Tall are the Roots

‘it knows (even when you don’t)’ for Tall Are the Roots

By Kai Isaiah Jamal

Fenn O’Meally from production company Smuggler has produced a beautiful film entitled ‘Tall are the Roots’ and is selling posters and merchandise as a way of supporting BBMUK.

The film, which you can watch here, includes a wonderful poem by Kai Isaiah Jamal, which is featured below.

Official posters for Tall are the Roots are available to purchase here. Proceeds from sales will be going towards supporting BBMUK.

it knows (even when you don’t)

If we know it boils we also can hush It still again.

If your heart

Has once been full and boundless

It will always be free And endless possibilities Couldn’t possibly

Be reduced to

A handful of options. Subconscious

Is your gut

And your gut well That’s a synonym for Guardian

Or of angel. Or of both. To be both. Plus more

I am but I also am not

That is the shape of my silhouette. And the sound of my soul.

I’m trynna learn to ride for myself Without any conditions.

Unrehearsed. I’ve heard

Balance is key.

But unbalanced feels more like me

This body is made of star crossed lovers Desperately trying to live together Even in dammed destiny of, sorry, Desperately trying to live together Even if dammed destiny,

To die

Side by side.

Sometimes they make me split myself into sides Always seem to be stuck within the inside of a binary Forget that I am spilling.

Always an overflow A gush.

The single root that grows in the dark In the unwanted soils

In the unwanted plains.

How long has hope lived inside lungs? Long enough to think it is home?

Long enough to watch how light and light exists.

Like illumination doesn’t rely on a black enough backdrop

A deep enough fall.

I won’t, oh sorry

It won’t get easier with the lights on

But in light is liberation. Patiently we listen for the Bubbles to pop into stillness.

Becomes more whole in the settle. Victories and vices of long lost lovers Growth smells like sea salt

left on oven tops.

Where you do wonder, where you do wonder to be everything you,

Where do you wander to be everything you haven’t yet?

I am stumbling into myself Met more of me in the silence Than I l did in the noise.

Where do you wonder to be everything you haven’t been? I’m still stumbling back into myself

Met more of me in the silence Than I looked for in the noise.

If we know it boils we also can hush It still again.

If your heart

Has once been full and boundless

It will always be free And endless possibilities

Couldn’t possibly

Be reduced to

A handful of options. Subconscious

Is your gut

And your gut well That’s a synonym for Guardian

Or for angel.

Or of both.

To be both.

Plus more

I am but I also am not

And that is the shape of my silhouette. The sound of my soul.

I’m trynna learn to ride for myself

Without conditions. Unrehearsed. I’ve heard Balance is key.

But unbalanced feels more like me

This body is made of star crossed lovers Desperately trying to live together Even if dammed in destiny to die

Side by side.

Sometimes they make me split myself into sides Always seem to be stuck within the inside of a binary Forget that I am spilling.

Always an overflow A gush.

The single root that grows in the dark In the unwatered soils

In the unwor- unwanted plains.

How long has hope lived inside lungs? Long enough to think it is home?

Long enough to watch how ligh- how llight that exists.

Like illumination doesn’t rely on a black enough backdrop

A deep enough fall.

It won’t be easier, it won’t get easier with the lights on But in the light is liberation.

Patiently we listen for the Bubbles to pop into a stillness.

Becomes more whole in the settle. Victories and vices of long lost lovers Growth smells like sea salt

left on oven tops.

Where do you wander to be everything you haven’t yet?

I am stumbling into myself Met more of me in the silence Than I looked for in the noise.

Words by Kai Isaiah Jamal (@kai_isaiah_jamal)

Tall are the Roots produced by Fenn (@fenn_omeally), Smuggler (@smugglersite)

Sun, Sea and Self-image: the impact of microagressions on mental-wellbeing

Warning: this post can be triggering, but we felt it important to share it exactly as the author intended it to be read.

I have called Cornwall home my whole life, it’s where my family, friends and all my childhood memories live - yet it is a place that I have not always been made to feel like I belong.

This feeling has grown from years of having the question ‘where are you really from?’ thrown at me and reinforced by comments about how ‘exotic’ or ‘foreign’ I look.

Cornwall is one of the least diverse counties in the UK, with the BAME community representing only 1.8% of its population. This distinct lack of diversity results in an exaggerated lack of understanding and education when it comes to race and creates an atmosphere in which racism is normalised. Cornwall, like other rural parts of the UK, can in fact often feel like a hostile environment for those of us from the BAME community who call it home.

My brother and I have grown up with microaggressions as part of our day to day lives. Stares from strangers, comments on our skin and hair, ‘jokes’ that most definitely aren’t funny, as well as more overt forms of racism. Naturally, this has had a lasting impression - shaping the people we have become and influencing our outlook on the world.

Growing up kids were more than happy to sling racist remarks across the school bus or field but shuddered at discussing racism in class. And even when it was discussed in class, our white teachers were ill-equipped for, and both students and staff were uncomfortable with, these conversations. It was standard for us to be the only member of the BAME community in a classroom. The experience of racism was therefore an isolating one. Not only was it an experience that none of my friends could relate to, but one that many of them, while we were at school, had no desire to learn about and even contributed too.

It’s a highly distressing feeling that comes with the realisation that your friends and neighbours are in fact inherently racist - many of them without knowing or admitting it, but a few overtly and openly. It is impossible to reconcile their views and actions with their relationship with you, especially when this is coupled with claims that they do not ‘see colour’ or a denial that they could ever, even unconsciously, contribute to the issue. Declaring that you are not racist does not automatically strip you of unconscious bias or redeem you from any racist comments, actions or beliefs.

We all have to do the work and these conversations are important.

The exhausting reality of discussing racism is the need some people feel to play ‘devil’s advocate’ or dictate to us how we should react or feel. Years of having my voice silenced means I have found it hard in the past to confront racism when I experienced or witnessed it. The fact that I have so often been ignored, shut down and argued with means I still get anxious when discussing race and racism. Comments such as ‘it’s not always about race’ or ‘you are just overreacting’ fed into my self-doubt and made me question my reality and experiences.

It’s because of this that Imposter Syndrome often convinces me that my voice does not matter when it comes to conversations about racism.  

Throughout my life I have also wrestled with perfectionism, people pleasing and High Functioning Anxiety. This all eventually culminated in the scary point in which I developed bulimic tendencies. It was while working through this that I came to realise that many of my struggles are rooted in the fact that I have grown up trying to prove myself. While this is an experience that many can relate to, growing up mixed-race in an area that is so predominantly white adds a deeper layer.

I had to do better than my white peers to prove that I was equal to them, feeding into my fear of failure and exacerbating my anxiety.

