THE GREEN LINE'S
CHANGEMAKER INTERVIEW
On the importance of community care and how to balance work and activism with Deqa Nur
For our March 2024 Changemaker newsletter, we spoke with activist Deqa Nur about Toronto's housing crisis and how she supports marginalized communities.
A portrait of Deqa Nur.
: Abigail Wedderburn.
Adele Lukusa
Graduate of Toronto Metropolitan University and Kitchener native living in Riverdale. Enamoured with all things arts and culture. Journalist and avid zinester who loves criticism, but loves iced tea more.
March 6, 2024
Deqa Nur reminded me that there are still people who genuinely care.
She reminds me of my father, who despite his flaws, always put his community first. The way my dad welcomes and helps new immigrants navigate Kitchener mirrors how Deqa works tirelessly to support the most marginalized in Toronto.
She wears multiple hats as a grassroots organizer, nonprofit founder, executive director, neighbour and mother. In all of these roles, she reminds us of the radical power of care.
It seems so easy to isolate ourselves during these challenging times, but Deqa has over a decade in the game — a decade of caring for those who are similar to and different from herself.
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What have you noticed about the housing market, from the time you immigrated to Toronto in 1993 to today? |
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It’s changed. To be honest with you, it’s getting worse. Everybody's trying to fix the system, but the system is extremely broken. I think that's due to neglect. As a social developer, I didn't know why things weren't working. It's not working because when you neglect something, it catches up with you. Just like when you don’t do your homework; what happens when there's a test coming tomorrow? Because you neglected to study and do your homework, now you're scrambling to just pass the test. Basically in Canada, we're told we live in a developed nation. You know, this is the Global North, a developed nation, but then it's so far from really providing necessary things like shelter for people. It's like: Wait a minute. Something's wrong. I think it's the neglect that happened in the 1990s and the 2000s literally caught up with us. |
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How do you balance both having a full-time job, being a grassroots activist and helping marginalized folks get their housing needs met? |
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It gets tiring sometimes because sometimes I could be working for the system. But then I get to the community and they're like, “Yay! Deqa is gonna fight for us!” And I’m like, “My manager is gonna find out what I'm doing.” But then I also know I have a responsibility to not walk away — that's where my heart lies. When it comes to communities that feel like they've been neglected and ignored, I'll always put their needs first. I learned how to wear different hats. For example, if I'm working for an organization within the city, I'll make sure that they know where I'm coming from. I come from a grassroots background. Because a lot of the people who I work with are not from a grassroots background— they're from either the corporate or bank worlds — they operate in a different way. They operate more like: "Hush, look away; don't say, don't tell." For me, if there's an issue, we're not going to walk away. We're going to sit down, address the situation and find a solution. It's like I'm creating a second or third job for everybody. Sometimes people have other jobs, people have other lives; they don't have the time to stop and put in that extra work. But for me, I come from a marginalized community. I can't walk away. |
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Beyond your housing activism, you’ve also been helping Black women and their families through the nonprofit you founded, Hooyo Innovation Hub. What has working with these women taught you? |
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It's founded by women for women, and we serve the Black community, the African community. A lot of times, there aren’t spaces for Black newcomer women who left the workforce, had babies and now want to come back to work, or for young women who just want to start a career, make connections or find a mentor. When I created Hooyo Innovation Hub, I never in my life thought that it would really change people's lives. We serve women from ages 18 and up. So the oldest person that we had was 65, and the youngest was 19. We help them develop soft skills. For example, we give them access to technology. Some people didn't even have email, so we opened an email account for them. Some of them didn't have any devices, so we distributed close to 150 tablets. We're told Canada is a developed nation and we have people who can't even use a tablet because we're not teaching people and we’re not inviting them to learn. These women now have emails and started their own businesses and got their certifications. That's why I personally can't stop serving the community. Because if people like me — people like you and others who can navigate the system — if we say, “You know what, I'm gonna go work for Bell Canada, do my nine-to-five and enjoy time with my family,” who’s going to balance the cheque? Who’s going to really support these people? When I look at certain newcomers, I see my mom and the struggle she had to go through just to make sure that me and my six siblings can stand on our feet, so that we can also take care of our children. My mom had to break her back for me to be the Deqa that I am. My mother helped me when I needed it, and I'm just returning the favour for everyone — not just my kids, but my community, my neighbours, my coworkers. I’m just returning the favour and I'm so grateful. I won't stop because I have no reason to. |
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This interview was edited and condensed for clarity. |
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