Month: March 2021

1. Normative Narratives

My own story appeals to a universalized humanity.  At five years old, and without any prior exposure to any other cultures, we had no reason to think any differently about a classmate who had dark skin.  We knew he was different from the rest of the class, but did not yet know what that meant.  “Most of my class were being raised in the same town that their parents had been, if not on the same farm, or in the same house, but here was this boy who looked very different from us all, and was from not only another town, but another country.  For 5-year-olds, this was very hard to wrap our minds around.”  (https://edusites.uregina.ca/nicoleray/2021/02/08/writing-the-self-differences/)

We all want to believe that we see people only for who they are, and that the color of their skin is not something we notice, but that is not the case.  We have been socialized to see the differences in people, and taught that the visible differences we can see separate us into different classes.  To claim that you are unaffected by this socialization is a common rebuttal to the idea that one may contribute to the systematic racism in our country. “I feel like I almost never noticed when someone had different skin colour then me. My best friend throughout Elementary and High School was black so, it was just normal to me.” (https://edusites.uregina.ca/jennarhodes/) 

As a white person, it is easy to ignore the advantages that have been allowed to me solely because of the colour of my skin.  It is much harder to open your mind up to the fact that we as a society are actively keeping people of colour down for the sole purpose of maintaining our own sense of power.  This attitude starts at a young age, as a result of our socialization.  We do not need to be actively involved in acts that are typically seen as racist to be contributing to the systematic racism.  “At school only the white kids would hang out, nobody would include the others. At lunch people would bring something that wasn’t “normal food” and would get picked on. Racism is all around us, if you don’t stop and look around once in a while you might miss it.” (https://edusites.uregina.ca/knoll/2021/02/09/racism-in-school/.  Like Jenna and Riley, I move through life not consciously noticing people’s skin colour, but when I force myself to stop and think back to first impressions, like in my own story, skin colour is one of the first characteristics that we will notice.  Like it or not it is something that we need to recognize in order to make any real change.

Wanbli’s story paints a vivid picture of what it is like to experience racism from the perspective of a person of colour.  To hear racist remarks from a young child just shows how strong our socialization affects us.  ‘“I said you’re all brownies! You’re all racist and brown and I hate you!” she yells as she reaches around to push my sister back down as I was helping her to her feet. I feel a switch, turning on my anger and shutting off my senses. In a blind rage, I throw myself at her and we crash into the ground. Before I could strangle her, my brother yanks me off of her and starts dragging me down the street’ (https://wombom96.wordpress.com/).  Wanbli’s initial reaction to the girl who did not want to talk to her shows that she has not yet learned the reality of systematic racism, where as her brother’s actions show that this is something he has become used to and almost expected.

This story can support the “bad apple” theory.  “The people that commit these intentional acts are deemed bad, and those that don’t are good. If we are against racism and unaware of committing racist acts, we can’t be racist; racism and being a good person have become mutually exclusive.” (https://www.huffpost.com/entry/why-its-so-hard-to-talk-to-white-people-about-racism_b_7183710)  Because of the harsh contrast between the stories, it is easy to look at the initial ones and invalidate the claims of oppression as oversensitivity, but what we often forget is that people of colour are forced to deal with these types of encounters on a daily basis.

The drive to school was tense.  My mom had demanded silence after listening to a van full of girls complaining about the dresses she had chosen for us for picture day.  My oldest sister was allowed to wear overall shorts and a shirt she had chosen, but the younger four of us had to wear flowery, lacey dresses that looked like bad flower girl dresses. 

We unloaded from the van just in time to hear the warning bell for the start of school.  I grabbed my bag and hurried around the school to my designated entrance.  It was a warm September day, warm enough to wear shorts, but I had a light jacket on to help hide the hideous dress.  When I walked into the entrance I stopped in my tracks.  Contrasting my awful dress, and big backcombed hair, I saw that my peers were wearing jeans and t-shirts.  None of their moms had made them dress up for picture day. 

My sister and I are Irish twins, which meant that we were in the same 5/6 split classroom, and because we were so close in age my mom had always insisted on having us match.  I was never the typical little girl, and hated to wear dresses, so I was uncomfortable and very self-conscious.  I could feel the eyes of the other children on me and my attire, and heard stifled laughter at the fact that my sister and I, at 10 and 11 years old were dressed as twins. 

There were only four classrooms in my school, so we wouldn’t have long to wait until it was our turn to go into the gym for our photos.  When it was our turn, the teacher lined us up by height.  I was always one of the shorter students, so I was near the end of the line.  Entering the cold gym, the photographer started selecting students and directing them on where to sit and stand on the benches for our class picture.  I was hopeful that even though I was almost always in the front row, I usually was near the end.  I watched him place my sister in the middle of the front row, in her puffy ensemble, the dress taking up the space of a student on either side of her, while he commented on how “pretty” she looked.  He continued to fill in all the gaps until it was my turn.

When he saw my dress, he commented on how pretty we both looked, and we should be together, so after a few minor adjustments, there I was, front and center.  I am not smiling in the photo.  I refused to.  I was uncomfortable and embarrassed to be made such a spectacle of. 

There was a buzzing of excitement in the air as the students from the boys’ and girls’ volleyball teams hurried to the bathrooms to change into their uniforms.  It is the very first game of the season, and the first game for many of us who have just entered grade 7.  Its cold in the bathroom as we get changed.  Many of my friends are showing off their new knee pads, and high socks that their parents had bought for the occasion, while I quietly put on the school-provided, yellow-stained ones that have been passed down from year to year.

When we come out of the change room and head to the gym, I am very aware of the fact that all of my friends’ moms are sitting in the bleachers ready to give them a dollar or two to buy a snack.  The boys’ teams would play first, so we would have some time to eat and visit with our friends, while our parents visited amongst themselves.  I would have to sit with my little sisters because they could not go home without me when my mom was at work.  I looked around for my mom, even though I already knew she wouldn’t be there.  She worked the day shift at a pharmacy, and then a night shift at the town bar so that she could support my four sisters and I on her own.

When my friends went to the concession I went along.  I pretended that my mom had given me money for a snack, and when it was my turn to order I would decide that I wasn’t that hungry, but the lady working in the concession handed me a bag of chips anyways.  I was grateful for the treat, but it also made me wonder if the whole town knew about my family’s financial situation.  As I sat down with my sisters to wait and share the small bag of chips, I could feel the eyes of the other parents on us.  Did they know that I had been given the chips because I couldn’t pay for them?  Had they noticed that my mom was not there, nor was she able to attend most of my school activities, and that my sisters were there out of necessity, because at 9 and 5 they could not go home alone? 

All of a sudden, I was very aware of the fact that the tattered shorts I wore had been handed down from a parent sitting in the stands, and that she had another daughter, younger than me, that could have used the clothes but wouldn’t be willing to wear hand-me-downs.  This, I am sure is confirmation to them that my mom could not afford to buy me my own.  I am grateful when the whistle blows and it is time for my team to play.  My teacher allows my sisters to be on the bench with us, and for a little while I forget that my peers’ clothes are newer, and their houses are nicer.  For a few minutes I get to be 12 and play with my friends.