The Power of Your Privilege

“George Floyd. Regis Korchinski-Paquet. Breonna Taylor. Ahmaud Arbery. Eric Garner. Trayvon Martin. The list is endless. 
Black Lives Matter”

You know their stories, and if you don’t you should take the time to learn. And while the colour of their skin may be different from yours or even mine, their stories are our stories. Their problems are our problems. Because issues of racial inequality is a problem we must all acknowledge. And institutionalized and social forms of racism are what we must fight to dismantle.

Remember their names. 

Your privilege lies with every day you are afforded, every experience you are granted and every breath you take. Their privilege lies with their stories in death for in life they were afforded none. 

Privilege. You hear it all the time. Especially as of late.

But what does it really mean?

“a special right, advantage, or immunity granted or available only to a particular person or group”

There are disproportionate barriers in our society because it was built on systems of oppression against people of colour. Canada is no different than our partners down south. It is built on Indigenous land. White supremacy and racism is and has been present and active for many, many years. And no, crude and overt forms of racism while problematic are not the only form - it is the disguised social acts and often systemic racism that can be most dangerous because they are hidden in nature unless you have the capacity to see it, step in and stop it.

If you don’t think this movement is important, or applicable to life in Canada, I hope I can change your mind. There are experiences of my past that bring trauma and sadness to my heart, because ignorance is bliss and people have not always been aware of seeing the power of their privilege. I don’t want to relive these experiences, but that’s where it begins. And there are many others who have stories of their own, who I hope feel compelled to share - that we continue to provide a space that is safe for them to do so free of judgement and harm.

Many of you know me. As your friend, sister, teammate, girlfriend, coach. But if you want to really know me you should know this. I despised a lot of things about myself growing up because they were not the norm in the white community I grew up in. I spent many nights wishing and dreaming that I could fall asleep and wake up with a name that wasn’t so difficult for my teachers to pronounce, and hair that was straight and blond so that I didn’t have to face another day of feeling ostracized. On almost every team I have played for while growing up I have been the ‘token black girl’. I am not intimidated by the lack of diversity in my sport or ashamed of who I am and where I have been - but my lived experience has always been different than many of yours.

It started to happen when I was very young. Society began to shows it’s flaws, and slowly but surely it became evidently clear that my circumstance was different than that of my peers. Not because of who I was, but because of the colour of my skin and the life that I was born into. Yes, I am biracial. Yes, the parts of me that are black feel outraged, angry, sad, tired of seeing the same horrible things over and over again. I’m exhausted. And yes, the parts of me that are white recognize my own privilege, and rights, and worry that to a degree I won’t be able to help, or I won’t know what exactly to say or do. But, all parts of me recognize that I have a voice to be heard, a story to tell, and a platform to spread and if I have learned anything, that is the power of my privilege.

When I was 5 years old my parents separated. I was raised by my mother in a small white community. I have love in my heart for both of my parents. They gave me the gift of life, raised me with love and acceptance, and taught me to be vulnerable, yet strong. But, being raised by a single mother I am a statistic. This lead to an onslaught of questions of where the heck I came from - “are you adopted?”, “is that really your mom?”. Not to mention the barrage of insinuations from other children that my skin was darker because somehow ‘god decided to shit on me’. Because when you stick out like a sore thumb you can’t be from the same place that everyone else is, Canada can’t possibly be your home.

When I was 10 years old my father sat me down to speak to me about a reality that he could one day end up in jail in the near future. My dad? No, that’s a joke. My dad is superman. My dad can do anything. My dad will always protect me - why would he say such a thing? But my dad lives in a reality where he is judged for his stature and dark skin, seen as a threat, so he is cautious and ever aware of the reality he lives in. 

Because well, superman is not a black man.

When I was 15 years old I was called a N***** for the first time to my face out of hate and disgust. In the middle of the day while playing pepper with my mother and sister. Harmful words that gutted me to my core with not a shred of remorse. As an innocent kid it’s really hard to comprehend why the things that make you different could make complete strangers hate you. Well, outdoor games aren’t permitted at the expense of your neighbours and passers by when your skin is not like theirs because you aren’t just playing, you are trouble.

