The Fight To Thrive
Figuring out how to navigate systemic racism as a Black wife, mother, and teacher.
A welcome and busy new work gig has kept me away from the keyboard. I actually had a different story in mind to run this month, except a couple of things reminded me of a piece I had first written a few years ago, after a series of conversations I had with a new friend from the other side of the country.
The first thing: I was approached earlier in the week for feedback on an information poster that was to be shared across an organization. There were three options.
“The first one was the original, and I asked for more inclusive photos,” she said. She is a talented communications pro who is also a woman of colour.
The original used a photo of smiley long-haired Caucasian women. The second option had a few more white women and a couple of Caucasian men thrown into the shot for good measure. The third was more of the same, but “candid”.
Cringe.
The second thing: Yesterday was Juneteenth in the US.
In putting together this piece, I reached out to S.B. to reconnect. It had been a while for both of us. In addition to our mutual excitement about the opportunity to collaborate, she also said:
“I can’t believe that it was 2020 when we did this (wrote the original article), and now it’s five years later… and it’s unfortunate that many things haven’t changed, and erasure and silencing are still common.”
I wish I could disagree with her.
S.B. lives in Brampton, ON, and has been teaching in the community where she and her family have lived for over 20 years. She is the wife of a former CFL football player and a mother to three academically inclined young men doing amazing things.
Her account is an example of the impacts of systemic racism on a person of colour, more specifically, an educated Black woman. Thank you, S.B., for sharing part of your story.
Note: Personal details have either been omitted or changed. This story may also be triggering to some, so please take good care when reading today.
“My experiences with racism started when I was very young.
“My dad grew up in Ohio and was a talented football player. He was eighth in the Heisman Trophy Voting (awarded to the most valuable player in NCAA[1] College Football) and still holds the record for the most consecutive wins in college football history. Despite his on-field brilliance and national acclaim, he sat through seven rounds of the NFL[2] draft, and his name was never called. At the time, NFL owners and General Managers didn’t believe Black men could be quarterbacks, and they were quite upfront about it.
“He moved from the US to play in the CFL[3]. Canada gave him a chance to play.
“In doing that, he and my mom had high hopes that my siblings and I wouldn’t have to address racism in the same ways. Canada was a different world. For my parents, it was an escape from the racism they experienced in the States. They grew up during the Civil Rights Movement and were involved in sit-ins and other acts of protest. They believed that living in Canada would protect us from the racism they had experienced. For a long time, I believed that too.
“I grew up in a Black middle-class family, and my dad was a celebrity. Because of this, we were more sheltered, but I did notice subtle things. My friends were experiencing more blatant acts of racism than we were. When I married and had children, things changed.
“My husband, like my dad, played football in the CFL and was very active in the community. He trained officers in racial sensitivity and worked with homeless youth and refugee families. His football career and our marriage were going well. At the time, we had a one-year-old son, and I was pregnant with our second. He had just re-signed with the Ticats[4], and he and his friends wanted to celebrate.
“While he was waiting in a parking lot for his friends to arrive, he was accosted and then assaulted by two plainclothes police officers. They threatened to kill him. They beat him to the ground. Then, they held him overnight in a cell without a phone call. My husband asked four, five, six times for his phone call. They would not give him one. Ironically, one of the officers at the station that night was someone who had taken racial sensitivity training from him just a few weeks prior.
“My husband had to be taken to the hospital for his injuries. He was medicated. We were both traumatized, trying to understand how this could happen.
“This incident happened in the police organization that serves the neighbourhood we live in, and where my husband was doing community work on racial sensitivity and anti-bullying. We were also good friends with the police chief at the time. He was a guest at our wedding. We reached out privately and publicly to have a conversation.
“It was silent. No one came to speak with us.
“I saw my husband after the assault. I couldn’t process what happened. I was a mess. Thankfully, two of my husband’s friends supported me. They accompanied me to the hospital to get medical attention for my husband’s injuries.
“At the hospital, a nurse asked us if what happened involved the police. We were stunned. How did she know?
‘It happens all the time,’ the nurse said. ‘Usually, to new immigrants, people who speak another language, or youth who are too young to know how to say anything.’
“It broke our hearts to hear this. What happened to us wasn’t a one-time thing. It was hard to accept. Our family believes in the power of prayer, so we prayed and held onto the belief that justice would prevail.
