Where do I start with this one? I have been glued to my phone all week, not taking my own advice to stay away from doom scrolling horrible news. The downside (is it a downside? It is some days) of working through all the internalised ableism, internalised racism, internalised misogyny I carried my whole life is that I don’t have the armour I used to have. So the images, the videos, the words hit right in the belly. And those feelings are deep, and big and all-encompassing. And that’s ok, because I also have tools, and community, and so I let myself grieve and feel furious and feel despairing and feel hopeful - all of it.
It’s not the images of violence, though, that get to me the most. Or even the words, the P words and the W words that I haven’t seen since the early 90s and are now all over the internet.
It is, as it always is, the casual, ‘well-meaning’ tiny stabs that come from unexpected places and people. The people who share the importance of hearing both sides of the argument, or denounce the violence and then say ‘but you know, we do really need to talk about immigration’. Those who would stand shoulder to shoulder with people at a counter-protest but, later at dinner wonder whether Farage really does have a point. Those people who are ‘horrified’ and ‘appalled’ at the violence towards Muslims and the destruction of mosques, but feel intimidated by the words “Allahu Akbar”. Those who say that this isn’t really about race, when Black and Brown people are being targeted on the street and I’ve had messages from communities for people of colour reminding me to stay safe as a ‘visible’ minority. Those people, those many many people, who distance themselves from the ‘mob’, with slurs about their intelligence and their appearance, making it about ‘those horrible racists over there1’ without having looked at their own racism, the protection of their own white skin or their light skin privilege, their contribution to this because of having left so many things unchecked. Those people who minimise the severity of all of this, who don’t understand why you’re scared, who dismiss it as a minority of ‘thugs’. That’s the stuff that ends up harming the most, because you can’t protect yourself from that. It comes from ‘well-meaning’ people who you know and even love, who you speak to unarmoured and open-hearted, so the words hit hard.
These last couple of weeks have really reminded me of growing up in the 80s in Newcastle. I think the predominant feeling was that it was ok to be Brown as long as I wasn’t noticeably different. Just act White, and you might get away with it. Of course, I’m not White, and I don’t look White, but I’m called Emma Svanberg and I speak with an English accent so often people have been just a bit… confused by me. I’m not ‘one of those’ different sort of Brown people. I’m a stealth one, coming into your home and then suddenly revealing a curry from under my jumper.
That was probably the prevailing experience of my youth. People thinking of me as White until I wasn’t. Walking along with a school friend who told me a joke about P-s and then looked at me horrified, ‘Ee I’m sorry Emma, but you know, you’re not like them are you?’ Listening to someone complain about ‘foreigners’ and then side-eye me and hope they’d got away with it. Then, and for a long time, I’d just smile and nod with my heart racing. Internalised racism. And a survival response, I get that, I don’t judge myself for it because it made a lot of sense. It still does.
It works the other way too of course. There will always be reminders that you’re not welcome in the UK, sometimes there is a feeling of closing of ranks if you overstep in a White majority group. Occasionally I’ve been tokenised, and not realised it until later. Invited into a space, I assumed for myself, but then asked to talk about race when I simply haven’t had the same experiences as others because of my mixed heritage. Often, it’s laughable. Sometimes, it’s not. Equally, as a mixed-race person, I always felt a bit of an imposter in groups for people of colour. The truth is, I don’t hold any identity firmly. I’ve often been either, as I talk about in this poem, a sort of Brown ghost in White spaces or a bridge between Brown and White spaces. Most often a bridge, where people have seen me as a stepping stone to understanding race and racism. I happily took on that role, saw it as a privilege in many ways, until 2020 and learning from anti-racism educators that I was absolving others of their responsibility. Doing their Work for them.
This has, in many ways, been my birthright. I think a lot about my name, when racism comes out of hiding and into the open as it has these past weeks. My name was chosen in part because it is Anglicised. Knowing that my skin colour would be a disadvantage to me, I was given a name that would, in essence, counteract that. And it’s worked. I have walked into job interviews and been told ‘oh, I was expecting a strapping blonde woman!’ Back then, before names were hidden, maybe it helped me get my foot into doors. I’m palatable. A mild Korma. Not too spicy. Could even be a Coronation chicken if I’m sweet and smiley enough.
I used to ask my mum if I could change it, the Tamil version would have been Uma. I felt as a teenager that having a name like Uma would have matched my insides to my outsides. I know very little about Hinduism (see aforementioned internalised racism) but the little I do know is that Uma is one of the manifestations of the Goddess Parvati, the Divine Mother, the ‘power of the universe’. In another manifestation, she is Kali - destroyer, protector, able to bring liberation. I feel tentative about gathering energy from a religion that does not belong to me. But I do wonder how I can bring some of this Uma power into my life, into how I respond to a country that does not welcome me or people who look like me, into the spirit that I carry in myself. Uma embodies feminine power, the fight against injustice, maternal devotion, knowledge and wisdom. She is both nurturer and warrior.
So that’s what I draw from, right now. We can’t defeat racism by blaming it on ignorance. And we can’t defeat it with more hate, for others or internalised towards ourselves. Shame and hatred can’t ever lead to progress. But light, the support and solidarity of the communities around us these past couple of days, the care I’ve received from other women of colour, the determination to continue on with love and joy and pride. I can’t ever convince anyone not to hate me. But I can love myself, and I can love you, and that is enough.
Tomorrow, Saturday 10th August, is a national day of protest organised by Stand Up to Racism. Find out about local protests here and keep yourself safe with protest tips from Liberty here.
This is a concept from
’s book ‘The Good Ally’ which is my go to book on all things anti-racism and internalised racism. Chapter 8 (Armour Up: Self-Care and Advocacy) has been a support for me this week, and if you buy it as an audio book you get to listen to Nova’s beautiful voice too. If you do want to support Black and Brown and other racially minoritised people at the moment, buying their work is one simple way of doing this, by the way. And then actually reading and engaging with it is an even better way.
Emma - I really appreciate your thoughts on this. Mine are still all over the shop. Take care. X
I’ve been on a break from the news 🗞️ , and just heard what’s happening yesterday and it’s sickening…
I’m so sorry you’re going through this, Uma 🩷
I’ve just forwarded this to my hubby (also mixed race, half Indian-half Icelandic, grew up in Cambridge) and he related with everything you wrote.
I have to say, one of the reasons I couldn’t cope with Brighton and only lasted six months before we planned to move again (even though we had actually bought a house 😳), was racism. And I’m white… it was the screwing of their faces when they heard my accent (people in shops, usually driving in Brighton to work from the villages, etc) mostly.
Can I tempt you to move back to lovely London…? Xxxx lots of love xxxx