First Thoughts on Racism

I nervously step out into unfamiliar water. Nervous that I will say the wrong thing. Nervous that my words won’t matter. I know that they are not enough. But I refuse to stay silent. I will not continue to be someone who turns my head away and does nothing, claiming there is nothing I can do. On one hand I feel massively unqualified to talk to this issue. I know that I cannot truly understand racism and its effects because I am too shielded by my privilege. But on the other hand, I do feel qualified – indeed, compelled – to speak out, if only because I CARE. Those of us who care need to try, even if our words are inadequate, even if we miss the mark, even risking harm in learning to do better.

And we can do better. We MUST.

Starting to do better must include understanding and acknowledging what this is about. That this is not a band-aid issue. This is not a police training issue. This is a systemic issue. You are a part of it. I am a part of it. Every institution in our society is a part of it.

Take public school, for example. Public education – the great equalizer. Public education, where every child gets an equal chance at success. Ha! I work in the system, and I see those ‘equal chances’. I worked in an inner-city school for the first three years of my career as a teacher. A school where the majority of kids were Black, and almost none were white. My students came from homes where both parents (or the only parent) worked multiple jobs and sometimes seven-year-olds did most of the parenting. Where students came to school hungry and underdressed and when I called home there was about a 50% chance that the phone had been disconnected. Where the student response to a shooting in our school yard was either apathy or excitement – excitement to share their own stories of violence or of family members who’d been sent to jail. Seven-year-olds. When we had a fundraiser, we raised a couple hundred dollars, and it all came from our own neighbourhood. We used that money for subsidizing field trips for kids who couldn’t afford to go with us. That might have been their only cultural outing of the year.

Contrast that with the school I moved to, where students spent their evenings and weekends at tutoring and language class, where families went out for dinner, where extended family provided care and healthy meals. Families not only had phones connected, but students had access to their own devices and reliable internet. When we had a fundraiser we raised several thousand dollars. And some of that money came from colleagues of the parents, who lived in other more affluent areas of the city. We used that money to buy Smart boards and iPads, even though these kids mostly had access to devices at home. Tell me where the equalizing is in that scenario.

That’s racism.

How about the justice system? Or the education system, as it leads INTO the justice system? Students of all colours, and especially Black students, are more likely to get into trouble for the same behaviour as their white classmates. They are more likely to be suspended for that behaviour. White kids who are unlucky enough to find themselves in the justice system are more likely to get good representation and lenient sentences.

That’s racism.

Even when you control for poverty, there is racism at work here. But you can’t control for poverty. That’s part of the problem. Because of the way laws were set up in this country, and even more so in the US, when we abolished slavery and then eventually changed the laws that made it illegal for Black people to own property, it didn’t really do much. It was a step in the right direction, but it didn’t actually change anything, because the property was already owned by white folk.

Still confused? Imagine you sit down to play a game of Monopoly. But some of the players start with a couple of properties and three times the money as the others. How fair will that game be? How much fun will it be for the have-nots? What’s the chance they win? Now imagine that’s your life. No matter how much we say the rules are the same for everybody, the disparities will never become even, because we aren’t all starting from the same place.

That’s classism, which is inextricably linked to racism, because Black folk are the face of poverty in North America. But racism exists even without poverty. Every part of society is infused with implicit racism, unconscious bias, and white privilege.

As a white woman, I know when I cross a border, I’m not who they’re looking for. I won’t likely be singled out in an airport line. When I ask for help, I usually get it. But that ease of travel comes at the expense of others. They aren’t looking for me, because they’re focused on somebody else.

That’s privilege.

When I send my teenage son out alone, my concerns for his safety do not include being harassed by police.  I don’t worry that his hoodie will endanger his life. I don’t wonder if the expectations of his teachers are skewed by the colour of his skin.

That’s privilege.

