Confronting My Whiteness
When I was in primary school, my parents and I were watching something about race and discrimination in America. My dad turned to me and said to me: ‘it is one of the greatest gifts of your life to be born white, you have no idea how privileged you are.’
At the time, I was confused - blessed with the ignorance of a child, a multicultural group of friends, typical of growing up in Greater London, and no sense of the ‘other’ yet, so I had no idea what he meant. Although it’s always stuck with me, at the time I disregarded it as a confusing thing that an adult had said.
Years later, I’m sat in one of my first GCSE history classes of year ten, my teacher, Ms Timms, had apparently petitioned for our course to follow an alternative curriculum and we were going to be learning about apartheid in South Africa. I think this was when it first truly dawned on me that there were people in the world that divided people into colour.
I had heard of Nelson Mandela but I had no idea that in my lifetime, there was such a violent, dehumanising – and most importantly – legal segregation in a country based entirely on the colour of skin. Ending only in 1994, the year my younger sister was born.
Ms Timms opened Pandora’s box for me.
Always obsessed with history, I began to read, learning about slavery – and I mean learning that Britain had much more of a part to play than the abolition movement – apartheid, the Rwandan genocide and how the UN stood by, Jim Crow laws in America; I read and read and read. Turning my gaze closer to home, learning about the protests across the UK in the 1980s and the New Cross Fire.
Around the same time, I met a boy. Isn’t there always a boy? He was a few years older than me and South African. He was mixed race, Zulu and Portuguese but classified as ‘Black’ in the South African apartheid system. Therefore, he was only granted South African citizenship when he was eight in 1994 and his first experience of school was segregated. As our relationship moved from platonic to romantic, I was hurt by his refusal to hold my hand in public – mixed race relationships had been illegal under apartheid and had violent reactions, even once apartheid was over - and amused/bemused by statements such as ‘my parents will love you, they love white people!’.
Ultimately, our relationship ended with his year in industry as part of his university qualification and he moved back to Johannesburg. Being on opposite sides of the world proved problematic to teenage love. However, this six-month relationship changed my life in ways that I wouldn’t really comprehend until much later.
Recently, I read Akala’s Natives and he recounts an experience where he realised when he was five that he was black, and his mother was white. In contrast, I didn’t really realise that I was white and there was such a divisive thing as race until I was 17 and in my first ‘mixed race relationship’. ‘Discovering’ race when I was 17 made me feel ashamed and privileged. Ashamed for my whiteness, ashamed for the privilege of not even realising that I was white or privileged until then.
In comparison, I’m sure the thirteen people aged between 14-22 who died in the New Cross Fire in 1981 were probably very aware of their race: Andrew Gooding, Owen Thompson, Patricia Johnson, Patrick Cummings, Steve Collins, Lloyd Hall, Humphrey Geoffrey Brown, Roseline Henry, Peter Campbell, Gerry Paul Francis, Glenton Powell, Paul Ruddock, Yvonne Ruddock.
I’m sure Stephen Lawrence, murdered for being black and waiting for a bus in 1993, knew his race.
I’m sure every black person or person of colour in America that gets pulled over by the police knows their race. I’m sure Breonna Taylor did too, along with Ahmaud Arbery.
My white privilege doesn’t mean that things haven’t been hard or challenging in my life, it just means that things haven’t been hard because of my race. And my white privilege allowed me to wander, blissfully ignorant through my first seventeen years without ever, truly realising that I even was white, I was able to just exist.
After this huge realisation of race, I was determined to educate myself, to learn more and uncover the horrendous inequality in history, in the world. I applied to study History at Goldsmiths, University of London where I was able to learn about world history with the combination of history with identity, gender and race in one course. I then went on to study my master’s degree continuing to study the combination of race, gender and identity in history.
And even now, I read and read and read. I correct conversations that I don’t agree with. I stand up for situations that I see are wrong. I try to be an ally.
But is it enough? Will it ever be enough?
I have had this piece of writing rolling around in my head for months, watching the Black Lives Matter protests erupt and the world is finally watching, I’ve written and re-written this article in my head. Is this the space for my voice? Is my voice taking up space or speaking over someone who needs to be heard? Is this just a time for listening?
I might not have been aware of my race for a long time, but I am sure as hell aware now and I am determined to use my voice in a positive and helpful way. And sometimes, I know that means being quiet. So, I wasn’t sure, it rolled around in my head along with so many questions: do I write this article, is it helpful, is it useful, does it really need to be heard?
Ultimately, I (obviously) decided yes. Because what if there’s people out there that just haven’t realised, they are white and just think they’re normal? What if there’s white people that think these things are happening to other people and it doesn’t affect them? What if there’s white people that haven’t considered their actions? Or they’re not aware of ever-growing list of seemingly teeny tiny microaggressions in a society geared towards whiteness that leads to a death of a thousand cuts. It wasn’t until I was seventeen that I realised that things could be ‘skin-coloured’, like plasters and tights, and ‘skin-coloured’ was synonymous for beige.
If this article helps even just one white person to look around them a bit more closely and pay a bit more attention, then maybe I’ve helped, instead of worrying I’ve taken up a space where a voice could be used more consciously and effectively than mine.
My current reading list possibly looks like every other trying-too-hard-white-person’s right now, but if you’re looking for a place to start, I recommend the below. It is not for others to educate us, educate yourself. Do not place the burden of teaching and explaining racism on top of the burden of carrying the impact of racism.
Books:
Natives: Race and Class in the Ruins of Empire – Akala
Why I am no longer talking to white people about race – Reni Eddo-Lodge
Queenie – Candice Carty-Williams
Girl, Woman, Other – Bernardine Evaristo (I actually finally got to read this after joining The Everyday’s Book Club!)
Invisible Women: Exposing Data Bias in a World Designed for Men - Caroline Criado-Perez
Orientalism – Edward Siad (This is more explicitly about the West’s perception of ‘The East’, however his concept of ‘the other’ can be applied to anyone who is different to the norm in a society)
If you’re looking to learn more about apartheid, whiteness and reconciliation, I really, really recommend: Country of my Skull – Antjie KrogMy traitor’s heart – Rian MalanThe Bang Bang Club: Snapshots from a Hidden War - Greg Marinovich and João Silva
Finally, the Black Lives Matter Website (blacklivesmatter.com) has a lot of resources, as well as the option to donate, if you can. Equally, the Stephen Lawrence Charitable Trust (https://www.stephenlawrence.org.uk) has a lot of information, services, continues to campaign for fairness and justice, plus supports young people into education and employment.
Written by Saloni Chamberlain
Hi, I'm Saloni, loni to most! A native Londoner, I've recently relocated with my partner and our two cats to sunny Weston-super-Mare! I work as a freelance writer and I think I'm generally quite funny. My favourite word is plethora, I've never said it out loud but it's just so fancy written down.