When I was 25 years old I lived in Eastern Germany where there were neo-nazi demonstrations in the city and I was told to only go from the gym to my apartment. I received hateful messages after bad showings in games. Racial slurs were spewed from people who knew nothing about the content of my character, just the colour of my skin and my stats. It’s as if others have always realized that my skin could always be used as a weapon against me. Because I’m an athlete - I’m supposed to be strong, powerful, run farther, jump faster and I’m a professional so there’s no room for error. Because I am merely a pawn in this game of life, to serve a purpose in entertainment - and if I can’t do that, well then I’m worthless.

The truth of the matter is that I have had it very easy. I am privileged in my experience as a half black woman. But I am fearful for my younger brother who has been pulled over by police and had guns drawn on him. I am fearful for my father who has experienced racism in all of it’s nasty forms for the past 57 years - unnecessary traffic stops and police questioning of what you are doing, where you’re headed and why. Having to manage the rising heart rate and debilitating fear while having your hands visible and your responses calculated and cool while weapons are drawn. No-one should ever have to fear for their life because of the colour of their skin. While we may live in Canada, we don’t have it easy.

Black Lives Matter.

Let’s not forget about the countless micro aggressions experienced along the way. The concealed dangers. It’s hidden in plain sight and maybe something you have said or witnessed before. Hell at this point it’s socially acceptable ignorance. And for me? Well, I would laugh them off, or go along with it because when you are the one at the centre of comments, the last thing you want to do is draw more attention to yourself.

“You’re such a good athlete”

“Why is your hair so puffy/frizzy/nappy - can I touch it?”

“You must be a good dancer because you’re black”

“I’m not racist I have lots of black friends”

“Where are you really from?

“Why do you sound so white”

“You’re so articulate”

“You’re so black”

“You’re so white”

Do you have any idea what it’s like to be followed in a store because you look ‘suspicious’.

Do you have any idea what it’s like to be fearful when you are pulled over by the police?

Do you have any idea what it’s like to have people back away from you in small spaces or clutch their belongings a little bit tighter?

Do you have any idea what it’s like to be ever aware of the tone of your voice so you don’t come across as that angry black woman?

Do you have any idea what it’s like to be fearful to step out in public because you’re not sure what people might say or do on that day?

Do you have any idea of what it’s like to keep yourself and your emotions in check because anything more is not socially acceptable?

Do you have any idea of what it’s like to be wrongfully accused?

Do you have any idea what it’s like to have a gun pulled on you?

Do you have any idea what it’s like to be murdered for the colour of your skin?

You might not be consciously racist. But the reality is that cultural biases are ingrained into the ways we speak, interact and socialize with one another. And while these aren’t outwardly expressive forms of racism the subtle blows add up every day and take an enormous toll on the mental, physical and emotional well being of black people. Why? Because they repeatedly dismiss, alienate, insult and invalidate the differences in power and privilege. And this is exactly how racism is perpetuated and why racial discrimination ensues. 

Why do I share these things? Well, for one to highlight the ways that racism can appear from childhood to adulthood when it is not addressed. I share these things so that my black brothers and sisters never have to feel alone in their struggles. I share these things to bring awareness to the actions and words that you might not even be aware of, that can be damaging to your black friends. I share these things to lay out the ways in which the privilege of skin colour can shape your reality. 

My heart mourns. It has been mourning for years over and it has been exhausting. But this movement will always be more than just that to me. This movement is about my life, my brothers life, my sisters life, my fathers life, and the lives of countless others. I have always known that black lives matter. Growing up I struggled to find my identity because on the one hand I have for the most part felt very included and valued. But, the moments that I felt divided from my peers forced me to recognize that people can be easily influenced in how they behave and how they act, based on their perceived privilege.

It’s empowering to see that the world is waking up to realize just how much black lives matter. I hope that beyond this day or this week, you hold onto whatever resonates with you. A phrase, a feeling, a friend. I hope you acknowledge the privilege that you inherently have. I hope you listen to hear the realities of people of colour, it’s ok that you can’t understand. I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. But, I want better. For me. My friends. My family. My future children.

When I was 30 years old the world seemed to open it’s eyes as racial injustices were brought to light and silence no longer became an option. This is no longer a cry for help, this is a rally for change. The power of your privilege is to educate yourself about racism instead of experiencing it. So, continue to do the work. Today. Tomorrow. Until the end of days because black lives will always matter.