The Danger of Colour Blindness And Why We Need To See Race

As a white person talking about race, I understand that I am likely to make mistakes or phrase certain ideas incorrectly. If I have said something wrong in this article, please call me out! Point out my mistake, improve my perspective, whatever you need to do to direct me towards a path of better understanding.

I don't remember ever having a conversation with my parents about race. They never sat me down to talk about racial injustices, in the same way that parents talk to their children about the Birds and the Bees (by the way, they never had this conversation with me either!). I feel as though I was pushed into the belief that mentioning race somehow shuns black people. Although it was never said to me directly, I quickly caught on with society's consensus: as long as we do not mention race and accept that everyone is equal, then racism will eventually go away.

But racism hasn't gone away, and recent events would suggest that the situation is actually getting worse. So, surely, colour blindness isn't working as a concept.

In the wake of the murder of George Floyd and the Black Lives Matter protests that have followed, I have steeped myself in learning about black history, white privilege and colour blindness. It is quite incredible for me to comprehend that it has only taken a few days of research to completely change a mindset that I have held onto tightly for the past eighteen years. Colour blindness is a terrible solution to end racism, and here's why...

I should start off by stating very clearly that mentioning race can be racist and it can lead to the shunning of BIPOC in our communities. We see this, for example, in environments where the mentioning of race is used as an insult or is quickly translated into violence or abuse. Drawing attention to race and making someone feel ashamed of the colour of their skin is invariably racist.

However, there are certainly examples where mentioning race does no harm. Indeed, the awkward way in which white people try to avoid mentioning race can often prove more insulting than if they had simply mentioned race in the first place. In her incredibly insightful workbook Me and White Supremacy, Layla F. Saad - a bestselling author, anti-racism educator, international speaker, and incredible human being - highlights a crucial fact:

'As a child, I could never understand why white parents would shush their children whenever they used the word Black to describe a Black person. 'Don't say that! It's rude!' they would say in hushed tones, embarrassed that their child had said something that was apparently offensive. But what made it offensive? I was Black. This was an observation of difference, not a derogatory judgement. How were they supposed to refer to me? These parents sometimes took it a step further by saying things like, 'They're not Black. They're just people.' What did this mean? And why was it so important for them to not say the word Black? It often left me wondering, was Black synonymous with bad? Was my skin colour a source of shame? And if so, was I expected to act as if I were not Black to make white people more comfortable around me?'

This excerpt from Saad's workbook raises several important convictions, first and foremost that calling someone Black is not an indication of racist behaviour. So, instead of our parents telling us that we 'shouldn't see race', they should have been telling us that race should be acknowledged but should not be used as a gateway towards inappropriate, racially-motivated behaviour. White people exist and black people exist. This is an observation that we can make, but it is certainly not an opportunity to force black people into a box of shame, simply on account of their skin colour. Equally, this observation should not be used to reinforce the idea that black people are somehow inferior.

Yet, the fundamental fault I find in colour blindness is that it shapes the way in which we learn about and understand race. Colour blindness arises from an idealised and utopic view of race. This approach relies on the belief that everyone is equal and that everyone should be viewed equally, regardless of the colour of their skin. A flick through the news, however, will quickly show that this world is by no means equal. In fact, you don't even need to rely on the news to understand that our society is overwhelmed by inequalities. Simply step outside and you'll soon see how ingrained racism is in our communities. It's in the schools we attend and it's in the hospitals we visit when we're sick. It's in the businesses we buy from, it's in the housing market and, most importantly, it's in the government. Racism is everywhere.

So, my journey towards racial enlightenment has made me realise, with a deepening sense of tragedy, that this world never has been equal. Trying to believe in this utopic society becomes a significant waste of time and does nothing to further the BLM movement.

What's more, colour blindness encourages a lazy and apathetic approach towards understanding racism, whilst also strengthening the sense of disconnection between people of different races. If we are told that being colour blind is all we need to do to eradicate racism, then we will never be forced - as individuals and as a society - to truly educate ourselves on an issue that is, after all, a white problem. Suggesting that racism will simply 'disappear' through colour blindness deflects the blame from white people, who have established institutions that thrive on systemic racism. Colour blindness creates the false belief that white people are not to blame for the atrocities of racism - for the years of slavery, lynching, racially-motivated abuse, and exploitation of indigenous communities. Colour blindness establishes an abstract enemy - which is race - and I can only describe this approach to racism as distorted and fundamentally wrong. White people are responsible and we should be made accountable.