It is also with hindsight, that I now understand that a lot of my battles with body image and self-worth originated from the fact that I did not see myself reflected back in the media growing up, but also importantly, within my own community or among my peers. In addition to this, the frequency at which I experience microaggressions that are rooted in my appearance inevitably takes a toll on my mental wellbeing and self-image. It is also significant that, as someone with a mixed heritage, people have always wanted me to be one thing or another, to fit into a box, this meant that it was hard for me as a young girl to develop a sense of self outside of people’s expectations.

The weight of racism is therefore a heavy one and it can have an enduring impact on the mental health of Black and mixed-race people as well as other ethnic minorities.

The microaggressions that I experienced as a child and continue to experience have had a lasting effect on my mental well-being and self-image.

There is a deep need for education and conversations about racism in Cornwall, people need to be held accountable for their words and actions and the impact that they have. This work should not and cannot be done by the BAME community alone. Similarly, mental health and wellbeing is in desperate need of attention in the county. These conversations may be difficult, but they are fundamental if we are ever going to see much needed change.

Words & Image by Laila Hodd (@lailahodd_)

It’s OK!

Warning: this post can be triggering, but we felt it important to share it exactly as the author intended it to be read.

Liz Mingo aka [The Poet]

Sharing one of her poems with you today.

It's Ok!

Yesterday you were fine

Today the stars don't align

There's nothing wrong with you

So quit beating yourself up

And don't allow your head to drop.

It's ok!

Shit happens on a daily

Even when we least expect!

Don't be crying over spilt milk,

'Cause it's already on the floor!

Simply pour yourself some more.

It's ok!

We were not built of bricks

So admitting defeat

Does not render you weak!

Help is there if you need it.

Life is a constant struggle

When you're living in a concrete jungle!

So scream, shout

Reach out.

It's ok!

Heartbreak is not defined by status.

So don't shy away

Tomorrow is another day

A new chapter begins.

Embrace the mistakes!

Put your best foot forward - ready, set, go

Don't allow others to dictate your pace,

This is your race!

And that's ok! It's ALL ok!

Liz Mingo

04/12/2020

Words & Image by Liz Mingo (@lizm4000)

Casual Racism

Warning: this post can be triggering, but we felt it important to share it exactly as the author intended it to be read.

To celebrate the launch of Adeptales new book ‘I Don’t Mean to Sound Racist But… Examining The Different Faces of Racism’, we are pleased to share an excerpt of the book.

You can purchase a physical copy of ‘I Don’t Mean to Sound Racist But… Examining The Different Faces of Racism’ on adeptales.com or the digital version is available for £5.99 at Amazon, Kobo books or Google Play.

Chapter 6: Casual Racism

Casual racism stems from a negative stereotype about a race or a religion. It can be an off-handed comment or, in some cases, jokes between social groups.

Due to the casual nature of these comments, it can be downplayed as a ‘joke’, or reduced to the realm of ‘not really racist’ – but the impact can be just as harmful as someone being overtly racist.

In some ways, I would argue that it can be more harmful than overt racism because the latter is easy to spot and accept, yet casual or benign racism can keep you quiet in fear of being labelled sensitive or crazy.

Casual racism can also appear in the form of microaggressions. These are not as obvious as racist slurs, so they aren’t as easy to recognise.                 

A typical example of a microaggression in this country would include being told how ‘well-spoken’ you are.

 Although this seems like a compliment, I do not believe that my white counterparts have ever had this said to them in the workplace. 

It hurts to accept that people are genuinely surprised when you are able to articulate a sentence.

I wanted to highlight some of the things that are said to black people on a daily basis. It's crazy that people say these things so brazenly without thinking about the recipient's feelings.

What they don’t understand is that it isn’t the first time the recipient has heard these “jokes” before.

Worryingly, a lot of the same things were said to us.

Brace yourself...                             

Your hair feels like a Brillo pad

Make sure you smile when you’re in the dark, so we know where you are

You’ve caught the sun, haven't you?

The number of times I’ve heard this whenever I came back from a holiday is unprecedented. A number of respondents included this sentiment too when filling out the survey.

You’re pretty... for a black girl

You don’t act black

I’ve also had the latter comment said to me before and I find this really offensive because is there a way in which black people are supposed to act?                                                           

Not all of us behave how we are portrayed on TV or in films. And if we are supposed to act like the people we see on TV, why does no one ever think of Sir Trevor McDonald?

***

You can purchase a physical copy of ‘I Don’t Mean to Sound Racist But… Examining The Different Faces of Racism’ on adeptales.com or the digital version is available for £5.99 at Amazon, Kobo books or Google Play.

Words & Image by Adeyemi Oke (@adeptales)

Black, British, Anxious: A 2021 Guide to Black Anxiety

Warning: this post can be triggering, but we felt it important to share it exactly as the author intended it to be read.

I’ve only ever had one panic attack.

I was 16. I was on my way to a college I quite dramatically hated. It took me to the outskirts of London. I could count on one hand and an extra finger the people that looked like me. Having made no friends in the few months I’d been there, I’d already started slipping in and out. I was barely there, and late when I was. Life had become more complicated and strained than I was used to. And I always seemed to think everyone was laughing at me. The train had stopped between stations, five minutes away from the college town.

Nothing was out of the ordinary. The level of dread was relatively the same as it always was. And then suddenly my heart felt like it was trying to burst through my chest. I was late. I didn’t often care about disrupting my class. But I was sweating. My throat was tight and I could barely breathe.

I called my mum. I told her that something bad was happening to me and I didn’t know what it was but I needed to come home. She told me to press forward, that my absences had already been flagged, letters had been sent home and worrisome calls had been made by my academic supervisor, Tom. The college was a good one. You’ll be fine once you get into class, she cooed, sensing the tears in my voice, but you have to go in today love.

The undercurrents of anxiety in being friendless and shy in a new environment was likely the cause of such an ‘out of the blue’ bout of panic. So was being Black and suddenly planted into a white space, surrounded by people that couldn’t and wouldn’t understand. It was a contributory factor in the panic attack I suffered that morning, but the implications of being Black are enough to trigger a relationship with anxiety.

***

2020 was a year for Black people. The idea that we’re far more likely to lose our lives as a result of our race was made into even more of an inarguable fact. New stories of the austerity that disproportionately ravages Black British communities and its impact on our mortality rate embedded themselves in our news media. We’re four times more likely to die from Coronavirus than our white counterparts, the national office of statistics found in spring, observing that socioeconomic inequalities play a sizable role. Though it’s said more research is needed to cement the link, a study that found Black Britons are around five times more likely to be murdered suggested the same. Unite all of this with 2020’s Black Lives Matter movements which triggered a resurfacing of buried racial trauma. You now potentially have inspiration for both the development and enhancement of Black anxiety.

