachelor of Education in 2016, I flew halfway across the world to teach English as a Foreign Language in Seoul, South Korea. I spent two wonderful years as a native English teacher and learned a lot about myself. I became well known for going against the grain and pushing back against standards that did not sit right with me. Although I adored my students and most of my colleagues, I realized that being the lone person who spoke up was not enough. I soon developed an interest in policy studies that ultimately took me to Toronto, a diverse city composed of various cultures and ethnicities.

Becoming a Graduate Student Online

In 2019, I enrolled in the ELP program at the OISE with the hope not only of expanding my teaching pedagogy but also of developing my knowledge in educational policies. I wanted to know how I could disrupt a system that simply does not work for traditionally marginalized groups. Perhaps it was because I moved to a new city, or maybe it was because I went from being a teacher to being a student again, but I spent the first semester of my MEd with my head down. I had a crippling case of imposter syndrome (Clance & Imes, 1978) that made it hard for me to make friends and participate in student groups. Halfway through my second semester, though, things went online, and suddenly my nerves went away. As an independent learner who prefers to approach readings and discussions at my own pace, the shift to online learning gave me more flexibility in how I participated in class. Theoretically, I already knew that women are confident and independent learners online (Price, 2006) but experiencing it for the first time myself really solidified this point.

For one thing, seeing my classmates through a smaller screen was less intimidating. As a shorter woman, I no longer had to look up at 90% of my classmates. Another perk was that I no longer had to strain my voice to be heard. And, like other women who found that online learning offered them more control over their education (Gokool-Ramdoo, 2005), I also felt more control over how I engaged with my studies. Private chats as well as break-out rooms over Zoom meant having the ability to share more intimate discussions in smaller groups. It also meant having the opportunity to get to know my classmates more personally. Sometimes a pet cat would walk over someone’s keyboard, or a child could be heard laughing in the background. Despite seeing one another only on the screen, something about break-out discussions and seeing my classmates show up in their pajamas felt more humanizing than attending classes in person. Really, online learning helped me to feel more, not less, connected to my classmates.

Finding Solace in Online Spaces

Discovering online spaces and joining student groups were other bonuses of online learning. BIPOC communities have long been engaging in practices that preserve their humanity in educational systems that continue to dehumanize and systemically oppress us (Abdi et al., 2020). Thus, it is no surprise that the shift to online learning has meant the creation of online spaces that cater to different demographics. And, though my previous experience with in-person learning meant that the classmates and colleagues whom I talked to depended on proximity, online learning meant that my network could expand beyond Toronto and North America.

By the time I entered the second year of my MEd, I had become a member of the Comparative, International and Development Education Student Association (CIDESA), which plans events for both students and faculty members. Our co-presidents at the time were two women of colour, and they acted as my mentors. They supported me during my studies and even offered me the position of administrative officer. As one of the core members of CIDESA, I soon became the person encouraging student participation and ensuring that student voices were heard through monthly check-ins. Despite the lack of in-person classes, CIDESA’s events helped both students and faculty members alike to connect online. Being a part of CIDESA also enabled me to network with professors and students within the field of comparative, international, and development education. The costs that usually came with travel and in-person conferences were no longer a factor in whether I could afford to attend them or not. So I was able to present my own research at seminars and gain feedback from my colleagues.

As a member of CIDESA, I also connected with the OISE East Asian Interest Group, in which graduate students interested in East Asia came together to discuss their experiences as graduate students in Canada, celebrate cultural events, and present their research. This group was founded by Phoebe Kang, who realized that there were few spaces for East Asian students to talk about their experiences. She spearheaded the group and created a safe online space for us to gather. In 2020, our small team of 11 planned and hosted an Asian Heritage Month Symposium. At this online symposium, I was part of the graduate student panel and shared my experiences with gender socialization and anti-Asian sentiment in Canada. Other women who had similar experiences reached out after the event and thanked me for having the courage to be loud about and proud of my culture and being brave enough to share the sexism and racism that I had encountered.

I went on to join the OISE Student Experience Committee and became a mentor for the OISE mentorship program. In 2022, I also became the director of public relations for the University of Toronto’s Chinese Graduate Student Association. As a member of these groups, I reconnected with my roots and realized that I am more than the stereotypes that came with being Chinese Canadian and queer. I came to realize that I can disagree with certain parts of my culture and still be proud of who I am. So too I can reject gender norms and still be a woman. And, really, it was through the sharing of my experiences at various virtual conferences and group meetings that helped me to realize just how important it is to have the space in which to talk through the gender- and race-related micro-aggressions that I faced (Kohli & Solórzano, 2012).

So I transitioned from a young girl confused by gender expectations to a young woman who wanted to dismantle our patriarchal system and break both gender and racial barriers. I did not have many opportunities to speak out and advocate for myself during my high school years, but I have been able to do so now as a doctoral candidate and student leader. It can be scary and daunting to share intimate details about yourself, but the online communities that I found helped me to open up. I’d like to thank the student leaders who came before me, the women who acted as my mentors, the women who listened to my concerns, and the women who celebrated my wins. Although I have yet to meet most of these women in person, the connections that we have built are no less valid.

Conclusion

Effective learning environments require the building of community to encourage students and faculty members alike to interact in meaningful ways (Santovec, 2010). I am just one voice, one educator, and one researcher who wishes to tackle both racism and sexism head on, but the communities of which I am a part and the brilliant mentors whom I have in my life are evidence that I am not alone. And, really, every time I present at a conference to share my work, I realize that the spaces that we have carved for ourselves have become bigger and will become bigger yet with time. As more women take on leadership roles in higher education and create communities in online spaces, other women who enter our respective fields will have the positive role models and support systems necessary to keep pressing forward. Although the misogyny and racism that we encountered in traditionally masculine and white spaces cannot be undone, we can make changes now for the future. I hope that we can offer the spaces that we needed as students to our students moving forward.

References

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