In order to overcome racism, we must steep ourselves in research and force ourselves into uncomfortable waters. We must read books written by BIPOC authors and establish a system of support by listening to their experiences. We must confront the ultimate truth that white people have been handed down privileges undeservedly on account of their skin colour. We must realise that our exploitation of white privilege and the perpetuation of white superiority heighten our complicity in a racist world. But we will never achieve this sense of understanding if all we are simply told to 'ignore race'. This is wishful thinking. This is an utterly pointless mindset.

Our parents present racism to us as if it is some sort of rash. We have been raised to believe that the 'rash of racism' will simply disappear on its own if we stop irritating it and simply ignore it. But racism is not a rash. It will never go away on its own.

Once again, Layla Saad summarises this idea perfectly, and if you are learning from these excerpts, then I highly recommend that you invest in her Me and White Supremacy workbook:

'The promise of the Church of Colour Blindness is that if we stop seeing race, then racism goes away. That racism will go away not through awakening consciousness of privilege and racial harm, not through systemic and institutional change, not through addressing imbalances in power, not through making amends for historical and current-day harm, but instead by simply acting as if the social construct of race has no actual consequences - both for those with white privilege and those without it... Unfortunately, that is not how white supremacy works. The problem does not go away because you refuse to see it. And this kind of thinking is naive at best and dangerous at worst.'

Moreover, colour blindness, commonly seen among children with white privilege, brings another crucial point to the surface of this debate. White children are encouraged to adopt 'colour blindness' because their apparent 'white superiority' enables them to breeze through life, often not having to acknowledge their own race. Colour blindness works for white children because the colour of their skin does not hold them back.

The story of black children, however, is far more upsetting. Black children are made to realise at an incredibly young age that they are somehow 'different' to the rest of society, which is often viewed through a white, privileged lens. When a white child insults a black child because of their race, that child cannot remain colour blind. When a black child is looked at differently because of their race, that child cannot remain colour blind. When a black child is treated unfairly because they are defined according to unfair racial stereotypes, that child cannot remain colour blind. Colour blindness, then, is just another privilege that white people (including myself) are granted.

But why should we be paying attention to race? Believe it or not, black people are actually really proud of who they are, and so they should be. Black people celebrate their history, their heritage, their culture and their identity. But colour blindness perpetuates the idea that black people should not openly celebrate who they are, that their race is not important and that their identity should be disregarded. This is all so wrong. Colour blindness suppresses the voices of BIPOC, who are forced to believe that they are not allowed to talk openly about their racial experiences, because they are 'drawing attention to race', which, according to disinterested white people, perpetuates the problem of racism. White people show no willingness to listen. They want to remain silent. They do not want to learn. We do not want to learn.

There is a reason that Puerto Rican author, Eduardo Bonilla-Silva, calls colour blindness 'the new racism'. It does absolutely nothing to eradicate racism, and instead perpetuates it in a white-oriented society that, ultimately, lacks any genuine understanding of racism. Colour blindness upholds white privilege and is 'a particularly insidious way for people with white privilege to pretend that their privilege is fictitious', according to Saad.

Instead of teaching our children to be colour blind, we should be teaching them to see race and to embrace the beauty of diversity. I will certainly be teaching my children that. This is only one part of an incredibly complex picture, but if we ever want to overcome racism, then it's certainly a great start.

'Antiracism work that does not break the heart open cannot move people toward meaningful change' - Layla Saad.

The Sports Bra Dilemma And Why We Need To Stop Being Silent

Today is Friday, 29th May. It has been an incredibly hot day; the temperature has slowly been creeping up to 20 degrees Celsius. I always run on Fridays, usually in a sports bra and shorts to combat the sweltering heat. I never think twice about this decision and, in theory, I shouldn't have to. But now, after today, I am re-evaluating what my body means to myself and to others. I am re-evaluating the misled belief that we live in a society of equals.

On days like this, when spring gradually transitions into summer and the sun seems to burn brighter, It's easy to take a quick break on a run or slow down your pace. Fancying one of these well-needed breaks (as well as a change in music), I slowed down to walking pace and looked down at my phone, ready to dive into what can only be described as my extremely overwhelming Spotify library. This activity was disturbed, however, by a deliberate and piercing beep from a passing van. Although it was hard to see past the reflections on the front screen, there seemed to be two, fairly young men in the van, looking right in my direction whilst offering me some kind of hand gesture. Embracing a sudden impulse to show-off my female strength, I gave them both the middle finger, sighed and carried on.

