“We didn’t start the fire.
It was always burning,
Since the world’s been turning
We didn’t start the fire,
No we didn’t light it.
But we try to fight it.”
Billy Joel – We didn’t start the Fire (1989)
This month, Black History Month, I had the unique opportunity to give a talk at work about anti-racism. I wanted to share some of my life experiences with the audience, mostly white or white-passing, and explain the process I have started to overcome my white fragility. I wanted to share what I’ve learned (and unlearned) in the past 4 years, by scrutinizing important life events that have shaped my view of the world, and invite them to do the same, because in my case it has been incredibly liberating. Everybody deserves to reach this kind of freedom.
In my post Unknowingly White, I explained what my discomfort was with being told that I am white. Since that post I have reflected on it even further and I realized that I did perceive that notion of “white superiority” in Colombia, even if I was unable to call it out in this way before. My history classes in high school elevated the Spaniards to a category of “saviors” while erasing from its pages important but devastating portions of the actual history of Colombia. Those classes never focused on the genocide of Indigenous people at the hands of the Spaniards, nor did they address in a memorable manner how Black people were brought as slaves to compensate for the lack of Indigenous labour, and how mistreated they were. No. Those classes focused on the ”civilization” that came with the Spaniards and on how grateful we all should be to them, the “white” people, in the eyes of Colombians. But I guess I didn’t stay on the surface, because I did learn on my own about the genocide and the slavery.
Many times I traced my last names to as far as I could, trying to find an Indigenous last name. I always wanted to feel that I was not “all white” or “all Spanish”. I felt that this would save me from the heavy weight of being associated with the Spaniards that in the most barbaric way took everything from the native people of the land where I was born.
Colombia takes pride in saying that it is one of the most diverse societies in the world. There are so many ethnicities that we could not possibly find racism in it. Think again. It may be true that Colombia is diverse, but the forces of exclusion and segregation stemming from “race” and “class” are blatant. Bogota, the capital, is legally divided on the basis of “strata”, where rich (and mostly white-looking) people live in stratum 6, poor people live in stratum 1 and the rest lives in the middle. And everybody is trying to climb up. Chocó, a largely Black province of Colombia, is the poorest one of all, followed by La Guajira and Cauca, largely populated by Indigenous People. In August 7, 2022, Colombia elected a new president and the first African-Colombian female Vice-President, Francia Márquez. It didn’t matter that she has been a leader of the African communities and an environmental activist since she was 15, or that she was the recipient of the Goldman Environmental Award in 2018. It didn’t matter that she’s a lawyer who has worked all her life for equality and social justice. Her Blackness has made her the target of all sorts of microaggressions, and her life has been threatened several times.
In Colombia, I never wanted to be associated with “white” because, in my mind, that would mean that I directly and exclusively came from the Spaniards, who took everything from the native Indigenous People, who brought Africans as slaves, who developed a system that elevates those who look like Spaniards while oppressing those who don’t. But all my last names trace back to Spain, and in Colombia I was, in fact, privileged, despite my family’s modest financial means and my working very hard to become what I am.
In Canada I’ve been told by many that I “look white”, and for a long time the discomfort was there, although framed differently. In my ignorance (which I am actively fighting), I thought that if I am white, I am privileged generally. I thought that it meant I’ve had an easy life full of privileges I didn’t work for, and that I am likely a racist. When told that I am white, or that I enjoy white privilege, I was always very quick to feel insulted, judged, misunderstood, angry. Denying, withdrawing from the conversation followed, while claiming that I came from a place where racism is not a thing. “I identify myself as Latin American” I said. “I have worked really hard to be where I am", I argued. All typical patterns of white fragility.
As it turns out there is nothing inherently shameful in being white. The only inherent thing to whiteness is the unearned privilege we enjoy just for being white. This unearned privilege (white privilege) manifests itself in the things we are never subjected to. White privilege is not about having it all easy because of our white skin complexion. It is not about all white people being racist. Instead, it is about understanding why we do not have to ever factor in the colour of our skin for absolutely anything.
