When I wrote my recent blog posts on race, drawing from my own experience as part of a mixed race family, I had no idea that this subject would so soon transition from a tentative, often controversial conversation to mainstream, organised outcry. Throughout these weeks of global protests, campaigns, lectures, courses and voracious reading (learning and unlearning), I have been tempted to share my evolving thoughts on the subject. But actually, I’m not going to. I don’t think the world (or the virtual part of it) needs another white person’s opinion right now. There are times when it simply seems wiser and more beneficial to the overall cause to serve as a road sign; times when arrows and explicit ‘this way’ messages are more effective than sharing a commentary on the journey. It also seems somewhat antithetical to take up more space on this subject when there is already ample material (especially from black writers and trusted institutions) to be digested and considered as we ‘do our work’ on racism. Why dilute the discourse with another dose of my opinion?
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In the process of educating myself on race, I slowly became conscious of the fact that I would need to tackle the subject head on with my children if I wanted them to be confident and proud of who they are. Being mixed race is a point of strength, biologically speaking, and I wanted it to be so in their hearts and minds too. I didn’t want race to be an incidental factor in their lives, semi-ignored and barely mentioned, until such time as it is highlighted by others from outside the home - be it positively or negatively, superficially or more profoundly. While I value the magic and innocence of childhood, I think it is equally important to encourage children to talk about the things they see around them (including themselves), with truthfulness and respect. Learning about race (prompted in no small way by having mixed race daughters myself) has become a passion of mine. Shamefully, I have come to the subject very late and am having to do a lot of unlearning. By unlearning I mean such things as questioning previously accepted assumptions, and trying to see history and reality from another angle to the one I was raised with in the UK. It started with meeting my husband who, while born and raised in France, is originally from Ivory Coast. Becoming part of his family and simply having more conversations about race - the interesting parts, the uncomfortable parts - really opened my eyes. And I realised what a responsibility I had, as a white mother, to be informed and proactive. The colour of my daughters' skin is not an aesthetic; it is something that will shape their lives, and something that has been devalued and made into a disadvantage throughout history’s white narrative. With COVID-19 spreading like another wild fire, this is one of those significant moments in humanity’s collective life. Such moments come from time to time, it seems, in different forms and degrees of intensity. They shake the norm and ask new things from us. They remind us that we are not gods. And at such a moment it is timely to really look inside ourselves and decide who we want to be. We can choose to see beauty and hope, or ugliness and despair. It truly is a choice. We can panic and withdraw ourselves from the chaos, contemptuous of those who have stockpiled and left shelves empty. Or we can extend sincere concern beyond our immediate family to our neighbours and wider community, and see there all the beautiful acts and attitudes of kindness that are springing up like wild flowers. We all know the birth of a baby changes a family. And beyond them, the circle of relatives, friends and neighbours also rejoice; the date is now a birthday and is significant to all those touched by this new life. How much more so when that ‘circle’ of loving supporters comprises millions upon millions of people. And so it is that Bahá’ís and their friends and neighbours all around the world are celebrating the 200th anniversary of the birth of The Báb this October. Spiritual. Such a confusing word. There are probably as many different connotations for it as there are for ‘happiness’ or ‘work’; it just seems so subjective. And because the word is used in so many contexts, it can often be misleading, or alienating. Does it mean religious? Mystical? Weird? Unscientific? Does it relate to me or not? Really, what did we do before social media? A trivial question to some, maybe. But an increasingly important one for those of us logged into it on a daily basis. The thing is, I don’t mean ‘how did we manage before?’. Clearly we just did, and most still do. And we were probably healthier - in all senses - without it, too. But I’m more curious about what we all did with our TIME before social media. Today, plastic is in the news nearly as much as President Trump. More individuals, institutions and countries than ever before are waging war against this new enemy. Whether we are now boycotting all packaging and disposables, drinking out of reusable bottles, or just saying no to straws, there is a definite sense of collective effort in reducing our careless reliance on plastic. The sheer amount of waste humanity can - and needn’t - produce has finally started to weigh heavily on us. And we are no longer only concerned with treating the visible symptoms - cleaning up beaches and filling up our recycling bins once a week. The conversation has shifted to why we need, or don’t need, plastic in the first place. Today is International Women’s Day, and I love that there is now so much to collectively celebrate as well as champion. We’ve come such a long way in such a short time. Certainly it is easy to notice both the glaring and subtle inequalities that persist in the opportunities afforded to men and women, and in their representation (or lack thereof) across all aspects of culture. But the immense progress made in the advancement of women as equal and potent protagonists in the building of society, over the last century particularly, is nothing short of astounding. One aspect that resonates with me particularly is the rise of the voice of the mother. In what can be seen in historical terms as occurring with breathtaking swiftness, she has emerged from almost total obscurity to claim her rightful, powerful place in humanity’s great evolution. We read and hear a lot about ‘busyness’ these days. People say - and feel - that they are busy all the time, and it is treated and accepted as a symptom of the age. The more we talk about it, tinged with a mixture of pride and apology, the more busyness becomes a kind of cultural narrative. It’s undeniable that life is very full for most people in today’s (at least Western) society. There are an intricate array of demands on our time due to the cost of living, raising families while maintaining jobs, less localised activity and therefore more travel, interacting with people across time and space almost constantly, and somehow trying to carve out windows for other interests, therapies and recreation too. Some individuals are also engaged in service-oriented activities that aim to help various populations, be it local or international. All of this is a far cry from life several decades ago, when everything was a lot more limited - in terms of where we could go, who we could communicate with, and what we could participate in. We knew less about the world, its problems, opportunities and needs; we simply had fewer options and less information to process.
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