But I couldn't quite 'carry on'. What was probably a very brief moment for these two men - a moment which brought them short-term pleasure before moving onto their next innocent, female victim - came to occupy much of my headspace for the rest of my run. But 'run' isn't even the right word to use here either. I felt so disturbed by and uncomfortable from the experience that I didn't want to keep on running. I didn't want people to see me in my sports bra. This incident, the result of my decision to expose my body partially, had equally exposed my true thoughts and feelings on the subject matter.

Should I call my mum to pick me up? Should I wear a shirt next time? Will everyone else here look at me in the same way those men did, mentally undressing and sexualising a body which I most certainly own and control? In a matter of minutes, my mind had endured several phases of contemplation. My initial frustration and annoyance had transformed into guilt and shame. Despite the searing weather and a cloudless sky, I felt guilty for having thought that I could go on a run in just a sports bra. It's for reasons like this that women are so frequently labelled as 'whores' and 'sluts'. And I suddenly felt like I belonged to this insulting cluster of expressions.

Is this okay? Is this what I am entitled to experience in 2020 - supposedly a 'modern' and 'progressive' society? Is this what our sisters and daughters are entitled to experience? Is it okay that I was made to feel guilty and shameful for such an innocent act? No. No. No. No. This is not okay. We should be talking about this. Why are we not talking about this? I - a passionate advocate for equal rights - should not be in a position where I so easily succumb to male voyeurism. I should not be in a position where my strong and secured sense of self can be so easily shattered by the single beep of a car horn. As my wonderful friend Lily put it once she texted me after the incident, 'this is how and why they have power over us. This is why feminism is a thing and needs to be a thing.'

I can already hear the wave of backlash approaching. Boys will be boys. Everyone has urges. You're not helping yourself, are you? You need to cover up more. Why are you still complaining? If anything it was a compliment. Don't reveal your body if you don't want people to look at it. It's not like you were sexually assaulted. It's disgusting to expose yourself in such a way.

This way of thinking is toxic. It is exactly this kind of mindset that encourages the acceptance of the status quo and the belief that nothing can be improved. It is the same narrative we are fed by those who tell young girls not to stay out too late or not to walk home alone. It is the same narrative we are fed by those who refuse to believe in equality, those who believe the illusion that we already live in a world of equality.

I would personally define this as a very mild form of sexual assault. I am very fortunate that this is about as bad as my experiences get; I have never been physically assaulted, nor have I ever been the victim of domestic abuse. There was no unwanted sexual contact involved, but the incident was based upon a belief in male entitlement to the female body. It was based upon the belief that it is perfectly acceptable for men to feed off the sexual pleasure they gain from young girls or women. It left me feeling unsafe to walk around a relatively safe area in broad daylight. It was based upon the common practice of female sexualisation and objectification, which essentially forces a woman to believe that she lacks control over her body and the way it is perceived by others.

Big surprise... I have breasts! Glad that secret's finally out there! Who would have thought, huh? Believe it or not, but most women actually have breasts... you know... the whole 'puberty' thing? Women have breasts just as they have skin, arms, legs and shoulders. Breasts started out as just another part of the body, but through centuries of deep-rooted attitudes based upon female inferiority and male entitlement to female 'property', breasts are now viewed through a desirable and sexualised lens. Maybe a woman decides to go on a run because she's trying to improve her fitness, not because she's looking for unwanted male attention. Yet, this 'attention' I speak of is often inescapable. It is a social 'norm'.

But we don't want this attention. It's not flattering. It's disgusting. Stop it.

I am writing this very impromptu article in the wake of racial protests in the United States -the result of the unjust and racially-motivated murder of George Floyd. This was not a simple case of flawed US policing practices. This was a racial issue. My own experience today has only stood to remind me of the extent to which social inequalities have ingrained our society, its institutions and our own way of thinking. Gender and racial inequality are both built upon the belief that, in a situation with two parties, one party should be viewed on a superior level, which, in turn, severely affects the power dynamics in society. Shifting dynamics such as these lead to a change in behaviour and treatment towards the so-called 'inferior party', whose inability to overcome this inferiority ultimately renders any attempt at liberation hopeless.

But it doesn't have to be this way, and when both parties come together through a sense of understanding and empathy, absolutely anything can change. When an African-American protests for their own rights, their influence is limited, because cooperation from both parties is required. When a white American speaks up for the African-American, protests for the African-American, listens to and connects with the stories of mistreated African-Americans, things really begin to change on a more fundamental basis.

So, using this principle, when men and women alike educate themselves on gender inequality, consciously recognise and call out gender mistreatment in society and band together to wake up the rest of society from this dream of so-called 'social parity', then anything is possible. Anything.