There’s little known about how many of us are weighed down by anxiety, whether preordained by the negative implications of our race, or enhanced by them. It’s a component of mental health under narrated by the Black people who know it well. Much of what’s been uncovered about Black mental health in recent years has considered depression and psychosis as focal points in studies. The black hole of anxiety - as equally justified by our racial experiences as the former, is largely uncharted territory. When better to fill in these gaps in understanding then now?

Defined

It’s difficult to choose an entry point into such a broad conversation. However, beginning with an understanding of racism’s ability to inspire anxiety within black communities isn’t a bad place to start.

“Individuals respond to situations differently.” Julie Baah, an NHS psychologist and mental health practitioner states. “Some people manage life with some level of normality, whilst others understandably find their mental wellbeing impacted severely after a traumatic event.”

“These experiences can affect levels of stress, anxiety and fearfulness, as well as self-esteem.”

The American Psychological Association defines anxiety as ‘an emotion characterised by feelings of tension, worried thoughts and physical changes like increased blood pressure.’

For those of us that find ourselves more prone to the crippling mental impact of racism, anxiety can reveal itself in different ways. It can account for a range of behaviours, from the feeling of ‘worry’ that we traditionally associate with it, to stringent ‘self-monitoring’ - a psychology term that describes a management of how a person expresses and presents themselves to others. For some Black people, racially charged anxiety could look like the adoption of a certain set of behaviours. There could also be a dissociation from behaviours stereotypically associated with Blackness, in hopes of avoiding further instances of racism. But the severity of the way the anxiety feels too can vary, Bahh confirms.

“It may be a feeling of being more on edge for some people. For others, it may be a higher sense of fearfulness or distress.” She says. “A common explanation of anxiety is our bodies and minds responding to something that appears dangerous. If we use this explanatory model, it is understandable why some people may feel avoidant, on edge, or mentally preoccupied with worry when they are experiencing ongoing racism.”

“It is important that each feeling is validated, whether it is seen as less or more severe.”

This severity can also be impacted by the number of instances of racism a Black person endures.

“Multiple exposures to traumatic incidents, including racism, can be detrimental to a person's mental wellbeing. For some, the psychological impact of experiencing multiple traumatic incidents may be more multi-layered and long-term.”

The Age of Black British Anxiety

The endurance of racism is long term. It’s widely considered par for the course, well-lodged into the Black experience, occurring with and without an audience. The events of 2020 happened against the backdrop of immobilisation, in a world filled with people with nowhere else to look. The zeroing in on the true extent of racism’s ramifications may have initiated a new anxiety in some of us, but for many Black people, the same old song continued to loop, Baah suspects.

“I think the sudden increased acknowledgement of police brutality and murder and the racial inequalities of COVID-19 have just highlighted on a broader scale what many Black people already know and experience.” She says. “A lot of inequalities have stayed consistently poor and fatal even though there have been campaigns and initiatives prior to the COVID pandemic and BLM.”

Read the full piece here.

Words by Abigail Scantlebury (@abigail.scantlebury)

Image by Mimi Koku.

Being Mixed Race in a Binary World

Warning: this post can be triggering, but we felt it important to share it exactly as the author intended it to be read.

It’s very difficult to identify yourself in a society where people make decisions about you based on what you look like.

I am mixed race black and white - a quadroon. But I am distinctly not white.

If I was a horse I’d be a bay.

For the most part of my life I haven’t known how to identify myself. When I was a child, I called myself ‘tan’. I didn’t even know I was part Jamaican until I was 10. Then I had a run-in with a white kid in my primary school. He called me ‘blackie’.

Suddenly, there was a question in my mind about whether I was ‘black’ rather than ‘brown’. In my early years at high school my white friends told me I was ‘not black’. So then I was more comfortable being ‘mixed race’. Until in sixth form, the white kids deemed me black, and the microaggressions that I’d gotten used to being spread out over the years became an everyday occurrence.

I also get the ‘n-word’ being flung around a lot. Non-black kids seem to think they get a free pass at using that word around me, because I’m black, but apparently not ‘properly black’. There’s often been a lot of confusion for me, because everyone else tells me what I am, before I’ve even had the chance figure it out myself. But I also can’t figure it out myself. I hate the racism and the box ticking, but at the same time, it’s easier to let society mould me, rather than having to put the effort into moulding myself.

Having to explain to people every day what you are gets tiring, so I’ve gotten into the habit of just letting people think what they want. To add to that, I’ve felt very isolated. For most of my life I was never very close to any other black people. I didn’t know how to talk about the things that confused me. I never talked to my sister about it, because she seemed to be comfortable with her race - which I later found wasn’t true. I have a good relationship with both my parents, but I never wanted to talk to them about it. I thought it would be too painful for my mum. As for my dad, I learned from a young age that white people just don’t get it, and have kept that assumption up, even now.

The way schools deal with mental health regarding race also doesn’t help. My staff faculties were about 99% white. We get told to ‘report incidents of racism’. But that’s very difficult to do, when the racism is coming from daily microaggressions from your friends. Kids don’t want to report on their friends. And certainly not daily. Both those things alone seem like snitching. And when you do report, white staff don’t tend to know what microaggressions are, or ask things like, “are you sure that was racism?”. Most education on racism is focused around ‘what’ racism is, and the difference between racism and ‘banter’, rather than addressing the issues that start racism. No one goes into institutionalised racism, or the cycle of oppression. In fact most staff don’t know themselves. They boast of some minor one day education on how to deal with racism, but don’t seem to realise that these training courses are often coming from more white people, who don’t understand racism themselves.

Furthermore, no one teaches people to check in with the victims. When it happens, racism is often quickly swept uncomfortably under the rug by my friends. No one ever asks the person receiving the racism if they’re okay, if they feel marginalised, or othered. No one ever pulls anyone aside and gives them consequences for their actions. Trying to address it in any way, feels like dampening the mood, or being oversensitive. And after an awkward pause some ignorant straight white male pipes up with, “It’s all just banter at the end of the day!”. Everyone laughs and you go along with it, even if you’re raging inside. For me, there was a pressure there to defend the entire black community, even though I wasn’t sure if I could measure up. After all, I’m mixed race. I’ve often felt not black enough.

There’s also an issue with therapists within schools. Most UK schools have therapists, but again, they are white. There were times when I would’ve loved to go to a therapist. Someone disconnected from the action, who I could pour everything out to. But there’s first of all a stigma around mental health in general. And secondly, how would I explain any of this to a white therapist? How would I explain that a white boy told me I was laying my edges wrong, and now I don’t feel black enough? Compared to the structures of institutionalised racism, and issues like police brutality, my minor experiences didn’t feel big enough to go to therapy for. So many black people say things like, “I just let it go over my head”. If they could all deal, then so could I. It felt like, if I wasn’t tough enough to deal with microaggressions, then I definitely couldn’t measure up to any standard of what it means to be black.

