People of colour aren't 'outrage merchants'. Sometimes we need anger just to survive
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Version 0 of 1. Since the early 1990s, my life has been dictated by white supremacy. Whether it was children in my all-white kindergarten class taunting me, calling me “black” as they held a black crayon against my skin, or me at six years old, asking my mum why my dad couldn’t have a normal name like “John” or “Daniel,” I was taught from a young age that being white is both normal and desirable. Related: If even Michelle Obama can’t speak about race without being told to ‘quit whining’ then who can? As a teenager, my parents would order takeaway rather than cook their usual curries if I brought a friend home for dinner, because they didn’t want to embarrass me. They had been ridiculed too many times for “stinking up” their work lunchrooms with our traditional food to wish to pass that burden onto me. Their experience taught them that cultural difference in Australia was tolerated, sure. However, where, when and how that difference was practised was tightly controlled and strictly regulated. By white supremacy I don’t mean the swastika-tattooed members of increasingly prominent white nationalist groups like the Australian Defence League or Combat 18, although they are undoubtedly a symptom of it. What I mean is a system of power that permeates this nation, reproduced through institutions and discourses that privilege white histories, white ways of knowing, white behaviours, and white skin. In 24 years, few advances have been made. The presence of white supremacy in my life has expanded to include the nullification of my understanding of racism. As a woman of colour who is vocal about race and racism, my experiences of, reflections on and objections to racism are dismissed and invalidated by white people every day. Sometimes the objection is flippant: “you probably just misunderstood him,” or “you’re being too sensitive” after I’ve characterised a comment as racist. Other times, I’m accused of flat-out lying, like the time I presented qualitative research findings of anti-Muslim racism at an academic conference, and was repeatedly challenged by one attendee because “people don’t talk like that in Australia”. It is not simply the content of what I and other people of colour say about racism that is under attack, but also the way in which we express it. Late last month Sunrise’s Samantha Armytage was criticised for comments she made when introducing a live cross with twin sisters from the UK. “The Aylmer twins come from a mixed race family in the UK,” Armytage said. “Maria has taken after her half-Jamaican mum with dark skin, brown eyes and curly, dark hair but Lucy got her dad’s fair skin – good on her! – along with straight red hair and blue eyes.” A petition calling for her to apologise was met with ridicule, including from Bernard Keane and Em Rusciano, who insisted the on-air comment wasn’t racist, and went on to call those who thought it was “outrage merchants” and guilty of “lazy rage”. Because what good would white supremacy be if it did not confer upon the people who benefit from it the authority to be the final arbiters of what is and what isn’t racist? What use is a system of domination if it does not dictate the terms under which it can be criticised, and the form that that criticism is permitted to take? Comments like this aren’t unique – they are classic examples of how white supremacy operates to quell legitimate concerns from people of colour. It is not enough that we suffer under white supremacy but we are also told that we trade in it, enjoy it: that we derive pleasure from witnessing and indeed living racism, in the way that only those who do not experience racism can say with such self-assuredness. Our rage is viewed as a choice we make for some unidentified social gain, rather than for what it is: a raw and genuine response to lived experiences that we do not have the privilege to distance ourselves from emotionally. People of colour, particularly those who make a conscious effort to challenge and confront white supremacy, develop a thick skin; if we didn’t, we would not be able to survive. That is not a rhetorical statement. White supremacy takes a toll on our mental, physical, emotional and sometimes spiritual health. We people of colour are cliffs, and white supremacy beats upon us like waves. Sometimes the waves are wild and violent and we lose parts of ourselves in the process. But even the smaller, gentler waves at the base leave their mark. The very swell of the ocean leaves its mark. Every person of colour fortifies themselves in different ways. Expressing my anger is just one of the ways that I have learnt to survive. My rage is in response to a system that not only subjugates me, it has the audacity to tell me that I have no right to be angry. It protects me from the corrosive nature of this system, liberates me, and gives me the fuel I need to create positive social change – and sometimes, just to go on. It is up to people of colour to decide when and how to direct our anger about racism. Rather than labelling us as outrage merchants who profit from our anger, white people would do well to reflect on how they profit from their whiteness instead. |