The following article is the most awkward thing I have ever had to write. It has led to sleepless nights and disturbing insights into my own personality and behaviour alongside the nagging question about the legitimacy of a white man writing about racism without appearing opportunistic or insincere.
As an organisation dedicated to promoting wise leadership we have been discussing ‘Black Lives Matter’ over the last few weeks and have benefitted from listening to Herman Brodie and his own experience as a black man and a powerful advocate for diversity and inclusion in society.
In the course of our discussions Herman, in his own quiet and forensic manner, pulled my feet away from under me when he pointed out that the comfortable middle ground that I have occupied between racism and anti–racism has disappeared – if indeed it ever actually existed outside the minds of those who lived there such as myself.
My logic went something like this: racists are white supremacists who actively promote hatred and racial hierarchy; and engage in violent acts against others who do not have the same skin colour. Beyond that extreme group there are those who engage in casual racism, who express negative comments, or off-hand jokes and uphold principles of exclusion based on race.
I am none of the above and have expressed my disgust and condemnation of their behaviour. Safe in that knowledge I believed myself not to be a racist and have lived in that contented space for most of my life.
Part of my uncomfortable awakening has been an attempt to listen. And by listening, I mean not to look to interrupt with my own false equivalencies of discrimination, or nod in self-indulgent empathy. I mean to listen with no attempt to deflect personal responsibility. True listening is to be a witness to others’ point of view – and to accept that at face value. It is an awkward thing to do – and I am not even sure if I am really managing it. But one thing I do know: it is truly unsettling.
My personal reflection goes back to 1979 when I was selected to play rugby for the South of Scotland against the touring South African Barbarians, who were the first multiracial South African rugby team to tour outside South Africa.
As a 21-year-old with an unrealistic eye on eventually playing for Scotland the game was an important steppingstone, particularly as it was to be followed up a few weeks later with a game against the touring New Zealand All Blacks.
The match against the South Africans was played against a backdrop of 500 protestors outside the ground. I recall justifying playing in the game against a multiracial side, although the official description at the time of the squad of 8 white players, 8 coloured players and 8 black players, reinforces the apartheid mind-set of the time.
I only mention this as a personal example of how my own actions have contributed to condoning a racist culture. The fundamental truth was that I was not prepared to give up something that mattered to me.
It is that realisation that has proved to be so discomforting. As a white man with all the ordinary privileges that go along with that, I have been prepared to quietly accept, and benefit from that state in an act of plausible deniability.
Of course, the standard response is to say that we in the current generation cannot be held responsible for the actions of earlier generations. Such logic seems reasonable until one recognises the paradox over how easily we accept and expect the ‘positive’ benefits of inheritance from earlier generations.
It is a fact that Britain enjoyed 200 years of free labour from slaves taken from Africa to work on plantations in the Americas.
Yet it was not just the free labour that supplied such an impetus to the British economy. The abolition of slave ownership in 1833 cost £20 million in compensation. For the uninformed it might seem reasonable to have expected such compensation to have been paid to the slaves. But, importantly, they were not regarded as human beings but the legal property of their owners who received the compensation.
It was this injection of capital into the British economy that lit the fire of the Industrial Revolution, created our railway infrastructure, and funded the construction of many of the country’s stately homes.
For example, Robert Waugh, a joiner from Melrose (5 miles from where I am writing this) in the Scottish Borders, owned a pimento plantation in Jamaica. Waugh was awarded £2530 19s 3d on the 14th December 1835 for his 127 slaves. Waugh’s home ‘Harmony Hall’ (named after his plantation) which he built on the profits from that plantation is now under the ownership of the National Trust and the annual venue of the refined and respected Borders Book Festival.
It was the backdrop of this economic driver that contributed to a person of black skin being considered sub-human. How could a Christian country have condoned slavery without the justification that they are “not like us”?
Such thinking also vindicated the colonial expansion of the British Empire which appropriated the resources and exploited the efforts of local people all to the benefit of the British economy.
As a primary school child growing up in Scotland the only black people, I saw were tribe members in the pages of the National Geographic Magazine. At the back of our classroom was a map of the world, half of which was shaded pink as ‘belonging’ to the empire.
The world was ‘white.’ Black people were athletes or entertainers. Asian people ran shops. Artists, scientists, explorers, and astronauts were universally white.
And so here we are today. The corporate world has learned what they can and cannot say aloud. We attend courses on unconscious bias. We have learned to count and tick the necessary boxes.