White people look at what happened to George Floyd and are shocked. We wonder how the police could treat someone that way. We have the privilege of being shocked because we don’t live that reality every day. Mothers of all colours  respond to this grown man’s call for his mama. But Black mothers, those who worry about sending their husbands and children out each morning, don’t have the luxury of being surprised. They fear and expect this kind of treatment every day. I read a heartbreaking account of a Black man’s discomfort with walking into a corner store with his face covered. I can wear a mask to protect myself from COVID without fearing that the mask itself will endanger me.

That’s privilege.

That shock and heartbreak is privilege, even when I feel like it’s an anti-racist thing. Even when I use it to sympathize with those who don’t share my privilege. Especially when I feel better because it shows I understand and care. Because that feeling better IS privilege. The Black community doesn’t need my sympathy – they need EMPATHY and CHANGE. They need me to check my privilege. To challenge it. To stop sympathizing and complaining about how other people are treated and start looking at the DIFFERENCES in how we are treated. Which is hard. It’s uncomfortable, and dysregulating, and sometimes feels dangerous. Often privilege isn’t about getting more – it’s about not having to put up with things I don’t even know other people experience Often privilege is invisible to those that have it. That’s the problem with privilege – it’s so hard to see, and so easy to live with.

That’s one reason why it’s irritating to those who don’t have privilege – that those of us who have it don’t even KNOW we have it. And truthfully, even when we notice we have it, we don’t want to change things. As Brené Brown recently said, “The system is NOT broken. It was built this way.”

I think that’s one of the most profound statements I’ve ever heard. It’s not that I didn’t know it was true – several months of Social Work training opened my eyes to that – it’s just that it is so simple and direct. People are complaining about a broken system (or broken systems) but really, the system is working well, if you think about how it was designed – to keep wealthy, straight, white men in power. If we don’t like that system, then we need to CHANGE it. We need to look at all the variables that keep various groups marginalized, and find ways to dismantle the policies that exclude and keep people from thriving. That’s hard, because all the variables designed to hold the status quo are what keep those of us on top up here. Those who are in power, who have money, and opportunity, and voice, still benefit from the status quo rules.  We need to imagine that there are better ways that can help EVERYONE succeed.

I’m aware that my standard of living might need to go down, at least temporarily, in order for others’ to go up.  I’m willing to take that hit, because I believe it is the right thing to do. But I am not willing to do it alone. I could give all of my money to charity and make small change for a few. But all that would do is decrease my voice. What I want is systemic change. Taxes and programs that help balance the rich and poor. Basic income. Housing First strategies. Integrated neighbourhoods.

It’s easy to call out rampant racism, or to educate ourselves enough to stop using blatantly racist language, but for many of us, that’s where it stops. “I’m not racist. Period.” It is harder to call out racism when it is sewn into the fabric of society, and when it benefits us in deeply personal ways. Should I reject the fundraising at my child’s affluent school? Suggest at Parent Council that we donate the fundraising proceeds to a less affluent school? Decide not to use the resources I have to fight my teenage son’s minor legal charge? Stand up to authority in an airport who make the Black woman in front of me empty her purse but allow me to walk through unbothered? Argue that the Black child causing fights in my daughter’s schoolyard is reacting to systemic racism in the only way she knows how and therefore needs leniency or exemption from the “Zero Tolerance” bullying protocol we’ve adopted?

These musings aren’t new to me. I’ve been uncomfortably aware for a long time. But I didn’t know what to do about it. But now, I feel like we CAN do something. Now, when people are focused and passionate. Now, when the world is in upheaval. When we see that systems need to change. This is our opportunity.

This is our chance to re-imagine.

The world has changed since the colonization of the western world. And the rules have changed too. But the rules have changed within a system that was built to look out for the people in power when it was designed. The truth is that the system itself still favours straight, affluent, white men and those of us who live with them.

The first step that I see in moving forward is recognizing that the system is indeed working exactly as it was designed to work. The face of the system may have changed – we’ve ‘upgraded’ to system 2.0 and 3.1 over the last hundred years or so. We pride ourselves, actually, on being up to system 6.8 maybe – “Look how far we’ve come!” And it’s true – people of colour have a lot more freedoms now than they did when the system was first designed. But what that seems to have done is to make us white folks feel pretty damn special. I mean look what we’ve done to make things better. But I’m pretty sure it doesn’t feel that way for individuals who can’t remember those changes, and instead have lived all their lives feeling oppressed and ignored.