But after doing some research I learned that I’m definitely not alone. One article by Yvon Guest, a mixed race therapist in Bristol specialising in giving therapy surrounding trauma and resilience really helped me. Not only did I learn more in depth about shadism and colourism in reference to society, mental health and therapy, but also about the variety in experiences people go through. There are a myriad of problems people are experiencing across the country, when it comes to race. Like me, a lot of black and mixed race people feel disconnected from their black heritage. We are either (intentionally or unintentionally) taught to shun either our whiteness or our blackness, rather than embrace both. For those of lighter complexions, there is also survival guilt. In this case, the feeling of guilt about the privileges a lighter complexion gives you, at the expense of others.

We live in a society that is very binary when it comes to race. A lot of people have a standard of what black, mixed, and white looks like. Not only do we seem to forget all the other ethnicities, but we forget that there are a million different shades of black.

From people with the darkest of skin tones, all the way down to those who are white passing.

Facts and figures constantly remind us that black people only make up 3% and mixed race people 2% of the UK’s population, and that that is often a reason why there isn’t much racial diversity within jobs. But I think there’s more of an issue here with stigmas.

Separately, both mental health and race aren’t talked about openly enough, so it’s no surprise that together there’s even less discussion. It’s all very well telling white people they need to talk more about race more. But there still needs to be more discussion within the BAME community.

But again, that’s very difficult to do when race is the source of so much pain within families, due to colonisation, slavery, and the images portrayed about minority ethnicity within Western media. Many of us internalise oppression, but we don’t realise we’re doing it because we’re receiving so much from the outside world. As Yvon Guest says in her article, that is also an assumption within the psychology world. It is of course true that people of colour often need to see therapists of minority races in order to understand their experiences, but there is also a massive assumption that BAME therapists know everything there is to know about race, and that they themselves don’t internalise oppression or use colourism. We also need to be careful about lumping all minority ethnicities together. As well as white people not understanding our experiences, someone who is asian may not understand the experiences of someone who is black and vice versa. Someone who is black may not understand the experiences of someone who is mixed race, and vice versa.

But there is always hope, and people do surprise you. My family has never talked a lot about race on a personal level. But recently, my mum asked me why I identify as black. I was upset that she couldn’t seem to understand how I felt society has categorised me, and that people have always treated me more as a black person than a white person. I even tried telling someone I was mixed race once, and got forcibly told I was black. After we had this discussion though, she wanted to help me, and researched articles by other mixed race people who’d had similar thoughts to me. I’d always thought of my ‘mixed raceness’ as the problem. And that goes for other ethnicities too - so often mental health problems associated with race are spoken of like, “you’re black so you’re at higher risk of mental health problems”. When actually the problem isn’t with ‘mixed raceness’, or ‘blackness’, or ‘asianness’, but with the way the rest of society treats us, and talks about mental health.

However alone you feel, the ‘digital age’ has brought about a lot of help and accessibility. It’s easier than ever to reach out to therapists. There’s chatrooms, blogs, and articles out there whatever your experiences. It won’t necessarily make everything okay immediately, but it definitely helps to combat that isolation element.

Words & photo by Lydia Baggaley (@lydia.baggaley)

Black Lives STILL Matter

Warning: this post can be triggering, but we felt it important to share it exactly as the author intended it to be read.

Black people are collectively sharing their stories and the world is FINALLY paying attention.

To say I feel vindicated is somewhat of an understatement.

Toni Morrison famously quoted:

“The function, the very serious function of racism is distraction. It keeps you from doing your work. It keeps you explaining, over and over again, your reason for being. Somebody says you have no language and you spend twenty years proving that you do. Somebody says your head isn’t shaped properly so you have scientists working on the fact that it is. Somebody says you have no art, so you dredge that up. Somebody says you have no kingdoms, so you dredge that up. None of this is necessary. There will always be one more thing.”

I do not have time for distraction anymore, as it takes me away from my purpose.

Since the summer I have been working with my brother on his brand Adeptales.

I research and write about our Black History, I find by uplifting our ancestors I uplift myself.

Working with family is a privilege I have never had before and helped me find my voice again.

Around two years ago I had a nervous breakdown.

My breakdown was made out of bad career choices, seeking external validation, and low self-esteem.

I own my mistakes completely.

The lessons that have come from them are priceless, I will never allow anyone to undermine, gaslight, or use their privilege as a weapon against me.

The photo above was taken at a Black Lives Matter London demo, it was held on behalf of Mike Brown in 2014.

The more protests and demos that I attend make me realise it’s not my mind that needs convincing.

It’s the ones who love our culture but continue to stay silent when racial incidents occur.

It’s the ones who dismiss your lived experiences and say “they didn’t mean it like that”

It’s the ones who see you writing in a meeting room by yourself and come in to tell you they need it more - you calmly tell them that you are in an interview (and quietly thank your stars for not getting the job).

The list goes on and on and it’s so sad that I have only felt safe to share this with my Black friends and family as they give the knowing sad nod.

To all of those who posted black squares and did nothing else, to corporate companies who pledged to do better (but continue to bypass Black employees for promotion) Black lives will STILL matter.

Rest in Peace to Oluwatoyin Salau, Breonna Taylor, George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, Tamir Rice, Sandra Bland, Mike Brown, Trayvon Martin, Dominique Fells, Riah Milton, and to all our many fallen brothers and sisters.

Words & photo by Aderonke Oke (@aderonx_)

Mental Health in the Arts

Making a conscious effort to look after your mental health when having a career in the arts is essential.

The added pressure of lockdowns and isolations has thrown even more uncertainty in an already difficult industry.

The constant highs and lows can take a toll if we don’t develop healthy practices to help keep us balanced through all the uncertainty. Rejection is part of being an artist but often it can become overwhelming, leaving us feeling incompetent and asking “will I ever be good enough?”

There are also effects from financial strain. In the beginning stages, the currency offered to performers is ‘exposure’ and even when you finally get to the stage of getting paid work, a lot of working contracts only last for a period of a few months and the pay often isn’t great. This can leave artists and creatives feeling down from being constantly undervalued.

At the beginning of the first lockdown we both lost a lot of work. I (Kel Matsena) was on a UK/US Tour of an Olivier award winning play and my brother (Anthony Matsena) was receiving choreography commissions for National and International dance companies we’ve admired for years. We both felt we had finally made great strides in our careers and were finally taking the right steps in achieving our hopes and dreams. However, due to COVID-19, within a week, 2 years’ worth of work was either cancelled or postponed with no sight of when these opportunities would return.

