I am a white, well-educated woman of means. For the last several days I've contemplated what to say about the heartache, pain, and suffering emanating from people across the world in response to the ongoing violence perpetrated against black men and women. I've kept quiet. This is partly because I don't know how to say something that would be even remotely meaningful, and partly because I believe that, as a person of privilege, my voice is not really relevant. I fear that anything I have to say will be cringe-worthy. But, enough now. #blackouttuesday has offered me an opportunity to learn, reflect, and write, and maybe my exploration will help someone else begin theirs.
The #blacklivesmatter movement emerged from the United States several years ago in response to the senseless murder of Trayvon Martin. Although the seemingly unending cycle of racism has been primarily contextualized in the United States, the truth is that it is mirrored world-wide and Canada is no exception. Canadian people of color experience micro and macro aggressions daily; perhaps this is felt most keenly among First Nations people. I think that what unsettles me most is how people perceive racism to be expressed. As the quote from Scott Woods attests to, racism is much more than overt acts of violence, hate speech, or organized crime. Racism is so ingrained in our social fabric that we often aren't aware of it. But, if you've ever hesitated to sit beside a person of color on the bus, or felt frightened by the Indigenous men walking toward you on the sidewalk, or assumed that the Filipino woman pushing a baby carriage was the live-in nanny, you've been complicit in racism. I have.
The other side of the racism coin is privilege. Privilege also goes largely undetected, and people of privilege are often blissfully unaware that they posses it. I was. I honestly believed that I was one of those people who didn't see color; after all, my best friends were black and Filipino (sound familiar?). Consequently I felt no need to interrogate the racism that others experienced or the role that my own privilege played in these situations. I was well into adulthood and had traveled all over the world before it occurred to me that maybe I took for granted some things that people of color couldn't.
I had gone back to school at the University of Saskatchewan and was taking an upper year psychology course in group dynamics. One of the women who was in my group, Tenille, was Cree. A couple of weeks into the semester we were chatting and I learned that Tenille was commuting to campus from Prince Albert, which was an hour-and-a-half long drive. I asked her why she didn't just get a place in Saskatoon. She reported that she'd tried phoning dozens of landlords, but couldn't even get an appointment for a viewing. Silence. It occurred to me that I'd had no trouble finding a place (it only took one call), and that Tenille had a very thick Cree accent. A few weeks later, she got so sick that she missed more than a week of classes. When she returned, I asked what had happened. She had gotten a bad bacterial throat infection but had trouble getting a prescription for medication. The first doctor she had seen refused to give her a prescription "until she stopped drinking." I knew Tenille to be a non-drinker; she didn't touch the stuff. My face must have expressed pure beffudlement until I put it together--the doctor had assumed that Tenille was sick because she was a drunk Indian. I burned with shame in that moment, knowing that such a profound breach of care was not likely to ever happen to me.
After getting to know Tenille I started to become more sensitized to my own privilege. I understood that I'd never been subject to sideways glances in a department store, or followed by security guards, or pulled over for no reason because I was a white girl; I was nondescript, average looking, with skin as pale as the moon. I would never be erroneously exoticized, I would never be considered the "other," I would never be a part of the group characterized as "you people." I would never have someone assume that I was stupid, or lazy, or an addict, or a delinquent because of the color of my skin. I would have largely trouble-free access to a high quality education, social supports, and health care. Regardless of how challenging things became for me, I would always have the opportunity for better outcomes compared with a woman of color in the same situation.
I have long since lost touch with Tenille, but I have made a conscious effort to learn more about my role in racist behaviors. I have engaged in anti-racist education and worked with generous mentors who have helped me to sort out how I might become a better ally. This brings me to the crux of what I wanted to say today, which is essentially an admission of guilt, or maybe shame (we're back to Brene Brown). The real reason I've backed away from saying much about #blacklivesmatter is because of my own discomfort. I've literally closed my web browser any time I've come across news about the #blacklivesmatter movement; I've felt my throat constrict and promised myself I'd think about it some other day. I've also spent lots of time berating myself for this discomfort. Again, enough! Today I'm owning the shame by recognizing it, examining it critically, and reaching out. Although I've fallen into the trap of swimming around in white fragility, I know that it doesn't have to end here. I can do better, and I will.
I'm starting today with my kids. My son, especially, because in addition to having a Nordic shade of white skin with blonde hair and blue eyes, he's also male. He's a prime candidate for ignoring privilege and internalizing racism, but not on my watch. Today, COVID-19 is a blessing because he's at home and I can tailor his learning however I want. This morning we had a chat about #blackouttuesday and I left him with several questions to research. We'll look at his results together tonight and come up with a plan of action for becoming more effective allies, for being part of the solution rather than part of the problem. Together, we'll keep "scooping out our boats" so that we can see more clearly.
#thesignificanceproject #significanceproject #significance #blackouttuesday #blacklivesmatter #racism #privilege #whitefragility #shame #ally
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