Racism, A Global Culture

Have you noticed that suddenly our television screens in the UK has had an explosion of black faces of all shades? From news readers to journalists, to experts on current issues, I’m seeing more faces, hearing a variety of foreign accents, other than the British. Where were all these people before? It confirms to me, (and I’m owning every fucking thing I say) that institutional and systemic racism has always operated at the core of Western societies. Always.

Until now, institutions and corporate companies were not taking racism seriously. They were often dismissive of it; black people have chips on their shoulders, black people kill each other, (never wanting to understand the complexities of why? But feeling satisfied with the media stereotypes.) But now, since George Floyd’s murder at the hands of a white law enforcer, and the whole world being affected by this, it seems some parts of society are ready to listen, so maybe there is hope in that the narrative is going through changes.

In most countries around the globe, the darker your skin tone, the more deprivation and poverty awaits your future. Even in countries whose skin tones are brown, seek to bleach it so it becomes as white as possible. The destructive and damaging caste system in some Asian countries, the shadism, or colourism that operates in the Caribbean, where the lighter your complexion, the more beautiful you are. Racism is rife around the world, in some cases, it’s part of the culture, conscious or subconscious.

As a 1970’s kid, and a black kid living in the UK, in a small Hertfordshire town called Hitchin, in retrospect, I was subjected to racism from the age of six.

As a child, I was quiet, but I wasn’t shy. I made friends easily and gravitated to children who were bullied for having ginger hair, for wearing glasses, for being fat or having too many freckles scattered across their face. I gravitated to this group of children, because most of them were the only children who befriended me. Yet I still experienced ‘unconscious racism’ from them.

I remember a friend’s big sister licked her finger and dragged it down my cheek, then looked at that said finger and exclaimed in surprise that my blackness hadn’t come off.

Then my neighbour, (grown woman) was shocked when I said I would have to be home by 6pm because I had to have my bath and get my school uniform ready. She was shocked that I bathed, because I was still ‘brown’ as she called it.

My first three experiences of racism, funnily enough, was at the hands of three marginalised communities. The Irish, Asian and Jewish.

The Irish lady told her daughter she wasn’t allowed to talk to ‘wogs’ so our friendship was a secret and remained that way throughout infant and junior school.

The Asian lady had sent a birthday invite for her daughter’s 7th birthday party, and when my big brother dropped me off, we were left outside, looking through the window because the mother refused to open the door. My friend told me at school that her mother hadn’t known I was black, so I wasn’t allowed to her party and she could no longer be my friend.

The third incident was when my Jewish friend offered me a Girl Guide’s hat for a community performance, because my mother hadn’t been able to get one for me. On that Sunday afternoon, the Brown Owl secured the hat to my head and I remember feeling relieved and happy that I wouldn’t be the only one without a hat. I remember what happened next like yesterday. My friend’s mother had obviously asked her about the friend she lent her hat to, and she pointed to me across the room. I saw the thunder that filled her mother’s face. I felt the lightening shooting from her eyes. I watched with a sinking heart as the mother walked over to our Brown Owl, said a few words, and within a minute, Brown Owl was removing the hat from my head, without an explanation, and all before we were due to go on stage to perform our song for a community audience. After the performance, as I was leaving, I saw the hat in the bin. I never told my mother, but by then, I understood it was because I was a black girl. I still didn’t understand why, but I was sure it was the colour of my skin.

Now the reason I didn’t understand racism, was because I had fantastic parents. A mother and a father who had values, morals and principles and who prepared us for life in England. And they were proud. Proud to be Jamaicans and also proud, (especially my father) that he was educated (in Jamaica) by the best (colonial) teachers in his Parish. “Education, education, education,” was his mantra long before Tony Blair, (former PM.) My father being educated and proud, always taught us that we were as good as anyone out ‘there.’ He was a strict, but loving disciplinarian, who told his children that perhaps he would never be able to give them a million pounds, but he would make sure we got a good education, even if it killed him. “No-one can take that from you,” my Daddy often repeated.

So, education made a big difference to me. I never thought any other race was better than my race or better than me, or I better than them. I always saw the lack, though. The lack of opportunities that were offered to me because of the colour of my skin. Going for bank loans when I was setting up my business, the white bank manager said, ‘I always thought it was Asians who were innovative.’ He didn’t equate ‘business’ and ‘black’ together. I did forgive him, I saw he was young, white and living off his privileges. That’s how I started viewing racist white people, racist Asians, racist Jews, racist Irish, Chinese, anyone racist; I viewed them as having little tolerance, poorly educated or wrongly educated, and brain-washed into believing an untruth.

I am not washed away by the Black Life Matters events. I know that if it had been solely black people marching for their lives, freedom, justice, opportunities and equality, nothing would change. The fact that the protest involved so many ‘white’ and young faces, in my opinion contributed to the overall reaction of some media groups and the wider society, globally. The critical mass made the difference. The young made the difference, but mostly, it was the image of young white youths holding up banners that shouted, Black Lives Matters. These white youths, just babes and suckling’s are disagreeing with their parents and teaching them, they’re demanding a change of narrative, so watch the space.