The arts went into panic mode and I soon found myself without an agent and all potential representatives that had expressed an interest in working with me either lost their jobs or withdrew their offers to represent me as an actor. I felt helpless and had lost all sense of direction or control over my career. My brother Anthony was in the same difficult situation and he couldn’t rehearse, perform or continue to choreograph for these wonderful companies. We both were deeply frustrated.

After months of feeling helpless we realised we’d been spending the last few years waiting on emails from other people to tell us we were good enough to do what we love doing, either getting cast in a soap or being offered to choreograph on a company.

We were always waiting on someone else to give us the green light so we could be creative which is a really unhealthy way of working.

It dawned on us that we don’t need a big budget, cast or dance group to allow us to be creative, if we want to dance we can put some music on and just move freely. If I want to act or feel connected to the world of theatre I can record my practice when doing monologues and assess my own learning and performing. We all want things to “return to normal” but in the interim we need to find ways to satisfy our creative needs and keep our tools as creatives and performers sharp.

The way we’ve done this is by creating our own work and performing it through digital platforms. Recording choreography and small scenes, on our phones even, has kept our creative juices flowing. Artists have a tremendous amount of energy to create but when that energy is not used positively and productively it can transform into negative and unhealthy feelings of anxiety and little self-worth. Therefore it is important to keep using the skills and attributes we value highest in ourselves.

The arts is also a largely collaborative industry, you’re often surrounded by like-minded passionate people and that sense of community is essential to allow all the different elements of performances on stages and screen to flow seamlessly from one to the next. Writers work with directors, directors with actors, choreographers with dancers, dancers with musicians and so on. The social side that plays an important role in our industry is a beautiful thing as it allows us artists to build meaningful bonds that can be reflected through the work but when COVID-19 first struck our lives that sense of community was lost.

However we both found ways to stay connected to fellow artists whilst at home.

Doing things such as zoom calls with trusted friends in the arts industry to talk openly without any judgement about our frustrations and worries or simply doing read throughs of scripts or leading each other through dance and yoga classes. What quickly becomes evident when you engage with other artists in this way is that you are not alone in your struggle even though it may feel as if you are. The reality is that there are thousands of people experiencing the same difficulties in the arts and by sharing our stories together we can find the strength to make it through these challenging times. Surrounding yourself with a network of positive thinkers and developing your own healthy practices will help protect your mental and physical health.

The creative process doesn’t come without its own difficulties too.

To make authentic work that connects to people, honesty is required. Actors, dancers, musicians, etc are often asked to work from personal experience to help enrich their work however the constant trudging up of old memories and events from your personal life can be damaging and we need to acknowledge this so we can reverse the negative effects of rehearsals and performances on our mental health and pursue a healthier and sustainable way of working.

Words & photo by Kel and Anthony Matsena

Find out more on their website or follow them on @Matsenaproductions

Will I Ever Be Seen as More Than Just a Strong and Independent Black Woman?

Warning: this post can be triggering, but we felt it important to share it exactly as the author intended it to be read.

I can be as open and vulnerable as the next person.

But for some reason, these characteristics don't fit in with the stereotypes that are forced upon black individuals. There is more to me and to many others, but my true self is now overlooked by my race. I think it's time to change that way of thinking.

I feel like discussing mental health in the black community is not taken seriously enough. It's still seen as taboo. What we as black people may be going through mentally and emotionally is so easily dismissed. So easily turned into a joke or told to be brushed off. Making it difficult for us to open up.

Racism and inequality both have major impacts on our mental stability too. With the stress attached, whether it being the constant display of injustice from the police systems. Or the uncomfortable interactions we face being a minority in the workplace. We do struggle, but in that struggle it's in our disposition to keep pushing.

But when do we make time to pause and actually acknowledge we need to take a break? As a black community to keep having to witness social and moral inequalities over and over again, can take its toll. Yes, we can be 'strong' and 'independent', but not always. We are human. Sometimes we breakdown, feel weak and in these moments our mental health is at risk, because we are so foreign to the idea of processing our emotions.

If we want to feel down and upset at times, that should be normalised to. In both black men and women. We shouldn't allow the pressures of society to dominate how we tackle our issues. If we're uncertain, we should be aware of the resources and health services that are there to help us. But because of the stigma surrounding mental health in our community, we may not be leaning towards this.

Having a safe space to discuss how we truly feel is vital in society today. So, being able to speak to someone who won't gaslight our emotions, and help us towards a healthy state of mind should be promoted more right?

Black Minds Matter U.K has been created to help facilitate professional mental health services for black individuals in the UK specifically. With its launch fast approaching, its aim is to be a reliable service to those who may be battling with their own mind or those who need an unbiased opinion to listen to. The awareness on mental health in this community is so vital, we thank organisations like this for creating a platform that was otherwise non-existent.

The times we are living in can be stressful. Whatever we're dealing with may become overwhelming and can disrupt our peace of mind. Let's try and remove the stigma surrounding mental health and promote a better well-being. Focusing on bettering our communication and improving our quality of life, no matter what problems we may face.

-Seraphina

The Dismissal of Mental Health in the Black Community

Warning: this post can be triggering, but we felt it important to share it exactly as the author intended it to be read.

“Hi... How are you?”

No really, ‘How are you?’ I mean deep down - emotionally and mentally, because I’m sure when people ask you this, people you for a moment thought finally noticed, but then don’t ask again when you force a mere “fine” out, are just unsure of what to say next if you truthfully said “No”.

As you take the time to delve into this paper today, I will attempt to do three things by the end of it: Diagnose our issue as a community, undo the way we think and lastly encourage change in the way we process the words ‘Mental Health’.

The black community has managed to remain so culturally connected throughout history even with our location and language differences. This has been maintained through religion, music and pop culture. Though having shared culture has kept us united, in other ways it has worked against us. For example, the popularised shared thoughts on mental illness. Mental illness is heavily stigmatised in the black community; often treated as a contagious disease, a weakness or linked solely to Obia/Juju -demonising individuals.

I am here to tell you that mental illness is not a contagious disease. It doesn’t mean you’re weak - if anything, speaking out about it in this hostile world shows your unique resilience and strength, as well as an inspiring desire to heal. And last but not least, stopping for a moment to look at other factors in one’s life such as their surroundings, circumstances and various relationships will give you all the answers as to why someone is mentally unwell.

I mean, just look at how mental health is often represented in ‘Nollywood’; anyone watching it being constantly ridiculed in this way would feel embarrassed to talk about it. Then there are reality TV shows such as ‘Love and Hip Hop’ that often glamourise and exploit the signs of its seriousness, all in the name of a trending storyline. Our media plays a huge part in enforcing negative views and approaches on the situation, making it all the more difficult for people to want to seek help.

