We Need To Talk About Race (article)

We Need To Talk About Race (article)

For the last 12 months I have been publishing regular articles on racial inequities in the arts with the aim of driving more open conversations about racial bias, its causes and practical solutions. While engagement with the articles is high, there is hesitancy among all demographics when it comes to sharing opinions publicly. More than 50% of responses I receive have come via direct messages rather than publicly shared comments. 

When asked, people gave a variety of reasons for choosing not to share their views publicly. These include issues of privacy, employer constraints (such as working for a public broadcaster), not wishing to appear ill-informed and a belief that as a white leader you should leave the conversation about solutions to racial equity to people with ‘lived experience’. Each of these reasons – and there are more – would merit an article on its own. In this piece, I focus on what I think is the biggest barrier to participation: political correctness. 

The readers of my articles – who include senior leaders, managers and administrators in the arts – often have strong, interesting and important perspectives. However, when asked, people from all communities say they are uncomfortable sharing their opinions because they are fearful of saying the wrong thing and being judged.

Fear of saying the wrong thing 

Conversations on race generate emotion. They can ‘trigger’ people and opinions can be received with judgement. They can become a minefield of political correctness. When sharing views on the extent of racism, its causes and how it might be solved, you risk causing deep offence if your opinions are deemed to be insufficient (not radical enough) or inappropriate. Online, this can lead to personal attacks which can quickly be amplified, ending in condemnation and a risk to professional reputation. 

The term ‘racist’ is one of the most unacceptable labels in our society. No one will publicly admit to being racist; not even supporters of far-right political parties, much less more left-leaning communities in the arts. Any potential accusation sparks fear to the heart, making open debate more difficult. 

The severe and multiple impacts of racial injustice make negative reactions natural. But if our goal is to end racism, we must question the extent to which public shaming helps us – or not. Racial prejudice can’t be ended without forensic diagnosis of the problem. To achieve this, open conversations are critical. The more people engage, the better our collective understanding of the problem and the more effective the solutions become.

There absolutely needs to be room for challenge, but challenge that is constructive. This is harder to do when tensions are high. To take some heat out of these conversations and shed more light on the extent of racism, it’s important to find a new and more socially acceptable definition of the term ‘racist’. One that people don’t necessarily feel proud of but can at least ascribe to, with regret but not shame. 

De-weaponising the word ‘racist’

Ibram X Kendi’s work on anti-racism helps with this. He contends that there’s no neutral position on racism: if you are not pro-actively ‘anti-racist’ then you are racist. He defines racism as any idea which suggests that Black communities are responsible for the systemic disadvantages we experience. What’s interesting is that, for Kendi, although holding such views is highly problematic it is not sufficient cause for writing someone off. 

He understands that this thinking is itself a product of systemic racism and that we are all subject to it. Black, white, left wing or right wing. Racism in his world has no colour or political affiliation. He freely admits to having held racist opinions himself and says the same of some of his heroes like Frederick Douglass and Barack Obama. So, for him, racism should not be used pejoratively, but simply as a descriptor of a way of thinking. 

In conversations about race, the reaction to anything deemed ill-informed or politically incorrect is often criticism in which racial prejudice is either inferred or implied. Any accusation or suspicion of racism is toxic so many prefer to remain silent or express their views in a safe space rather than running the gauntlet of sharing their opinions publicly. Kendi’s widening of the definition makes racism more ubiquitous so it’s harder to judge others as most of us are likely to have been guilty of racism at some point in our lives. 

Power and responsibility still matter 

None of this lets the predominantly white leadership of our sector off the hook. In fact, it may create the space to better hold them to account. While in Kendi’s view we are all likely to be guilty of racist thinking, ultimately it is still those in power that have most responsibility to change things. Using his approach, we can de-weaponise the word ‘racist’ and reduce its emotional impact in conversations. 

With a less polarising definition we are free to name racism where we see it without the shame and possible consequences that come with it. We can avoid the emotion that prevents us from fully focusing on the job in hand, gain a better understanding of this pernicious problem and move towards the implementation of solutions. 

This won’t be easy: it will require patience by some, bravery by others and goodwill by all. We are all gatekeepers in these conversations. Let’s begin, one conversation at a time, starting here!

