Why I Owe My Voice To #BLM
How the black community helped me find my voice, my identity and shaped who I am today.
The first time I understood my white privilege was at 14 when my mother looked at me dead in the eyes and said “Never tell anyone that you are adopted, and certainly never tell them that you are from Bulgaria. They will judge you in a certain way.” The next words I will never forget, she went on to say “You can hide your origin. You could be from anywhere in Europe, you’ll have better opportunities.”
Now to put some context to this story, I was adopted from Bulgaria and lived in an extremely conservative place in Birmingham called Sutton Coldfield. The sort of place where every single MP for the area for as far back as I can remember has been Conservative, and you guessed it; white. I attended two Catholic schools for my primary and secondary education. To give an overview during my time there there was one other student in the entire school that was black. We became fast friends, she was by far the most brilliant and lively school friend I could have had, and we shared our love for Spice Girls to the point of being unhealthily obsessive.
During my time at primary school, I had not become immune to the racial slurs constantly passed to myself such as ‘paki’ or ‘illegal immigrant’ these were comments that sadly continued on into secondary school. Although I found these comments upsetting of course, I had no exposure or understanding of the Asian community, and so young I was mostly upset that they had got my race wrong; so I changed the narrative of my heritage to suit a more ‘British friendly country’ that people would judge me less for. However, in all of that time I couldn’t for the life of me understand why classmates had such an animosity towards myself over something like skin colour? It was a prejudice I just couldn’t ever figure out. I did however, wonder if my best friend had ever suffered this, but she never outwardly said a thing to myself, and until year six I myself had never seen anything that precluded this was the case.
How wrong was I? when in year six, stood in the playground with my best friend, two pupils a boy and girl walked up to her and shouted the ’n’ word to her face and ran off. I remember how shocked I was, and then I saw my best friend crying her eyes out and run into the school to hide away. After running in to find her, I realised even at eleven she was ashamed of her heritage. She told me that even with her father being white she wouldn’t be accepted and wouldn’t ever be able to hide her ‘blackness.’ This destroyed me in some part, even though I was young I was extremely precocious and well read, and had started on books by Maya Angelou and Alice Walker, and although I didn’t fully understand all of it, I couldn’t be more aware of the struggle of the black community against racism. Her comments upset me, it made me feel like a fraud. Here I was able to cover up who I was because I was ashamed of my heritage but, my classmate who should be comfortable and proud of her heritage was distraught because all people would ever judge her for is the colour of her skin.
The pupils as it goes were not particularly reprimanded, they simply apologised at the behest of the school and to them that was the end of the matter. At eleven I could feel the outrage that this had been allowed to slide, and as it turns out, it had been a systemic issue for most of her time at the school but, I was blind to it as she smiled and laughed as though nothing was wrong. I admire her, for that. The strength to smile everyday, come into school and brighten up my world with our ridiculous games and silliness, that takes, strength. Strength that a child should never have to exert but, the world is not equal, and we are inherently built on a system that is both racist and white supremacist.
Skip forward a few years, still plagued by the usual racist comments everyday by classmates, I became more and more aware of the race issue at large. I was more subjected to it in even more obvious ways at home, my mother would insist I would not get “too dark” in the summer as people might mistake me for being asian or mixed race. She professed that she had black friends, however, as such with my sexual orientation, it’s ok to be friends with them, but not to “be” with them and that went for members of the black community and anyone who sat within the queer community.
However, growing up in Sutton Coldfield, the tide did change and an Asian family moved in next door, and a black family just two minutes around the corner from us. Much of my childhood is filled with happy memories of that family, I spent all my time in their swimming pool, riding our bikes, and attending church with them. During all of that time with them, I couldn’t have felt more accepted, I was never judged and they knew my background, my history all about my adoption, and they couldn’t make it clearer that it had absolutely no baring on them whatsoever. Within them, and their friends they had created this incredible community, and I loved every single minute I got to spend with them, listening to their stories of Africa, how they wanted to change peoples perspective through their faith, and their unwavering belief in love championing a new wave of equality for the black community. I remember, when I was first told about Rosa Parks by the mother of the family. She almost cried in pride when she was recounting what her actions meant, what it sparked and the pride was emulating off her. It was in that moment, that if Rosa Parks could stand for an entire community of people that I could stand up for who I was. From that day on, I told the truth about my adoption and my story.
The black lives matter movement, will mean more to me that I could ever possibly explain, the struggles of the black community gave me courage, freedom in my choices, they gave me a voice to stand up for injustices that have been served to myself and others.
Everyday, the black community give me belief that change is possible, that through protests, determination and commitment we can create real change. This of course, is only possible if we choose to educate ourselves on the culture and lives of the black community. Accept that yes white privilege is real, we all benefit from it, I have myself in later life and I detest that it should ever have happened, because white privilege means that inequality has to exist. And yes, unpopular opinion, silence is complicity.
The black community and their voice has been ignored for far too long. Real change comes from unity and acceptance.
So yes. I am an ally. Now and Forever.