PUBLISHED: 28TH JUNE 2020
'Protests warning as coronavirus death toll passes 40,000’
This was a BBC headline that was published in the days following the initial Black Lives Matter protests in the UK. When you look at the headline itself, it’s cold, it’s clipped, it’s factual. It diminishes a movement to its smaller actions and seemingly forgoes opinion. However, it’s not the headline of this story that most disturbs me when first reading it, but instead, the imagery that it sat alongside.
It’s a black man positioned on one knee holding his right fist in the air. It’s a powerful image and despite our inability to see his expression due to a protective mask, we can still see the anger, the upset and the exhaustion. Had this image been posted alone across any social platform I would have admired it, but it wasn’t. It was placed next to a ‘factual’ headline and used as a tool to weaponise the Black Lives Matter movement.
Together, the headline and image create something more than just a fact. Together, the two rationalise the demonisation of the black community both within the UK and globally – horrifying, I know. But again, this wasn’t what scared me most.
Now, I’m no stranger to social media. I scroll, I like, I retweet, I share, I post, and I engage with the idea that these platforms can help to amplify individual voices to make a greater difference. So, in the days prior to and during the protests, and throughout all my scrolling and liking and sharing, I saw the same prediction arise over and over. Don’t be surprised when the second wave of Covid-19 hits the UK and they show you black and brown faces protesting. Don’t be surprised when they don’t show you the smiling white faces crowded on the seaside. Don’t be surprised when the media holds only one group accountable.
Sure enough, they were right and sure enough, I wasn’t surprised. Terrifying.
Yet, when I bring this discussion of privilege and systemic racism to my fellow white people, both online and in-person, I’m too often met with the same response; why am I to blame for their misfortune? How is it my fault? Why are you making me feel bad about this?
This reaction isn’t difficult to understand, it’s defensive. When we feel as though our ideals and actions are being called into question, we look to avoid persecution. So whether it’s deflection, aggression or sheer denial, we’ll adopt mechanisms that help us to avoid feelings of shame or guilt. And although this reaction is understandable, it is the root of the problem. The Black Lives Matter narrative is not about white feelings - it is not about us, and we are incredibly fortunate to face this reality.
Whilst it may cause uncomfortable realisations and momentary upset, we must all take a step back and listen. And listen again. Then listen some more. And as we listen to black and minority narratives, we must also assess our privilege and identify tangible action. Trust me, it’s easier once you get started.
Privileges I Have Enjoyed
I have never struggled to find someone who looks like me
From school to university to the professional world, I have never had difficulty in finding individuals who look similar to me. When I walk into a room, I never second-guess whether I’ll be the ‘odd one out’ and I automatically assume that I’ll be surrounded by those of my likeness.
But, what’s so wrong with that? It’s not like you decided that!
The issue with my assumption is that I too often don’t note this lack of diversity as a problem. I accept the picture I’m given because it’s easy for me to do so, and that is a huge privilege.
Of course, this isn’t limited to our physical spaces alone. It is so much broader than that. This bleached picture permeates through every element of our society – from media perception to pop culture trends to the picture books presented to our children. A sickly white tinge weaves through it all.
My job-hunting experience wasn’t made harder due to the colour of my skin or the pronunciation of my name
Transitioning from academia to the professional world is hard. When I left university, I was terrified and felt physically sick most days. I was leaving behind a system that I had resided in comfortably in for sixteen years along with my closest friends and now, I had to start actioning those ambitions that I’d preached about for so long.
I won’t say that I didn’t experience rejection or disappointment, because I did, and of course that was disheartening. But I will say that my skin colour never contributed to these instances. Now, if you’re more of a data person, consider this: the Centre for Social Investigation found that individuals within ethnic minority groups need to send 60% more applications to receive the same number of call-backs as the majority group.
The professional world skews itself to accommodate the white population and in doing so, individuals within minority groups suffer. My privilege led me to secure a job with less effort and in a shorter, relatively painless process than that of my black and minority ethnic counterparts.
Products are designed for my skin
I recently came across a tweet that commented on Crayola’s ‘skin colour’ crayon. I remember using the exact shade to colour pictures of my family and watch as the pink hue merged us into one. Not once, did I question whether it would provide my family with their true likeness and not once did I worry that I wouldn’t find that same crayon the next day.
But it’s trivial. That’s an argument that I've encountered time and time again. That’s a trivial example, it doesn’t prove that we live in a systemically racist society - a statement that portrays ignorance and has frustrated me to no end in recent weeks. I can’t begin to imagine the exhaustion that those directly affected must feel.
Yes, this is a specific and nuanced example, but it does not stand alone. Systemic racism is not the summation of one instance alone. It is a compilation of hundreds and thousands of examples. It’s the foundation matched to my white skin. It’s the child-size ballet slippers that were confidently ordered in their one generic shade. It’s the plasters that come in all shapes and sizes to help stem scrapes and cuts that distort my complexion.
And that just touches on the whitewashing of consumer goods, wait until you start on the rest.
History has been tailored for my comfort
As I left school, I could sing you a rhyme about the wives of Henry VIII, recite the many triumphs of the British monarchy against uncivilised and barbaric communities and preach the heroism of the allied forces in each of the wars. What could I tell you about the history of black and minority races? Very little.
Bar a generic Year Three topic on the Egyptians, I have only ever been presented with a whitewashed history. Whilst I was taught the barbaric nature of Nazi concentration camps, I was never told of the man-made Bengal famine. My education prioritised the tragedy of the Titanic over the slave traders who threw their ‘live-cargo’ overboard for insurance benefits. My history lessons opted for tales of white heroism over black and minority oppression.
I have never been profiled as a threat
I am female. I am five foot one. But most importantly, I am white. When I walk through an airport I am rarely stopped for a random search. Have a nice flight! When I leave a shop and set off an alarm, it is swiftly dismissed as an inconvenient mistake. Have a nice day! When I attend a live event, my bag warrants just a brief glance rather than a thorough search. Have fun!
I am harmless. I am safe. I require no further thought.
But for me to be all of these things, I rely on the dangerous stereotype of black and minority groups to remain intact, and that is my privilege. For me to continue to enjoy these trivial benefits, I have to ignore the black man they’ve pulled to the side at the boarding gate. I have to turn a blind eye to the Indian woman who is detained in the back room of the shop. I have to rationalise the actions of the security men who follow the group of black teenagers into the venue even once they’ve passed the security station. I have to remain complicit.
And that simply cannot continue.
---
My education is far from complete. I understand that I’ll never truly grasp what it is to be racially abused by your own country. The media that I’m so familiar with will never place the blame on my white, freckled face. My presence at a protest will never spark the same reaction as those with a darker complexion. Even if my skin begins to blister and burn from my poor decisions, I will be excused.
As I continue to identify and combat my privilege, I know that I, along with many of those close to me, must help to action change – even if those actions seem small. The first step to take is acknowledging that I profit off of the system that oppresses so many others.
Make sure to follow Melior on our socials!
Comments