On becoming anti-racist

I am privileged because of the colour of my skin.

But I haven't really understood what that means until now.

I reckon I have known this privilege for a long time. It was wrapped up somewhere in the back of my mind. I have grown up in a world spiked by racism and white privilege. I was 8 when the twin towers fell and the world turned its back on Islam as if an entire religion had been planning the attack in secret. I was 16 when Barack Obama was inaugurated as the first ever black President and split a nation because of the degree of melatonin in his skin. I was 23 when the UK voted shyly in favour of Brexit, partly as pretext for closing our borders to thousands of immigrants who could better our lives. I am now 27 and the immigrants our government was (and still is) planning to send away work hard everyday on the front lines in the fight against Coronavirus. They are our doctors, nurses, taxi drivers. They work in care homes, supermarkets, laboratories.Boris Johnson called them unskilled and now we clap for them every Thursday night. A person from a BAME background is four times more likely to die from Coronavirus. In the UK and the USA, a huge amount of BAME people are losing their jobs, their homes, their lives.

I have spent 27 years shaking my head in disgust at the news. I cheered on Obama like he was my own President. I voted against Brexit, against the proposals on tighter immigration. But I did not check in with my white privilege. I believed that because I was not actively racist, I was making a difference.

Since George Floyd's murder, however, we have seen a revolution. Friends and family (my dear sister, a history teacher) flocking to Instagram and other social media to educate the masses, to change the way we treat other people. And it has struck a chord with me. 

As a teacher, I have always had zero tolerance for bullying or name-calling of any kind. But it is easier to stand up to ignorance when you are talking to a child who simply needs some education on the matter. My family (and occasionally fellow colleagues), on the other hand, are perhaps more difficult to call out.

A while back, I was faced with an uneasy situation. A student in my class asked in advance whether it would be acceptable for her to wear some henna on her arm and hand as part of the Eid celebrations. She was to spend the evening with her mother, preparing for Eid in two days time. She had fasted for the entirety of Ramadan for the first time that year, and she was eager to celebrate it with her family. I didn't check my white privilege. I didn't think there would be a problem.

Sadly, I was mistaken. Senior leaders fretted over the decision for over a day, asking the student if it was "really necessary" and telling me that henna was not dissimilar to drawing all over one's hand in marker pen. The head of RE even stopped me in the corridor to let me know that "henna wasn't an essential ritual", so there would be no need for it. Bearing in mind that I worked in a school where drawing on one's hand was a daily ritual for most kids, this girl (with her immaculate behaviour and pristine uniform) should have been the least of their worries. 

I had rocked up to a school with braids in my hair from holidays to Spain, wearing birthday badges in February, and even donning Santa hats in the run up to Christmas. And now I realised that my white privilege blinded me to the difficulties minority students would face, even as a teacher. I just couldn't believe there would be so much opposition. I stood my ground and ultimately the henna was permitted for one day (a Friday). The irony is that she covered up the henna all day and nobody even noticed.

As a teacher in a predominately white school, this was my first foray into the prejudices that young people face every day. I was determined to fight her corner, not only because she was one of the 'good ones' (the well-behaved who often don't get noticed), but simply because it would be healthy for the other students to see her express her religion, particularly Islam, in a beautiful, meaningful way. This was almost taken away from her by other people who have fallen into the trap of not being able to see the bigger picture.

I now work in a very diverse school, where the majority of students are not white, and I feel some relief that my current students have more awareness of what it means to come from different cultures and backgrounds. We still have a long way to go, but I hope in time that more teachers will champion their students in this way. I certainly plan to increase my awareness and that of my students in the coming decades, and to use my platform as a teacher for the greater good.

A.