Imagine how frustrating it would be if there was a large fence that appeared to exist for the sole purpose of blocking your view of a park. Your landlord, who lives upstairs, comes by to visit and remarks how lovely the park is this time of year. You say that you can’t see the park because the fence is in the way. He commiserates and says that’s unfortunate. You suggest that perhaps he could remove the fence, since it doesn’t appear to be serving any purpose. He says the fence has always been there. Also, the mailbox is hung on the fence post, and if the fence were removed, neither of you would be able to get your mail. You offer to move the mailbox, but he says he thinks that’s a good spot for it.

Every time you see your neighbour out on the upstairs balcony, he is enjoying the view of the park and often commenting loudly about his great view. You continue to ask politely to have the fence removed, but become increasingly irritated by its useless presence. Your neighbour is so pleasant to you, and yet he seems to be using the fence to taunt you a bit. At what point do your requests or interactions become a little less polite?

Then, one day, you come home and find that the fence has been painted. Your neighbour greets you with a smile and tells you the good news – he has heard your complaints about the view, and has fixed it. Your view will be so much better now that the fence has been painted. Over the next few days he remarks to every passerby that he is a great landlord because he has improved the view of his tenant by painting the fence. His neighbours smile and commend him, telling you how lucky you are that the fence has been painted. At what point do you start to feel like you want to violently rip down the fence?

This is the way we have historically treated racism. We don’t change the systemic problems, but we talk a lot about the band-aid solutions we provide, patting ourselves on the back for how much better things are now than they used to be. We declare our solidarity with our Black fellow citizens, but we admire the paint instead of removing the fence.

Except it’s not just a fence. People are dying because of these systemic injustices. Children are suffering in school and not receiving education to equal their white peers. Young Black men are jailed for minor infractions. Black single working mothers aren’t paid enough to provide for their kids. And all Black families, even those who are powerful and affluent, fear for the safety of their children every morning when they walk out the door, wondering what race-related dangers might befall them before evening.

I don’t condone violence, or riots, or looting. But I do condone standing up for your own rights, and making a stand for what is right. And when peaceful methods don’t work, something more is needed. These riots help perpetuate racism, because people focus on the negatives. They reinforce stereotypes that Black people are more violent, and provide evidence to support the claims that help provide the backdrop for racism. Too few people focus on the desperation behind this kind of protest. EVERYONE is capable of violence when they are pushed hard enough. Members of the Black community are victims of violence by systemic racism every day – it’s just that those instances of violence are less visible by the public.

When there are no good options, people will choose bad ones.

What we need are better options. We need to make a society where riots and violence aren’t the only way to get attention. We need systems that don’t pit the police against whole communities, where officers aren’t forced to choose between doing their jobs and doing what’s right. Where prominent peaceful activists aren’t reprimanded or disciplined for taking a knee during the American anthem.

We’ve been through this cycle so many times. We see some shocking event that highlights racism, and we all get upset. We call for change. But when things settle down, nothing has really changed, and we go back to life as it was. But I am hopeful that the circumstances in the world right now might help. This is our chance to make meaningful change. To change the conversation and the policies that sustain systemic racism.

We need to listen. We need to acknowledge the deep pain in navigating a world that doesn’t recognize your value. And then we need to work at changing, both individually and as a society. That change starts with each of us recognizing our own biases and contributions to the continuation of racism rampant in our society. Think you aren’t racist? Check your implicit biases using this tool from Harvard University:

Project Implicit

And to those who feel empowered by declaring that ALL lives matter, that’s not the point. Turning on an overhead light when we need to see under a cabinet isn’t as effective as a well-aimed flashlight. Of course all lives matter. But not all lives are at risk of being ended by the people who are charged to protect them. I don’t want better police training. I want a system overhaul. Shine the light where it’s needed.

Black Lives Matter. Be part of the solution.