But underlying all of that what has really changed?
When a black man is shot for simply running down a street. A birdwatcher who happens to be black is reported to the police. When police officers justify their behaviour towards a person simply because of the colour of their skin.
But do white people really want to see change – especially if they will not benefit from the change themselves? Was I – even as a naive 21-year-old – willing to give up my own progress for something from which I would personally gain nothing? Or even more significantly, was I prepared to ‘lose’ something I cared deeply about to help a cause from which I would not profit?
I am writing this as a white man – such a description makes me feel extremely uncomfortable. For I have never defined myself by my skin colour – yet without that recognition, there is little chance to appreciate the reality of those whose lives are dramatically affected by the colour of their skin.
I am certain that it is not possible for me to feel the same sense of rage or injustice that a person with a darker shade of skin than me must feel. All I can say is that I do feel angry. Angry at my own education – or lack of it. Angry that I did not tackle this formally when I was in a position of influence in education. Angry that I inhabited the comfortable middle ground where my silence was an endorsement. Angry that I tolerated the casual racism in conversation rather than upsetting the company with an awkward rebuke.
People like me too often respond to ‘Black Lives Matter ’with a discomfort that stems from a false perspective that such a call suggests that ‘White Lives don’t Matter.’
Such a self–absorbed response is to ignore the facts. Black Lives have never mattered as much as white lives. The reality of the Black Lives Matter call-to-action is that it is simply saying that black lives matter ‘too’ – not ‘instead of.’
The challenge for all of us who have occupied that comfortable middle ground is to accept that fact. Accept that we have benefitted from inherited ordinary privilege. Accept that we have averted our gaze when it has suited us – especially if it meant losing something ourselves.
Apologies mean nothing in such circumstances.
Feeling guilty simply generates resentment.
Real action starts with listening.
But even listening is not enough. Action means confronting our deepest and most unspoken, unadmitted beliefs and fears. Action means avoiding the tendency to throw into the mix all other forms of discrimination- gender, sexuality, religion, disability, age, income, class – as a means of deflecting, diminishing, or diluting our responsibility.
It has been fascinating that almost every conversation about racism that I have had with a white person since I started drafting this article has generated an immediate reference to one of these other groups. It is as if people feel they must balance the argument in some way, but in so doing close the conversation– particularly when it comes to listening.
So enough of talk. What are we going to do? For, as is the case in everything in our lives, the only thing that really ‘matters’ is what we actually ‘do.’
The key lies in looking at how each of us responds and how we can make an active contribution to changing the world. Within our own organisation this active process of listening, discussing, and challenging ourselves has created a sense of collective obligation. Yet compiling a list of worthy actions we intend to take as an organisation might simply fall into the trap of self-serving tokenism and opportunism. Let us just leave it here that we are committed as an organisation to fulfilling that obligation to act.
The discomforting phrase that I have used throughout this paper has been “Writing as a white man.” Never have I thought it necessary to distinguish my perspective by the colour of my skin. Yet if there has been any value in this paper it is the recognition that such a fact is possibly my greatest unconscious privilege.
While sharing early drafts of this article with Ceannas colleagues, Herman Brodie and I stumbled across this idea of unconscious privilege. Herman’s verbatim email reply to my article captures that more powerfully than I could express in my own words:
“Your extreme discomfort at describing yourself as a ‘white man’ is striking for someone who has described himself as ‘Black’ his whole life – hardly a week goes by without the word in my mouth. I can never forget my blackness. So, not having to define oneself by skin colour is a genuine privilege.”
I started off this article with reference to our commitment to promote wise leadership. In our term’s wise leadership is the capacity to take decisions that add sustainable value to people’s lives, organisations and society.
The process of making wise decisions equates to making the ‘right’ decision, at the ‘right’ time’, for the ‘right’ reasons, where ‘right’ is doing good, doing no harm and human justice.
When it comes to tackling racism, we know the reasons for tackling it, we know it is the right time to do something about it, and we instinctively know it is the right thing to do.
The fundamental challenge, which lies at the very heart of what it is to be a wise leader, is the willingness to take and make the courageous and ethical decision about action – regardless of the pain and difficulty it might cause.
So, the resulting question for every leader is this: do you have the courage to act?
If ‘you’ do, and if ‘you’ becomes ‘we,’ then perhaps there is an opportunity to change the small part of the world we inhabit into a place where people have an equal chance to fulfil their promise as human beings.
For this is the potential of wise leadership: to ‘change our world’.