Newsrooms need to take chances if they're really going to become more diverse, Somji said.

Photo courtesy Mahjabeen Somji

It’s 8:07 a.m. and I’ve already snoozed my alarm five times. It takes a lot to get me to wake up in the morning. But I’m up and dressed in my favourite pair of skinny jeans and a white blouse. “It’s too tight,” I think to myself.     

So I put on a hot pink top I  bought from H&M last week instead. I think normal people would wear it as a dress though. Not to say I’m abnormal. I just do something that no other person in my program year does in the morning: I wear a hijab. 

When I entered J-school in 2009, I was the only person from all four years to cover my head; at least I think I was. But I was proud. My hijab defined me. I stood out from the crowd and I liked that. I started wearing the hijab in Grade 12. At a time when most children turn rebellious, I turned towards my religion. I was always a religious person, but never found it necessary to wear a scarf on my head to prove my faith. Besides, I wanted to be a TV reporter. And no media organization would hire me with ‘that’ on my head, would they? It wasn’t until I attended a camp in Iran in the summer of 2008 that I realized the importance of what my religion was telling me to do. 

I learned that the hijab is not a sign of oppression, but rather a call to liberation. I gave it much thought that summer. I felt the need to choose between my religion and my career. The thought of having to make that choice made me uncomfortable though. I was worried that the identity I was about to fully embrace might get in the way of my passion for journalism. But I was adamant. If my freedom of expression and religion would limit me from my career, then what’s the point of becoming a journalist? I wanted to tell the truth, and be the voice of diversity. But if I was afraid to show my true self, then becoming a journalist is meaningless. So I put the hijab on that summer thinking that being adamant is what being a journalist is all about. All I knew is that I would have to fight and I would have to prove myself worthy.  

I’ve received great instruction throughout my four years in the program. I’ve been trained in all areas of journalism, which only confirms that my first love is still TV. Over the course of my time at Ryerson, I’ve always been caught in this one particular dilemma — besides the obvious, the ones about the scarf colours that I should wear for TV broadcasts. I always thought others would find it a little weird for me to report on issues such as the Taliban, terrorism and Islamophobia. I obviously don’t support terrorism, and believe that these people use the name of religion to do bad things. But as a woman in hijab and reporting on issues of the sort, I still worry about how an audience would interpret my reporting. Would my reporting help end Islamophobia? Would I be respected? Or would people not take the news I report seriously? 

I think the media needs a new voice, and that it needs multiculturalism and diversity. And the only way that can happen is when newsrooms take chances. I must have asked all my instructors at Ryerson if they thought I could be a TV reporter with my hijab. And it was always the same reply. “Well, it could go either way,” they would say. 

Either my employers will love the fact that I bring diversity into their newsrooms, or they won't. I’m still unsure of my job prospects in the field. One thing is for sure; if someone is going to claim the title of the first hijabi reporter on Canadian television, it’s going to be me.