We are keen to keep the conversation going. To read more and share your thoughts on this or other articles, connect with me on LinkedIn

 

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Addressing racism in football: punishment vs rehabilitation (article)

Addressing racism in football: punishment vs rehabilitation (article)

We can punish fans who racially abuse Black players. We can kick them off social media, ban them from football matches, sack them, fine them. But we cannot move society towards greater tolerance through punitive actions alone. Nor can we completely silence racist speech. As things are currently structured, it will inevitably find expression somewhere.

Over a decade ago I shared some personal stories from my childhood which illustrate how racist ideas of Black inferiority and white supremacy are endemic. 

I am in the school library (aged 15) talking to Martin about football. I say how ‘crap’ the England team is. Martin responds: ‘What have Black people ever contributed to us?’ I know what he’s asking. Any answer I give is to save face. (Pele? Michael Jackson?) I don’t question his view that Black people have not contributed – it is true that we have contributed nothing of worth, otherwise, surely, I would have been taught about it? My trust in the British education system is absolute.

 The weekend before that conversation, this happened:

I am at home alone engrossed in England playing Scotland. In the final minute, Scotland scores a winner. The whistle blows and I feel sick. My cousin walks in and she’s shocked that I’m crying. ‘Don’t you know those England fans would tear you limb from limb if they met you on the street. Don’t cry for England, Kevin.’ Now I sob. The game is lost and in an instant she has ripped apart what fragile identity I was holding onto. She has said what I had always felt: I don’t belong.

 

This sense of not fully belonging is at the heart of the present-day experience of Black football fans. We want to belong, and we trust that we can. We emotionally invest in being fans, but the additional pressure felt by many Black supporters as Rashford, Sancho and Saka took their penalties was a different and separate experience from white supporters. In a visceral way, they were representing us, the Black community; they were shooting to win a football match, but also for our collective sense of belonging. The rejection that followed, even if only by a few white fans, inevitably felt to the players and many Black fans like a rejection by the country. 

Our belonging is tenuous because it is conditional on performing, on not stepping out of line from the expectations set by society. When the unwritten rules are broken, the connection you thought you had with the world around you breaks with it. I considered Martin to be my friend at school, but his ability on the one hand to accept me, but to then completely reject me when I criticised the England team, was emotionally jarring. 

I spent many years dissociating myself from my passion for football. For a long time, the only way I could enjoy a match was by not committing myself emotionally to the outcome. I knew the sense of tribalism that football evoked and was fearful of the racism and rejection that accompanied it.

Only now can I watch a match – and commit emotionally to my hoped-for outcome – without this fear. This freedom comes from remembering that racism, while being an individual act, is cultivated by society. 

With this perspective, the hurt I experienced at Martin’s rejection – and from the fans after the Euro 2020 final – can be felt but without being undermined by it. I am able to see him (them) not only as a beneficiary of the system by virtue of being white but also as a product of the system. We had both absorbed the same message: one of Black inferiority. Despite out-achieving him academically, in sport and in music he could crush me with a single question. No matter how much I achieved, he had an ace card through his sense of innate superiority and belonging. It was never an explicit message, but we both understood it. We absorbed it through the education system, it was embedded by the media, and then spread through the population at large.

This does not excuse what Martin said, or what a few racist England fans did after the Euro 2020 finals, but it frees me from the emotional rollercoaster of the experience. This may be the seed from which a longer-term solution can grow. 

So, returning to my question: do we punish or ‘de-radicalise’ racists in football? We certainly need to recalibrate our response. While messages of support for players are vital in providing succour in response to these highly emotionally charged experiences, punitive action, no matter how satisfying it might feel in the short term, only exacerbates the problem in the long term if not delivered hand-in-hand with rehabilitation and re-education.

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One Thing You Can Do To Reduce Racism (article)

One Thing You Can Do To Reduce Racism (article)

Through social media, people often ask me what they can do about racism. 