As mental health can affect anyone, these views act as a catalyst towards social instability from interactions in society to the dysfunctions in a family.

It is clear that mental health is a taboo topic amongst us. Anyone who experiences it usually feels alienated and misunderstood. Individuals are often dismissed with phrases such as ‘Oh pray about it’.

Now I’m not saying you shouldn’t suggest praying about it, but when someone is going through mental stress, the idea of going back into their own head to talk to God is like walking into a booby trap. Their subconscious kicks in and before they know it, they’re not praying but fighting negative thoughts. Instead you can offer to pray aloud with them or ask them to write out their thoughts. Any exercise that can help stop them trailing back to their dark thoughts is vital.

People are also told to ‘Pull up your big girl panties’ or ‘Man up’ as if a real man is not the one admitting he has a problem.

And then there’s the ultimate dismissal of them all - being told not to speak it into existence when it already exists. Please let me explain! As a strong believer of manifestation, I know quite well how just wanting help, wanting change can manifest plenty of opportunities to heal and grow. How it can help you see things for what they truly are and can change your circumstances around completely. But how can you change your circumstances when you’ve never acknowledged the current one you’re in, in the first place? E.g. How can someone know how to improve at maths if they’ve never taken a test to know what areas of it they weren’t good at in the first place?

A lack of acknowledgement of self is ignorance and arrogance which often leads to self-destruction. Think of it as a mentally induced Gangrene of the mind.

Its consequences are detrimental, resulting in mental instability, substance abuse, self-harming or even suicide. I mean have you ever tried telling an angry person they’re angry and watched them boil in anger? Don’t they usually lack the ability to admit they have anger issues? And would you advise them to not speak their acknowledgment of this anger into existence so that it can disappear?

The fact that they don’t acknowledge their issue is the reason why they continue the way they are.

So, whilst I admire your understanding of the power of manifestation, using it in this way is incorrect.

It is important to remember that manifestation has a lot to do with energy frequencies. A low frequency radio cannot get a good signal/pick up signal from far. It needs a good antenna.

So what is your antenna? How do we heal when we are low?

You are like a plant in a dark cupboard trying to grow, so the most impactful thing you can do is change your surroundings. Surround yourself with positive, ambitious people (light). People who inspire you and lift your Spirit. If those people don’t exist right now that’s ok, there are other ways to spark change. Read self-help books, swap your music for motivational speeches on YouTube, take walks, take long breaks from social media and focus on your future.

Where do you want to be a year from now or five? Plan how you can get there.

Speak to a professional; BlackMindsMatterUK are aware of what it means to be black here in the UK and how important mental wellbeing is. The aim is to enable as many black people and families to get specialised help. Talking to a professional of the same race and sometimes even the same cultural background, or demographic opens up a lot of space for better comprehension.

Your conversations are private and confidential and what’s best is that they don’t know you personally so you don’t have to worry about what they think.

Create a space with friends and family that allows you to open up conversations about mental health.

Make it a habit to ask each other ‘Are you ok?” at random, when they look down or are going through something you know about. Make it a habit to tell them when you aren’t ok, keeping it to yourself only makes it worse (you can write it down too).

Educate one another, prod and ask questions more occasionally, normalise it to the point where you don’t even realise how much you ask. And if you’re ever faced with a dilemma you’re unsure about how to handle, research it.

“Research it and save someone’s life. Research it and save yours.”

Words written by Aduke Adeyeye

Ten Ways to Suggest Therapy to Someone You Love

Warning: this post can be triggering, but we felt it important to share it exactly as the author intended it to be read.

The purpose of this blog is to give you tips or pointers if you have a loved one who is struggling or going through difficulties and you feel that therapy might provide a useful support for them.

This blog is not for you if you feel that your loved one needs therapy in order to change a behaviour, perhaps even a behaviour that is harmful to them or to you; the important factor to consider with therapy is that the person receiving the therapy requires a willingness to engage in the therapy.

They cannot be cajoled or coerced to attend. If you find yourself cajoling or coercing someone towards therapy and they have no willingness, or insufficent willingness to engage, then it is worth you asking yourself:

'Who really needs the therapy? Me or them?'

Now I say the latter comment because in order to suggest therapy to someone, it is important to be clear about what our intentions are. So for example, if someone's behaviour is causing us distress, then it would indicate that we need support, and therapy could be a source of that support. There could well be other sources of support that an individual might find better meets their needs. Therapy can support a variety of people, but is not a choice for all. Each individual will make their own choice due to their preference and characteristics.

So as you consider the following ten ways to suggest therapy to someone you love, it is assumed that you have taken the above into consideration, that you know the certain 'someone' well, and that you have sufficient self-awareness to be making such a recommendation based on their needs, not yours.

1. Be direct, yet compassionate with the person you love, let them know that you feel therapy could help them. Then stop and simply listen to their response. No judgement.

2. Sometimes it can be difficult to hear a loved one discuss their difficulties, and difficult still to know what to do or say in response. Further it can be too much. In this case, it is sincere to simply tell them this and say that in this case, perhaps professional therapy can help.

3. Ask them if they feel they would benefit from talking over their problems with someone. An expert who is experienced in helping people through such difficulties. Reassure them that therapists for example, always maintain confidentiality and are experienced in helping a variety of individuals through a variety of struggles.

4. Ask them if they have had counselling or psychotherapy before, if so - ask them if they would or would not consider this again with either the same therapist or with someone new. They may welcome the suggestion as sometimes when we are in the depths of despair - we do not think objectively and so it may come as a surprise that a therapist could be of assistance.

5. Advise your loved one of one or two therapy platforms where they can source therapists. Encourage them to scroll through at their leisure to familiarise themselves of types of therapies and therapists of all walks of life. By doing this, it can help take they mystery out of 'therapy', and open up curiousity and the possibility of engaging.

6. Be open to engaging in conversation about therapy. If relevant, talk about your experience of engaging with therapy; what you gained from it and the impact on you, your life and your loved ones. Be honest about how it helped, how it didn't help, how well you used it, what could have been better, etc - so that your loved one can make an honest appraisal of what they can expect from therapy.

7. Let them know that often, therapists can have an initial chat with a potential client so that the client can get a 'feel' of the therapist and ask any questions which will help to allay any fears about therapy before they commit themselves.

8. Often GP surgeries can refer patients to local therapy services, so you can advise the person you love about this, and encourage them to make an appointment with their GP to enquire further.

9. Frame your approach to your loved one, by beginning by saying that you are worried about them and you would like to suggest therapy as a way to get immediate help that can make a difference to their quality of life over time.