Please not that I am not trying to compare my comparatively minor experience of being catcalled to the tragic and unjust death of George Floyd. These two experiences deserve to be understood and appreciated in their own separate lights, and I understand that, as a white woman, my entitlement to white privilege makes my life far more bearable than the lives of most people of colour. I simply decided to compare the two events because of their shared roots. Both events can be understood through an even deeper understanding of social inequality and, most importantly, through an understanding of the discrimination and racism that is ingrained in the institutions and services that we rely on every single day.

So, I think I've said my piece and I hope you took something away from it. I hope we all realise that nothing will change if we stay silent. After all, your beliefs are not strong enough if they remain beliefs. Beliefs must be turned into words and actions. Silence must be turned into passionate protest and resounding uproar.

Dear Corona: An Open Letter from Two Year 13 Students

Written by Katie McCarthy, with contributions from Amy Applegate.

The global pandemic we currently find ourselves in has connected the world through a joint sense of yearning. Workers are yearning to be back at their office desks, comfortably seated in their chairs and chatting with their colleagues. Primary school children are yearning to be back in their classrooms, playing with their friends and running around carelessly at break time. Relatives around the world are yearning for the hand of a loved one they have now lost to a deadly virus. And even the typical British family is likely to be yearning for their annual holiday to Spain or Greece, all now seeming very uncertain. Yet, no one would have expected that Year 13 students up and down the country would be yearning for their exams. Despite the intense level of stress, sleepless nights and loss of a social life associated with A-Level exam season, why is it that students are actually missing the very thing that brought them so much exhaustion and misery?

The announcement regarding school closures essentially changed my life in a matter of seconds. In fact, if I’m quiet enough, I can still hear the words of Gavin Williamson reverberating through my ears, and if I'm focused enough, I can still see the jarring 'Breaking News' bulletin flashing before my eyes. Rumours had been circulating through school corridors for a good couple of weeks beforehand: teachers advising us to complete A-Level coursework as quickly as possible for convenience’s sake, speculation about how exams would be conducted in the wake of social distancing rules and a creeping rise in the number of teachers who had called in sick out of fear that they had developed COVID-like symptoms. By Wednesday, 18th March the school’s eyes, watching over announcements that Scotland and Ireland had closed or were going to close their own institutions, had turned in on themselves - we were next.

But I still refused to believe that any provisions would be long term. I refused to believe that schools would be closed for an indefinite period and that my exams would be cancelled, so much so that I spent the hour leading up to Wednesday’s government briefing making History flashcards - hard work which, in a matter of seconds, would be in vain. Was this a reflection of my formidable certainty or simply my own disillusionment in the face of the true facts? Schools across Europe were falling like dominoes. It was only a matter of time, therefore, that English schools would fall too.

Sixth Forms and Colleges across the country spend two years preparing us for the most important exams of our lives thus far, the exams that will supposedly determine our entire future. The stress, work-load and constant nagging are drilled into our brains to such an extent that we are only able to think in academic terms. By early March, life only seems to be revolving around exams and everything else falls short of importance, making it inevitable that any A-Level student will be hard-hit by the fact that their hours spent making flashcards, writing essays and completing past papers were wasted hours.

It was natural, then, that I proceeded to cry and sob uncontrollably once the announcement was made that all GCSE and A-Level exams, set to take place in May and June, were cancelled. Not postponed. Cancelled. Perhaps my reaction was a little melodramatic (a lovely, not-at-all-embarrassing photo below shows just how far-reaching my breakdown really was. Okay, it really is quite embarrassing, but I find it necessary in getting my point across) but, in my head, it was the only appropriate way to respond to such a devastating loss. I have always been an incredibly hard worker and have continuously struggled to learn my academic boundaries. Revising for two hours can very quickly become six, and an invitation to a party or get-together with friends is immediately counteracted by guilty thoughts - that my time would be better spent completing a past paper for German, writing flashcards for History or enriching my critical appreciation for English Literature. So, in this split second, it was not only my exams which were cancelled. All the hard work, sweat and tears that had gone into the most important two years of my entire education had equally been wiped away from view. No one would ever hear about my German research project on the country’s journey towards democracy, nor would any examiner ever get to read my History coursework on Russian repression.