There is no simple answer but certainly, it requires a deeper commitment than spending half an hour scrolling through your timeline on instagram. Racism is centuries old and so ingrained in society that many of us don’t know we are being racist when we are.  For those looking to take steps to understand racism and minimise its impacts, AWARENESS and CONSCIOUSNESS are the first steps on your journey to ‘wokeness’. Woke is  a term which has been hijacked by the media and in my view needs to be reclaimed. It is the perfect word to describe what is required, coming from the verb ‘wake’ or ‘awaken’.

To become ‘woke’, in its original meaning, is to become more aware of what racism is and how it shapes all our lives. Genuine ‘wokeness’ involves three key steps:

1. Education – Read blogs, listen to podcasts, watch videos, attend workshops  

2. Conversation – Have conversations with others to share and deepen your thinking on what you learn. Writing about what you learn can also be useful  

3. Action – Apply your learning. In the early stages this can be small things like just noticing racism when it occurs

These steps need to be repeated. As you complete more cycles you become more aware of what racism is and how you respond to it. Honing this process is the most powerful action any of us can take to fight racism, in ourselves and in society. The process requires commitment but most people who fully engage find it highly rewarding. It can often be the most powerful learning experience of your life.

It’s also a very challenging process and needs to be managed with care. For this reason it is important to:

Go slowly – Each step can be uncomfortable so it’s important to take small steps, especially at the beginning.

Do it with others – It’s best to do this process with others, you will learn more and you can build group trust when having open conversations on what is one of the most difficult topics to discuss.

Get a facilitator – In order to manage the above, find someone who has been through the process.

I have researched race, identity and power and worked with young people to help them navigate issues of racism in their lives. I’m piloting an introductory workshop for young people on racism.  We are looking for a group of 15 young people who want to take meaningful action on racism to participate in our online programme. The workshops are equally valuable to black participants as white, though for different reasons. As a result, introductory workshops will be delivered separately (all white or all black groups) with later workshops done in mixed groups as participants mature in their understanding of race, identity and power.

 

 

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The Miseducation of a Generation* (article)

The Miseducation of a Generation* (article)

The need for separate education of black children

Understanding the nature of racism, and minimising its impact, has been my life’s work. Possibly this is why I have been less shocked than others about the murder of George Floyd. Having tracked the deaths of mainly black boys owing to gang violence in the UK over the last 15 years, I am more focused on the connection between the education system, criminality, and the death of young black men, both at the hands of the police and, more tragically, at the hands of their peers.

From the earliest age our education system can silently stifle the aspirations of black children and often discounts their most positive attributes, squashing authenticity in the process. We are unlikely ever to see a viral video of a teacher, who in the privacy of a classroom, mindlessly crushes a dream with invisible acts of ignorance, dishonour and humiliation. There is no prospect of disciplining the teacher. There will be no social media storms about miseducation perpetrated by some teachers and yet these acts have ripple effects on our community over many generations. Equal – and I’d say related– to the brutal violence perpetrated by our criminal justice system.

In a blog last year (August 2019) I describe how a teacher tried to thwart my aspirations at school and the effect it had on my self-esteem.

My English teacher humiliated me in front of the class on a weekly basis by making me read out loud (or more like stumble through) the Mayor of Casterbridge, Lark Rise and Romeo and Juliet – even though he knew I was dyslexic, or worse still, that I couldn’t read properly.
Despite the mixed messages and difficulties at school, I put everything into studying and eventually ended up with the equivalent of five GCSE’s, which on the face of it wasn’t that bad. But they were all grade ‘C’ and given how hard I’d worked I felt ashamed. These average grades confirmed what I already suspected, that as a black child I inherently lacked the intelligence to do better.

The miseducation was not only of me. Twenty-nine classmates witnessed my humiliation over two years. What implicit messages might they have taken away from this experience? Over their career a single teacher like mine will teach a thousand students. For the sake of argument, let’s say 12.5% of teachers hold racist views. This amounts to over 62,500 racist teachers in our primary and secondary schools today.** Sixty-two and a half thousand teachers who will shape the thinking of a new generation of political leaders, judges, lawyers, police, doctors, and teachers. They therefore shape the cultures within these institutions and wider society.

When my 12-year-old daughter read the August blog rushed out of the room and came back a minute later with a piece of homework she’d been given.*** The task was to fill out a table listing both the positives and negatives of colonialism. If you are struggling to understand why this is an issue, then consider the appropriateness of the same table being used to teach pre-teens about sexism, homophobia, or anti-Semitism.