10. There are a variety of case studies on youtube on the BACP website, plus other platforms - from people experiencing a range of difficulties who discuss how therapy helped them in their particular situation. It could be worth sitting together and reviewing these videos, in order to help your loved one get an idea of the difference therapy can make.

I hope you find the above ten approaches useful in suggesting therapy to your loved one. If you have any further questions or comments, feel free to get in touch via my website www.theworkstressbuster.co.uk

Blog written by Awele Odeh

Psychotherapist

‘A process of unlearning’- by Korrie Powell

It’s probably best to introduce myself first, my name is Korrie Powell, I am a 23 year old visual artist, who currently works at BBH/Black Sheep Studios as a director and photographer. In this blog post, I’ll be speaking about my journey with therapy and how my relationship with it helped to create my conceptual project ‘RAGE’.

Back in 2018, I wasn’t in the happiest of places. I found myself feeling as if I was regressing in life, working in multiple bars after leaving my first internship in the creative industry (as an in-house filmmaker) at 20/21 years old. Spending my money on impulse and struggles with anxiety, meant that I had neither the funds nor the confidence to find my voice creatively. My main focus was to ensure that I was making enough for myself and my family as well as trying to fulfill my filmmaking dreams, hoping that one day, I would get some sort of big break.

Working as a bartender was tough; long hours, heavy lifting and parenting drunk people to say the least. It was hard, but my biggest take-away from that experience was what I learned about people. I’d serve new and old faces every day and sometimes spend up to eight hours listening to their stories, achievements, hopes, failures and regrets. It was all on display for me to hear and all I had to do was pour a pint and listen.

I took a particular interest in the men who visited the bar. All different in their own way but their conversations were bound by this ‘mask’ when talking about their insecurities or troubles.

Behind the bar it felt like I was standing ashore staring at a sea of sad faces, men drowning within their own insecurities. I couldn’t help but feel like the tide would eventually come in and pull me in too. After realising this, I knew that I needed to reflect.

I purchased a journal after my manager complained that she kept on finding my ‘thoughts’ littered around the bar on the back of till receipts. I always carried it with me and whenever I could, I would write down thoughts and ideas. Initially it was used creatively, but soon I was using it more meticulously, for day to day thoughts and feelings. It very quickly became my diary - an extension of my mind.

Whenever I felt low I began to write down what I perceived to be my flaws and my innermost thoughts and feelings. In doing so, I exposed myself to a lot of hidden anger and pain I had been harbouring inside of me since my school days. Around winter of 2018, I had completely filled the book. Inside, there were more negative thoughts and feelings of myself than ideas. I knew journaling was not enough, I would have to go further.

Therapy was always something I wanted to explore and experience in my life. I saw it depicted in film and television a lot, an example being one of my favorite TV shows, ‘The Sopranos’. I thought it would be something that could help me delve into my feelings, and find ways to understand them. This was easier said than done. In my experience as a Black man, our culture (be it Jamaican or for Black people in general) does not see therapy and mental health in the best light. There is a general consensus that your mental health issues should be kept to yourself. At first this made me hesitant to engage with the idea of therapy fully. I didn’t want to feel like I was ‘too far gone’. However, I couldn’t help but look at the older Black men in my life and realise how much they were masking the trauma and pain that they had experienced. They would have benefited from therapy in their younger years. I didn’t want to continue this cycle of pain and repression, I knew I had to go through a process of unlearning.

The first stages of therapy were tough. I was assigned to a White woman and this made it harder for me to fully express myself and break down how I was feeling. This stemmed from my early experiences of feeling unable to articulate to my teachers the needs and struggles I had growing up Black in a predominantly White schooling system. Although she was my therapist, she was unable to grasp the complexities of Blackness without attributing stereotypes to my experience.

The eventual transition to having a Black therapist thoroughly changed how much I was able to share, as I finally felt like I was being seen and heard. I was able to be more open with my therapist and myself, and this made the experience much more rewarding. I felt validated. I used the sessions to specifically target areas of my life that I wanted to unlearn and further delve into as a man.

RAGE is a film and photography project that I worked on for the best part of two years. The project explores the complex and often turbulent relationship between masculinity and vulnerability, as portrayed through the eyes of a Black man. Whilst I was working on this project, I was also going to therapy, and a lot of the themes analysed in the work are reflections of the things I learned whilst attending my sessions. I found it interesting how both the project and therapy overlapped, and the project provided me with the tools to visually articulate what I was discovering about myself.

The making of RAGE was itself therapeutic, and with therapy fueling the direction of the project, it forced me to look at myself and ask some difficult questions I would have never asked, if I didn’t go on this journey. Using visual lenses allowed me to explore themes that often go unseen in everyday life and push the audience to explore them. Hopefully I gave them the courage to face themselves.

I hope you enjoy!

Self-Care is Radical

Warning: this post can be triggering, but we felt it important to share it exactly as the author intended it to be read.

Self-care and wellness have become buzzwords over the past few years and I'm not here to knock it. Those that know me know I love nothing more than creating my own hair products or face masks, diffusing essential oils, meditating or looking for my next free weekend to book a retreat.

I come from a household where these conversations were normal. Trips to health food stores, Chinese herbal specialists and flicking through books on Ayurveda marked by childhood.

That 'earthy' smell you get when walking into health shops still brings me waves of nostalgia to this day. I have distinct memories of my Caribbean mother showing me how to use plants like Aloe Vera to get glowing skin whilst my Anglo-Indian father used beautiful spices in cooking that had a host of benefits.

I would be entirely hypocritical if I were to bash the 'self-care' vernacular because it is so common to me. However,

I can't seem to shake the uncomfortable feeling that comes in wellness spaces where the methods are familiar but the faces preaching it are not. Representation of where these practices originate from can seem invisible.

I've been to talks in the past where entire rooms ooh and ahh at the indigenous practices of South American women without seeming to ask how South American voices could be centralised in the discussion. How their practices could be told in their own voices, how diaspora communities feel, or how their audiences could be more diverse. The entire vibe could have been filmed for a Goop documentary awash with privilege, tales of "gap yahs", and seeking for ways to monetize indigenous traditions for the sake of yummy mummy morning rituals. It reminded me of some of the Anthropologists I've learned about that were torn between exoticising difference yet being unable to take their gaze away from tantalisingly 'other' worlds.

The lack of representation and diversity within the wellness industry feels palpable. It creates an assumption that you need to have the right image, time and money to engage in it.

I must make myself very clear in saying there is nothing wrong in all people enjoying and sharing methods of self-care to promote wellbeing.

All voices and experiences should be equal. In theory, wellness is a democratic movement. I myself (a black working-class woman) have benefitted from self-care practices from Chinese traditions and many other cultural practices. I just think it becomes an uncomfortable arena once economic power and unequal access to health care exist alongside brands pushing normal ingredients you could have grown and made yourself (or got the recipe for from your Grandmother) as something luxury or elite.

