Complicit By Default
Why us white folks need to start being honest about our role in racist systems.
Dear White Friends,
Let’s talk about Black Lives Matter for a moment.
Whilst I love seeing so many people around the world expressing solidarity with the black community (and this is badly needed) there’s a stark reality that’s not getting enough airtime in white communities:
You don’t have to be *overtly* racist to contribute to a racist system.
Consider this conversation I had with a friend.
Friend: “I really can’t believe these things are still happening in the 21st century”
Me: “Out of interest, what % of your leadership team at work is black?”
Friend: “None”
Me: “And what have you done to try and change that?”
Friend: “Well, nothing. I don’t really know what I can do”.
Me: “And you’re still surprised…?”
This is a problem. Nothing my friend said is overtly racist, but she — like me, you and every other white person — contributes to (and benefits from) a system that is racist.
Her inaction and silence at work maintains a status quo: 0% black representation, 0% black ownership and no re-balancing of economic power. 0% of the economic value her company creates flows into the black community, and we all know money talks.
Extend this to different aspects of her life and you realise she’s contributing to many different systems, each of which is structurally racist. Multiply this across every white person on the planet and… Wow. That’s a big problem.
You see, this is our default. We are complicit by default. Everywhere you look — across industries, companies and institutions — we’re upholding oppressive systems, built on colonial foundations, that benefit us to the exclusion of black people. We get opportunities, resources and comfort. They get killed for doing nothing. Unless we’re actively dismantling the systems that take lives, we cannot honestly claim that “we are not racist”.
Also, the “things that are still happening in the 21st century” might seem surprising to us, but I doubt you’ll find a black person that’s surprised. Their lived experience reminds them every day that society devalues their lives, ranking them below you and I. Think about how exhausting that must be.
The point I’m making is this: we need to look very intently at the parts of society we can influence — whether that’s our social circles, our employers, our industries or our politicians — and we need to hold them to account.
We need to pressure them to look at how they hire, promote, compensate and engage their people, and we need to ask hard questions about how our actions make it harder for black employees to succeed.
If we’re doctors or nurses or midwives we have to question why black women are 5x as likely to die during childbirth than white women, and why their pain is dismissed.
If we’re in politics we have to question why people like David Evennett get away with rudely dismissing black constituents, accusing them of “baseless comments”, and how we have government ministers who can only name non-black people as evidence of diversity in their cabinet.
If we’re in education, we have to ask why young black boys — and in particular, black Caribbean boys — are far less likely to achieve academically than their white or Asian counterparts.
Across the board, we need to do far, far more.
None of these things are one-off incidents; they’re ingrained in the fabric of our society, everywhere. We may have the privilege of being ignorant to them, but they’re really, really consistent. George Floyd’s death shouldn’t surprise any of us — this shit is old.
Start by being honest with yourself.
As an absolute minimum, I think we have to be really, really honest about how we systematically oppress black people. Yes, that’s you and I, not “those other white people — the racist ones”.
The black community has been pointing out forever that it’s not good enough to “not be racist”. They’ve shouted this from the rooftops while we hide in the comfort of our own privileged homes and do nothing. The very least we can do — finally —is accept that unless we’re anti-racist, we are the problem.
This is the point of this post. Black squares on Instagram, and endless ‘BLM statements’ will mean nothing if we don’t stop being the problem.
I know, that’s a big hurdle to overcome. It’s far easier said than done. But I want to repeat a couple of things that others have already highlighted which can have a real, tangible impact.
Start with self-education.
Don’t let the realisation of your naivety stop you making a start. Start educating yourself, right now. Commit to it. There’s a reading list at the end of this post that was recently shared with me — start there.
Many people — most of them black—have invested time in writing books, recording videos and podcasts, blogging and creating other educational materials that help us understand, empathise and learn. The very least we can do is listen, read and digest.
But please do not ask your black friends or colleagues to educate you. Just don’t. Trust me, I’ve made this mistake and in hindsight I regret it, deeply.
Every time you do this, you’re saddling someone who is already experiencing trauma with the emotional burden of addressing your ignorance, and dealing with your guilt. You’re asking them to repeat things they’ve probably repeated 500 times already, without even doing the work to educate yourself first.
Bear in mind that many of these people have already tried, many times, to educate us and then watched as we revert to inaction and silence. They’re tired of being let down and sidelined and ignored. It’s time we respect that and do the work ourselves.
Start by using your platform.
As embarrassed as I am to admit it, I thought to myself last week “My platform is tiny, and when I speak very few people listen, so how could I possibly do anything that makes any real difference?”
I realised this isn’t just naive and misguided but actively dangerous, because:
- it doesn’t matter how small my platform is — I still have a responsibility to use it;
- my platform has its own platform, which has its own platform and so on - that compounding effect can be powerful; and
- I underestimated the size of my own platform anyway. If I don’t take small steps to use it now, I’m refusing the opportunity to make a difference.
Take, for example, a conversation I had with a teacher friend this week.
A while back, I recommended Natives and now she’s using it to educate her colleagues, leveraging her position as a Head of Department to address the inequities that affect black and mixed race kids in her school. The school’s History curriculum was recently torn apart and is being re-written.
This came from a single WhatsApp message. It cost me nothing, and the ripple effect is leading to a few more people taking steps to address the part they play in systemic racism. Our platforms are important, and every opportunity we have to use them is huge.
It’s also likely, as people with white privilege, that our platforms are bigger than we realise. All the people we’ve ever met, worked with, studied with and socialised with. Lots of these people likely have some kind of power and influence, and we have access to them.
This access matters. Many people don’t have it, so we need to use it. It means we have a chance of getting them to listen. It means we have the opportunity to educate them. It means we can lobby them to use their resources to effect change. And it means we have both the ability and the responsibility to help them understand the part they play in upholding systems of oppression.
Be part of the conversation, and commit to learning.
Starting today, I’ll be running a Telegram group for non-black folks dedicated to self-education. We’ll share resources, educational materials and have open, honest conversations about our role in overcoming white supremacy.
We’ll hold each other to account and share ideas on how to be better. When we’re unsure or scared about how to navigate a difficult conversation, we’ll check in with each other first and share resources that help.
We’ll create a safe space for learning that helps us avoid putting added emotional burden on our black friends, and we’ll use our collective influence to encourage more people to learn with us.
Of course, it will take a lot more than this to get us where we need to be — and we need to do far more than contribute to a Telegram group — but it’s a start. Hopefully it will make it a tiny bit easier for us to understand how to deconstruct the oppressive systems in which we live.
Causes to support:
Kwanda — a modern collection pot for black communities.
YSYS — a community that connects black talent to opportunities in tech (among other things).
Bail funds like those listed here.
Organisations like the 4Front Project which support people impacted by violence and the criminal justice system, and funds like One Case At A Time that support black victims of injustice.
Petitions to sign:
Petition for British Schools to teach British children about black history.
Petition for all four officers involved in George Floyd’s death to be arrested and charged with second degree murder.
Petition to make sure all frontline workers are treated equally and Transport for London bring the individual that attacked Belly Mujinga to justice.
A much more extensive list of petitions to sign and officials to contact can be found here.
Reading list:
I’ve copied a list of books, poems, plays, TV programmes, films, documentaries and podcasts that was shared with me into a Google Doc here, and you can find a similar list here.