These assaults on the integrity of black children are insidious. They are psychological blows which are felt in the soul, embedded in the mind and feed a sense of inferiority that can last more than a lifetime, as it trickles down to the next generation. I have seen the impacts of poor teaching play out (albeit with different outcomes) in those who have achieved career success (as I have) and those who have ended up in prison, as a friend did.****

The four officers involved in the George Floyd murder should be prosecuted, but we cannot leave it there. Ultimately, we cannot legislate our way out of racism. Dealing with immediate issues of justice is part of the process, but we will only defeat racism by also making the education system fit for purpose. To fight racism, we need to educate differently by changing the school curriculum for everyone, and by training our teachers properly about how racism manifests itself, even in the most politically correct of us. While we work for that change, we should create more educational opportunities designed by experts for BAME children outside of the mainstream system. We must give black children a level of defence against the institutionalised racism in our education system through a positive sense of identity; and prevent the miseducation of yet another generation.

*  Title based on ‘The Mis-Education of the Negro’, originally published in 1933 by Dr. Carter G. Woodson

**There are currently 506,400 full-time teachers in the UK. 216,500 work in primary schools, 208,300 work in secondary schools, 61,500 work in independent schools and 16,700 work in special schools.28 Oct 2019. Key UK education statistics – BESA 

***I wrote to the school who agreed not to teach the so-called positives of imperialism in future. To prevent this being taught in other schools I also wrote to my local MP who wrote to the Education Secretary. The response (from the Minister of State for School Standards) in a nutshell was that it is up to individual schools to decide how history is taught. See letter here.

**** I understand that the education system is not singularly responsible for negative outcomes faced by black people: the media, criminal justice system and health services also play a part. However, from an institutional perspective, I see the education system as being at the root and therefore the best starting point for systemic change.

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What exposure do black children have to racist teachers? (article)

What exposure do black children have to racist teachers? (article)

To some extent, teachers inevitably reflect the breadth of attitudes in society, including those on race. Twenty-five per cent of the general public admit to having racist attitudes. Whilst this will likely be less amongst teachers, it is certain that some will also hold such views. But how many? And what exposure do black children have to these teachers?

I can find no official statistics on this which is bizarre when you think about it. You would assume that the Department of Education or the Health and Safety Executive would want to know how many students have been exposed to racist or prejudiced teachers, but that data has never been collected and still is not.

So, I have modelled some scenarios – some ‘what-ifs’. What if teachers are half as likely as the general public to have racist views? 12.5% of teachers would have racist views. If that were the case, what would be the probability that an average student is exposed to a racist teacher at least once in their school life? Do the maths, and it is shocking. The probability is 99.99% and, on average, a black child (and indeed a white child) is likely to be taught by 10 racist teachers.* I was so surprised by these probabilities that I had them checked.** Interestingly, whatever percentage you use for teachers with racist attitudes, the risk to black children is remarkably high.
Teachers with racist attitudes Chance of a black child being taught by a racist teacher:

Probability that BAME children will be taught by a racist teacher

In most other circumstances we would find this level of exposure and risk to children completely unacceptable. Who of us would put our child into a school system where they were guaranteed to be caned, or exposed to a class A drug or sexually abused; and where this would happen regularly, turning their school experience into one of daily anxiety, dread or fear? We either don’t understand the impacts of racism on a child’s development or we don’t see these impacts as severe enough to put policies in place to prevent them.

Teachers have the power to inspire, but also to crush the aspirations of a child. We need to assess a teacher’s attitude to race before letting them into a classroom. We also need to track their performance when it comes to the treatment of black children, especially if related to disciplinary actions. Changing the syllabus won’t stop the disproportionate numbers of black children sent to special units; or being suspended or expelled from school. Acts of unconscious bias or overt racism in the classroom not only disrupt the education of black children but infects their minds. It often causes them to internalise the racism they experience and practise it on themselves, with devastating consequences to their self-esteem and life outcomes . It’s worth saying that white children bear witness to this treatment and potentially internalise views about black people which they carry back into society. In the end, we all lose.

