How I Deal With Racism in Australia

And how I teach my son to raise the bar.

When people learn that I’m married to a White Australian, I notice I’m extended more friendliness and acceptance probably, because I appear to have moved a few inches closer to the White tribe.

I don’t know.

Some people might like this. Others might see nothing wrong with it.

Me? I hate it.

I don’t want anyone to view me with different lenses because I’ve got a white dude strapped on my arm.

I want you to see me for who I am.

Because I’m not a tree. I am a complex human.

One day, my son came home and said,

The teacher told me,

“Your English is really good for a Kenyan.”

Look, I’m pretty sure the teacher meant well.

In fact, I hope my son smiled and said, “Thank you.”

I was pleased with the teacher for pointing out that nice detail.

But, the more that comment floated at the back of my mind, other strings of thoughts attached themselves to it.

If it was expected that his English would be anything other than good because he is Kenyan, what other things is he expected not to succeed in?

Are the expectations low because he is Kenyan?

I can’t tell. But I’m not having it.

I realized that I needed to raise the bar in my son’s head.

So I started saying to him:

Mister, you have to work very, very hard. You have to push yourself harder than your White friends because their doors are already open.

Yours isn't.

You have to stand and knock. And by virtue of your name and color, you may have to knock a few times over.

And while you knock, you have to train yourself to brush off all those racist remarks because it’s not a matter of ‘if’ it’s a matter of ‘when.’ And if you absorb them, they’ll stifle you to mediocrity. We can’t have that.

His friends are primarily White, but you’d never even know because it’s not something anyone needs to know. It’s not anything worth talking about because it shouldn’t be a topic of discussion. Kids see color because we teach them to see it.

I’ve been competitive all my life.

I’ve entered rooms I wasn’t expected to enter. I’ve worked jobs I was only supposed to peer into from the sidelines.

So I don’t want people to set low expectations for myself or my child. I don’t want easy. I don’t want shortcuts if they mean making me look weak or stupid.

I’m a big dog. And I want my son to be one too. I want us to climb mountains because we’ve got everything those who climb mountains have.

It looks like you can’t win.

Recently, a Black friend enrolled her Black son in a new school. Her White husband tagged along.

But when she got there, she must have melted. Or turned into a piece of furniture. I don’t know.

Because the White teacher didn’t as much as give her the slightest eye contact.

Why would she when she had someone more esteemed, more notable, worth addressing?

I still don’t know where the teacher thought the White man had pulled this Black kid from. Tell me if you do.

Invisibility is racism.

When you’re invisible, people don’t have to deal with you. They don’t have to talk to you. They don’t have to listen to you. They don’t have to acknowledge you.

You have to think that way.

How else does one justify total and complete disregard for someone?

These racist things happen everywhere in Australia. Sure, we’re not shot or anything like that, as is sadly the case in the US.

But we still have to say.

“Hello… I’m here. Can’t you see me?”

We still have to find ways of saying,

“Treat my child with the same respect you treat your child with.”

Which is what this woman tried to tell the White male who had made a racist comment towards her daughter in the parking lot. When she raised hell — and vomited offensive words — he told her to refrain because his kids were in the car.

As if it was okay for her daughter to experience the toxicity. But not his kids.

To be fair, I’m not painting everyone with the same brush. There’s a good percentage of decent humans here.

Like the lady who refused to be served before me at Coles Supermarket and proceeded to tell the attendants that I had been there before her. Good on you lady!

Even though I was standing ahead of her and, they could see me. But then again, maybe they didn’t see me. Who knows?

I’m willing to bet that the situation would have been very different had my husband been there.

Racism is a horse that has been beaten to death, so I’m not optimistic that things will ever change. I happen to believe that you can’t change someone’s mind unless they decide to change.

Only racists can change racists.

That’s just how things are around here.

However, I know that when you can’t change someone’s mind, the best thing you can do is change your own.

For me, this means living my life to the fullest despite the stares. It means doing the things I want to do no matter who thinks I shouldn’t be doing them.

It means not shying away from people who hate me simply because they can. Like the woman at the shop who called me a “Bitch” the other day. Bye Felicia!

All this is new to me.

A few years ago, acts like these would have made me curl into a ball. I’d been as blind as a bat to racism.

All this is new to me. I didn’t grow up with it. No one has ever treated me differently because my skin carries more melanin than theirs.

Also, as an ex Emirates cabin crew, I’ve interacted and worked with people from every corner of the world, and they didn’t give a rat’s ass about my skin color.

So imagine my shock.

Am I going to let it get in my head? Not a chance.

Am I going to let it get in my son’s head? Not if I still have a pulse.

But hey, am no fool.

I’m aware that saying it isn’t enough. Words are just that: words. People respond to actions. To what they see.

It’s why I never leave my house looking like I’ve been hit by a bus. I take a minute to look good. Presentable. Because image speaks before you do.

I walk in confidence because confidence has a voice. I attend events even when I’m the only Black person, because why not?

But most importantly, I do my best to raise an Excellent Black Man who I pray will slay dragons and climb mountains. Who will taste the sweetness of success and go as far as he possibly can.

So I try hard to support all his dreams, enrolling him in castings and programs where he’s usually the odd one out.

I’m a mother who believes that every parent should have a dream for their child.

It may differ from their own dream, but you’ve got to have something to scale towards. You can’t just float around like a kite.

Otherwise, society will dictate how far your child will go.

Obviously, I’m not the only one doing this, but I wish more people would follow suit.

You don’t have to change your opinion about someone, but you don’t need to show it.

The point is that we shouldn’t have to feel these things. We shouldn’t have to speak or write about them.

Because truthfully, one doesn’t need to do much to stop projecting racism. You don’t need to cut your arm off. You don’t even have to change your opinion about someone. Keep it.

But for Pete’s sake, don’t show it.

Be a decent human.

Oh, if we have to spell out how a decent human being behaves, friends, we’ve got a big problem.