And white privilege is necessarily linked to the concept of white supremacy. White privilege is not “a part of the natural order of life. In the absence of white supremacy, white privilege is meaningless”. So, we need to talk about white supremacy, and understand what it is, so that we don’t immediately feel uncomfortable or threatened in our moral values.
It’s not uncommon for most people to associate the term “white supremacy” solely with extremist groups like the neo-Nazis, or the KKK or far-right groups. Most of us have at least a basic knowledge of what these extremist groups stand for, and we know the devastating impact they have had worldwide, so we don’t want to be associated with that concept. But, while white supremacy captures these radical groups, they are not the only association we can make to this term. Robin DiAngelo explains that white supremacy does not refer to individual white people and their individual intentions or actions, but to an overarching political, economic and social system of domination. Layla F. Saad, says that White Supremacy is an ideology, a paradigm, an institutional system and a worldview that we have been born into by virtue of our white privilege. This system of structural power privileges, centralizes, and elevates white people as a group. In western societies most positions of power, whether in the government, the private sector, schools, or universities, positions of power are reserved for white people. The serious problem with this is that those in power are the ones who determine how we see the world. In western societies we see the world as being a “white” world, because that is the frame we find everywhere: how many Black teachers did we have in school? How many Black actors do we see in the movies we watch? How many claims of discrimination based on the colour of our skin have we filed or thought about filing in our life? We have been socialized into a system that privileges white people, and consciously or unconsciously, we may harbour thoughts of superiority, because we were born into a system designed to elevate white people.
I firmly believe that the power of socialization is unmeasurable. If it could build a system that embodies oppression, it can build a different, more inclusive an equal system. I have understood that, despite my purposeful identification as Hispanic or Latin American, despite the fact that I never considered myself “privileged” in Colombia, white is like people see me, and racism is my problem. It is my responsibility to overcome the fragility that makes me feel uncomfortable and figure out what good I can do to break the patterns.
In my own process, I have learned that there is power even the words I choose to identify myself. I used to say that I wasn’t racist, but this doesn’t cut it for me anymore. If I want to be an ally of the Black cause, I need to say that I am anti-racist. This involves an active and conscious commitment to educate myself about racism, white supremacy, white privilege and microaggressions, so I can get rid of misconceptions. It also involves a serious effort to listen to and believe what Black people choose to share with me, so I can be more empathetic. And it involves action, so I can participate in the process of building a different, inclusive and equal system.
I understand that I can’t change the whole world overnight, but writing about my experiences and being prepared to be vulnerable has helped me overcome my white fragility. Getting away from the comfort of being silent and speak up when I see mistreatment has allowed me to exercise the power of empathy. Sharing what I have learned with my son and seeing he understands and checks his white privilege is creating a different and conscious chain of resocialization, at least within my family. And there is so much more that I can do.
I am no longer uncomfortable to recognize my whiteness when I look myself in the mirror. I understand now that being white does not mean I am an ally of the nazis or the KKK or any alt-right group. The truth is, there is no insult to my moral values in someone calling me white, or in passing as white. The truth is that I don’t need to withdraw from the conversation. The truth is that in Colombia, my country of origin, racism is a very tangible and real thing, and it is there even if I didn’t want to see it.
I’m not suggesting that overcoming white fragility is easy. There is so much to unlearn and unravel. There is so much to learn and understand. There are so many patterns to break. It is a process and it’s an ongoing one. But it is possible, and it is the first step towards change. We need to change our mindset.
So, the message I want to send to all white and white-passing people is that it is OK to be uncomfortable and it is doable to overcome our fragility, so that we don’t feel uncomfortable anymore. We are good persons who were born into a system that privileges us. We need to check our unearned privilege and commit to do something with it. I invite you to join me in this very liberating commitment to building a different system.
My message to Black people is that I am an ally. I celebrate with you Black History Month, but, if I can be honest, I hope one day we don’t need February to celebrate the accomplishments of Black people. Because, while I understand why we need it now, in some ways it reinforces the prevalence of whiteness. It is a white world where we designate a month to recognize you. I see you. I see your colour and recognize the many struggles that go with it and that go untold in our history classes. I see you every day an not just in February. I am learning to unlearn. I am breaking patterns.