I have had personal experience of classroom racism; so much so that I now believe that some separate education of black children is necessary. I say more on this and share one of my experiences at the hands of a racist teacher in my next blog.

(First published by Lankelly Chase on 25th June 2020)

——————————————————————————————————————–

* It was assumed that 12.5% of teachers held racist views, that on average a student would by taught by 78 different teachers over their school life (primary and secondary school – 12 years). The probability of not being taught by a racist teacher would be 0.875^78*100=0.003%. So, the likelihood of being taught be a racist teacher is 100% -.003%=99.99%. The expected number of racist teachers is just 12.5% of 78, which is 9.75 so you would expect a randomly chosen pupil to have been taught by approx. 10 racist teachers.  

**I had the calculations done by a maths student at Cambridge University and independently done and verified by another maths student at Birmingham University. 

*** ‘The Mis-Education of the Negro’, originally published in 1933 by Dr. Carter G. Wood

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Covid 19- Can we reduce BAME deaths? (article)

Covid 19- Can we reduce BAME deaths? (article)

It’s now clear that BAME communities are disproportionately dying from Covid-19. It’s a fact that’s disturbing to me and unacceptable to most of us. 

No one knows exactly why.  We do know that health co-morbidities (pre-existing conditions) play a big part and that those conditions are more prevalent in BAME communities.  But what drives this prevalence?  We also think that social factors such as poverty and discrimination  (what I’d call ‘societal co-morbidities’) have an impact both directly (in the sense that Covid-19 is more dangerous if these conditions are present) and indirectly in being a partial cause of health co-morbidities.

In short, increased illness and death within BAME communities are driven (at least in part) by the ills of our society… our societal co-morbidity. Whatever the cause, the high death rate feels intolerable.  

This raises the question as to what can be done.  There are two important implications.  

The first is that special measures need to be put in place to protect BAME communities immediately.  The virus disproportionately affects older people and we implement special measures for them.  Alcohol and soft cheese create unique risks for pregnant women and we implement special measures for them.  We know as a fact that BAME communities are disproportionately affected by Covid-19 and we need to implement special measures; the same as for other communities that have higher vulnerability.  Those who make policy decisions and allocate resources are calling for more data before acting.  Asking for more data is justified.  But waiting is not. The three studies completed so far have all reached different conclusions, so no one is expecting a quick result. We wouldn’t dream of telling the elderly that we would do nothing for them until we have data. We have implemented measures immediately.  It should be the same for BAME communities. To coin a slogan, ‘BAME lives matter’.

The second implication is the spotlight that the BAME experience shines on societal co-morbidities.  BAME people face unique issues in terms of discrimination but they also share issues of poverty and marginalisation with many other communities.  Covid-19 within the BAME community provides a unique social benchmark ( a controlled experiment ) to test the impact of these other factors which we know are significant. Even before Covid the gap in life expectancy between the richest and poorest was already 10 years in the UK.

The big difference that Corona has made is a perspective of how acceptable this is.  We are willing to put the entire country in lockdown to protect those communities vulnerable to Covid-19.  The price is a heavy one; the largest recession for 100 years and hundreds of billions of economic loss.  But as a civilized society we think that it’s the right thing to do.  This being the case, then, when Covid-19 is over, should we go back to tolerating a 10 year gap in life expectancy between one community and another? 

With this in mind, I’m now more persuaded by those now asking for the introduction of universal income as a way to reduce poverty, reduce ‘societal comorbidities’, provide greater equality of opportunity, and making us more resilient when it comes to  future emergencies. 

It was inconceivable in the 1800s that you could deliver a welfare state and free healthcare for all.  It was considered simply too expensive.  But we found a way.  Who would want to go back to the world of the 1920s, let alone the 1800s?  If universal welfare and universal healthcare were two great contributions in the 40s and the 50s when we wanted to build a world fit for our children after WW2, then I would like to suggest that the defining contribution in the 21st century is universal income. 

It’s an idea whose time has come.

“I am now convinced that the simplest approach will prove to be the most effective — the solution to poverty is to abolish it directly by a now widely discussed measure: the guaranteed income.” (Martin Luther King, 1967)

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