“The injuries my husband sustained from the assault ended his football career. Soon, we were dealing with lawyers and charges. (In the officer’s efforts to cover up the assault, my husband was charged with drug possession.) We were going to trial. At the same time, I was about to start maternity leave, my husband couldn’t work, we had a new baby and had just moved into a new home, and we were now both dealing with severe trauma.
“When I went back to work, I had to pretend everything was okay. I hid in the back room to cry and then went back to class to teach. We were told we couldn’t talk to anyone because the case was still before the courts. Thankfully, I was working with a very supportive team.
“My husband was acquitted of all charges. During my husband’s trial, one of the officers who assaulted him was arrested, charged, and convicted of trafficking cocaine. This officer was sentenced to prison, and people close to us wanted to celebrate. My husband did not.
“He said: ‘The man is a husband and a father. I don’t want to celebrate someone else’s pain.’
“My husband also wrote a letter of forgiveness to those officers. It was his way of letting go of the incident, understanding that this part of his journey was about being a better husband and father.
“To this day, we haven’t received a single response.
“The hardest part for me to process was that my husband’s incident was not an isolated one. The murders of Breanna Taylor, George Floyd, D’Andre Campbell, and so many others - I’m seeing the police system hasn’t changed much. There are still no accountability measures to prevent these kinds of incidents from happening. I struggled with this then. I’m still struggling with it today.
“I teach in a district that is featured prominently in Canadian news for its challenges with anti-Black racism. I taught for three years in a youth correctional facility, also located in my community. The student population is 85 to 90% Black youth.
“Black youth have longer sentences than their non-Black counterparts. Most of them have been expelled and suspended multiple times, have challenges with teachers and administrators, and have consistent negative experiences with school.
“I’ve seen the data. The school-to-prison pipeline is alarming. It’s hard, and it’s hurtful to see. It’s also disheartening because it’s been like this for so long. There are not enough opportunities to train educators effectively on anti-Black racism and restorative justice rooted in anti-oppression and anti-racism.
“As a mom, I’ve had to battle this system for my boys. For Black parents, you fight twice as hard to get your kids the same opportunities as their peers. It’s just the way it is.
“When one of my sons started elementary school, an administrator told me she had stats that said, ‘young Black boys did not excel in French immersion programs.’
“First, those stats do not exist. Second, it also wasn’t (and isn’t) true. This racist perception has an impact on teachers, students, and their families. I had the privilege to advocate for my kids as an educator in the school district where they attended school. Many parents don’t know the avenues to take to address issues of racism.
“Systemic racism has impacted my career. I’ve been rejected from leadership positions where I was more than qualified. These were jobs where I thought I could make an impact on the community and Black youth. So, my husband and I created restorative justice training centred on anti-racism and anti-oppression.
“We are hoping to make change in our community, working with any school boards interested in providing meaningful ways to connect with students, especially BIPOC[5] youth, that centres on leadership and empowerment.
“The thing about race and racism that is so harmful is the people who think they are anti-racist, who think they are doing the work, and are complicit in racism.
“They are unwilling to hold space for BIPOC leaders whose voices need to be heard. They silence and shame. They become defensive and attempt to regulate difficult conversations. They are more harmful than people who are blatantly racist because they feel they are losing power, so they tightly hold onto it. They criticize those desperately fighting for basic human rights as aggressive and divisive. It’s the reason why there is systemic racism.
“Black representation is important. We need brave people who are willing to step down so others can have the opportunity to step up. We need authenticity, heart, and humility to allow people to share their lived experiences and hold spaces to have uncomfortable conversations to make things better, to do things differently, and explore what it takes to change.”
Thinking questions for you, dear readers
When have you been complicit in racism?
How can you take an active part in addressing racism in your community?
Whose voices are often silenced or silent in your community?
How can you empower the voices of those who have been silenced?
Please feel free to share your thoughts in the Substack chat, which I monitor and moderate. You can also email me directly through the app.
Notes
[1] NCAA: National Collegiate Athletic Association
[2] NFL: National Football League
[3] CFL: Canadian Football League
[4] Ticats: Fans of the Hamilton Tiger-Cats, a CFL team based in Hamilton, ON.
[5] BIPOC: Black, Indigenous, and People of Colour
The first version of this article was published in the November 2020 edition of the BC Association of Community Response Network’s E-Connector Newsletter.
