I will not stand aside

Culture Matters

A Conversation about Race

Your white knee’s killing me

Been on our neck for centuries

Knees or trees

Either way you still lynching me

But what’d we ever do to you

Except for build and

make America great

Initially

...

You can’t sanitise the past

You may have took my last breath

But you will never

Colonise my spirit

Standing there watching while I die

I can’t breathe

– Nick Cannon, rapper and television personality

“BLACK AND ugly.” “Black bi---.” I have been called these names right here in my beloved TT. I was not called these names by a white person, an East Indian or someone of Chinese heritage. I was racially abused on both occasions by light-skinned, black men.

In February, I was in Port of Spain registering our Carnival band for children from challenging circumstances. The registration was being done by a dark-skinned, African woman. Seated next to her was a typical what we would call French Creole woman. Soon, another French Creole woman stood behind me. Almost immediately, the French Creole woman at the table started serving her, involving the woman who was attending to me in the process.

I said in my most crisp English and politely cold smile, “Appreciate if you could finish attending to me please.” The woman at the table scowled with indignation. On the other hand, my smile became genuine because I was properly served. I cheerfully went about my business.

Racism is described in part as “the devaluation of various traits of character or intelligence as ‘typical’ of particular peoples.” In this country and across the Caribbean, we repeat soothing phrases like “rainbow nation” and “Every creed and race find an equal place.” However, these are more aspirations than reality.

Race is always very close to the surface of our daily interactions. Older generations casually used the “C” word to refer to East Indians and the “N” word to refer to Africans. Critically, although racism is experienced by many in the Caribbean, data and anecdotal evidence support the position that it is even more acute regarding people of African heritage.

Since the murder of George Floyd there have been growing calls in TT to openly discuss race. I believe it will be useful for us to unpack my experiences to help understand why black lives must matter before we can all truly be free. Further, 50 years after the Black Power revolution, we need to interrogate why people of African heritage continue to struggle disproportionately, how institutionalised race discrimination is supported by sociopolitical structures and why Caribbean history is still largely absent from educational discourse and training.

The phrase “lived reality of racism” has emerged in the global discussion. It refers to the normalisation of inequality to the point where people subconsciously acclimatise to subtle cultures of racism. It explains why in TT someone from Laventille would rather put their cousin’s Woodbrook address on a job application. In the US, this is what would make “a grown man’s shoulder draw up and his jaws clench whenever officers approach.”

As a parent, this lived reality of racism overtly and subconsciously makes you paranoid about your children. Over the past week, I have discovered that African American parents routinely teach their children how to react when approached by the police to increase the chances of their children returning home alive.

The normalisation of racist views in our society is further demonstrated by a general inability to ascribe universal concepts such as “responsible,” “faithful,” “hardworking” or “successful” to people of African heritage. It is why Michael Aboud could instinctively write that protesters in the US are doing what comes “natural” to them or why it is impossible to believe that Barack Obama loves his wife and is actually committed to family. It is why I was expected to stand aside that day in Port of Spain.

Fortunately for me, as a child I draped myself in African fabric, proclaiming myself the Queen of Sheba. In my community, I am called Princess. I recognise that my lived experience of being African is vastly different to my peers. I laugh at people who insult my race and it would never occur to me to step aside, but I regularly witness people of colour adopting a subservient stance. As Nick Cannon referenced in his song, this is what centuries of psychic conditioning have caused – the belief that some people are entitled to societal privileges and others are, well, just not.

To be continued

Dara E Healy is a performance artist, communications specialist and founder of the NGO, the Indigenous Creative Arts Network – ICAN

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