For the average unmotivated and sleep-deprived student, having your exams cancelled and your summer begin prematurely probably sounds like a dream. It’s really the kind of thing that only happens once in a blue moon. Hours spent in front of comprehensive textbooks, straining computer screens and ticking clocks in the exam hall were replaced with unlimited Netflix streaming, guilt-free lie-ins and, to put it simply, blissful freedom. Yet, this was not our reaction to the situation at all. Although there were some students who were genuinely happy to be done and dusted with their fourteen years of education without having to sit a single A-Level paper, our unprecedented, final day of school on Friday, 20th March can only be described as bitter-sweet. In our makeshift Leavers’ Assembly, my Head of Sixth Form spoke with tears in her eyes as she attempted to get the speakers to work in our auditorium, but in the end we were forced to watch our Goodbye Video in dead silence, without the emotional music and fitting lyrics of The Wanted’s ‘Gold Forever’ blasting through the sound system. I think this moment is really a testament to how unplanned and unexpected the whole situation was - not even our school speakers were ready to say goodbye to us!

So, perhaps the reason why we are missing exams so much is because exam season symbolises so much more than the final step in our secondary education. Exam season equally symbolises the end of seven amazing years with incredible people and the beginning of a new phase in our lives where everything really begins to change. Exam season symbolises the jubilation on Leavers’ Day, where students are handed their Leavers’ Hoodies and, as is the case at my school, dress up in hilarious, sometimes borderline-inappropriate costumes in a school-wide Leavers’ Parade. Exam season means saying goodbye to those teachers who believed in us when we didn’t believe in ourselves, it means prom is approaching, and it means that we are about to begin what so many students call the best summer of their lives.

Our reality, however, now looks much bleaker. Our holidays are being cancelled, nightclubs and pubs are closed (an absolute catastrophe for the average intoxicated teen!) and we can’t even meet up with friends in ‘normal’ circumstances (sorry, Zoom, but you just don’t quite cut it). And, whilst still trying to get over the fact that our final months at secondary school have been taken away from us, we are bombarded with the expectation that we should be using this time as productively as possible: learning a language, growing abs or even mastering a musical instrument.

For weeks, we waited in angst regarding the uncertainty of school closures, and then, on that fateful Wednesday, our questions were answered. But now this dread and uncertainty have spilled into questions over university. Will Freshers' Week be postponed or even cancelled? Will universities be online for the first semester (as of writing this article, Cambridge University announced yesterday that all lectures will be online until the summer of 2021)? Will students be able to move into accommodation and begin making friends, or will the social side of university (and arguably the most exciting part of first year) be postponed too? Our education has been replaced with one large question mark. Naturally, there’s a lot for us to be worrying about, and a zoom call with friends or a socially distanced get-together in a public park is about the only way that we can reach out and talk through these worries. These methods of social contact may help, but they certainly don't cure.

For the most part, our lives as students could definitely be much worse. We now have the freedom to enjoy daily rounds of exercise, sleep in until midday and utilise that Netflix membership like never before. We choose, therefore, to keep quiet about our issues and complaints. Why should we complain about missing out on prom when key workers across the country are exposing themselves to this invisible killer without sufficient PPE equipment? Why should we complain about our cancelled holiday to Nice or Zante when hundreds are surrendering their lives to COVID-19 every single day? And why should we complain about having to complete our first term of university from the comfort of our own homes when others live in perpetual fear of becoming unemployed and losing everything that constitutes their livelihood? We don’t want to come across as selfish. Everyone is losing out at the moment and this just happens to be our loss. We all deserve the chance to grieve over what could have been.

My friend and fellow Year 13 Student, Amy Applegate, also shared my feelings of sadness and guilt:

In an effort to placate ourselves to the current circumstances, many students, such as myself, are struggling to come to terms with the fact that, not only are our exam results uncertain, but also the renowned 'best summer of our lives' seems to be materialising into a six-month period of simple 'family time'. Many Year 13 students across the nation are currently attempting to suppress their anger, sadness and FOMO of what should have been. When frontline workers are risking their lives and exposing themselves to the horrific number of Coronavirus cases, the 'losses' of Year 13 students are seemingly reduced to a mere 'there are bigger issues in society than cancelling your holidays'. But why are we made to feel as though what we are missing out on is insignificant? This only comes down to guilt, which we feel for comparing our loss of clubbing, for example, to the countless deaths belonging to this global tragedy.

Having endured many, many breakdowns and endless hours of work and revision, the only thing that kept students going was the knowledge that what many teachers, family members and friends called 'the best summer of their lives' was upcoming, yet now this appears 'cancelled'. It's not just the material aspects of holidays, clubbing, festivals and prom that we are missing out on. It's the chance to make memories with our friends before we all separate on our individual paths to adulthood. It feels as though our last moments of childhood have been robbed from us by a global and unprecedented pandemic - something that an in denial Amy, even a few days before the cancellation of A-Levels, would have never dreamed of happening.