I have been appreciating the conversations that run parallel to this though. Many are mindful to reclaim the definition of self-care as a response to taking action. Something that is needed as rest from challenges as opposed to a luxury lifestyle choice.

It’s about acknowledging that self-care is balancing. An act of inhaling and exhaling, call and response, working and resting, acting and retracting.

Since becoming a mental health professional, I have seen how the notion of 'self-care' really is a matter of survival for our minds. It's not just for the people suffering with mental 'illness'. It's for my colleagues, for the people in other industries, for me, for everyone.

I've been encouraged to see how people are responding to the difficulties of recent times. COVID19, Black Lives Matter, Yemen, job losses and increased poverty gaps can all contribute to us feeling drained. I see people taking the time to listen, learn and act on these things then consciously taking social media breaks, giving trigger warnings, resting when returning from protests or thinking about new ways of innovating. I love to see it. For me, this, is the ebb and flow of self-care.

We are often labelled as a 'snowflake generation'. Too cautious or politically correct about our words, but I love how writer Jason Reynolds puts it in a recent conversation with Krista Tippett:

"their generation is teased and ridiculed and criticized for being too empathetic as if that’s a bad thing. (We) ridicule them because they have somehow made our lives a bit more complicated and uncomfortable because now we have to watch what we say ...

We have to be careful about making other people feel small, and we’re upset about it.

We will have egg on our faces 20 years from now, because what they’re saying is:

we are trying to make an equitable world.

We want to make a world where everyone feels safe and free. And we ridicule them for it."

I'm sure I have said things that are unknowingly offensive and have eggs on my face to come, but part of trying to make a more compassionate society is the humility to hear and learn why it was hurtful.

I take pride in aspects of our generation reclaiming the notion of self-care as a necessary form of resistance and am reminded by these words:

"Caring for myself is not self-indulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare."- Audre Lorde

I want to take this chance to highlight some of the ways I've enjoyed conversations and activities on wellness during the lockdown in recent weeks. There are diverse voices in the UK redefining the face, ideas and conversations on wellness:

• Mindfulness Mondays have started at my work. This is something someone set up over Microsoft Teams in my organisation and I have loved that this has had a ripple effect for everyone to stop on the busiest day of the week. Our Race Equality Network across the organisation have started weekly check-ins for all staff members. A quarantine art group has also been a great relief from the demands of working in the mental health system. These offers should be woven into fabrics of 'business-as-usual' models as we physically return to work.

• I discovered Black Minds Matter, an online community that has recognised a need for black communities to speak about mental health, access therapy, and offer free therapy with black therapists. Check out their Instagram for more information.

• The Black Wellbeing Collective ran a Zoom self-care workshop. They hosted a session to 'check-in' with ourselves about BLM, create wonderful DIY face masks using a care package of goodies posted to us whilst learning about wellbeing from professional contributors. I've made a visual story of the session on my Instagram worth seeing.

• I attended a 'BIPOC healing and restorative Zoom event' on the theme 'What am I meant to do with this?' exploring how to engage with emotions. The session drew upon African proverbs and traditional means of finding healing. I invited a friend from the US to join me and it was a wonderful moment of unity from across the pond.

I realise this is not a conclusive list and just some that I have recently participated/made donations to.

What ways have you been taking time for self-care?

What wellness organisations have you enjoyed following?

“This continues to be important as lockdown lifts and we need to continue encouraging each other.”

I will be doing a dedicated series on my Instagram page called #SelfCareSundays to amplify other organisations in working in this space. If you would like to contribute to this, please get in touch (visit 'contact' tab on the website menu).

About the writer:

Riah Writes is a writer dedicated to writing on race, gender, creativity, spirituality, wellness and our humanity. Follow her blog on www.riahwrites.com and connect with her on socials @riah_writes

Do you remeber your first time?

Warning: this post can be triggering, but we felt it important to share it exactly as the author intended it to be read.

“Eenie meenie miney moe, catch the Nigger by the toe. If it wriggles let it go, eenie meenie miney moe!”

I was seven years old when I first heard the word Nigger, I didn’t know what it meant but for some reason when I heard it I immediately felt sad.

“What’s a Nigger?” I asked as the circle of kids continued to stare at me, “It’s just another name for people like you” said Emma. Emma was seven years old like me, we were kids; we cared about sweets and playing but on that afternoon I suddenly realised that there was something wrong with my seven year old self, I was no longer just a kid playing in the playground, I was a BLACK kid playing in the playground.

When I got home that evening I asked my mother what that word meant… BIG MISTAKE! When you have a strong black African mother the wrath is real and so is the side eye! We went to school the following day and my mother spoke to the Headmaster. No action was taken and I was met with “It was just a joke” from the other white school kids. From that day I have experienced all forms of racism from certain friends who thought it was ok to introduce me as their “Nigger friend” (we no longer speak), to being asked why my lips are so rubber like, why my nose looks like a Monkey’s nose, to being told I was ugly but at least I have nice hair. By the time I reached 10 years old I was using bleaching creams to make myself lighter. Being a child of the 80s/90s everything on TV and in magazines celebrated the “whiteness of society” there was nothing I could relate to because no one looked like me. I used to dream about how life would be if I was white! Then one day I was watching the news and a woman appeared on the screen, she was darker skinned and she had hair that looked like mine – her name was Moira Stuart. Believe me when I say my heart nearly exploded when I saw her face, to which point I asked myself “How did she get on TV?”

Having that type of insecurity from a young age moulds a child into an adult riddled with fear, anxiety and uncertainty. I am now in my 30s and I still feel uneasy with myself. When I apply for roles I am asked to send in a photo because my surname is different or as soon as I am face to face with said employers I receive rejection emails saying:

“You do not fit with the company’s culture” “You’re a lovely person but you’re just not right”

“Sorry, we’ve gone with a candidate who was a better fit”

I once turned up to an interview and the female interviewer walked out to the reception area and said my name as she smiled and approached the pretty brunette in the corner, I stood up and said “Hi, I’m Lydia” and her face dropped.

These types of scenarios are far too frequent for black people. We have all been in situations where we’ve had to hold our tongue because we didn’t want to lose our job or worse… be labelled as the “difficult black woman”. Now more than ever it is important for everyone to see and understand the sheer disrespect we face as black people. We have had enough of sitting quietly in the corner in order to make everyone feel at ease, we have had enough of being told we do not fit, we’re too loud, we’re too dark, our features do not sell, for a black person you’re actually quite attractive….

IT’S ENOUGH!

When a black child is born their parents have to decide on when to have the conversation about race and how the colour of their child’s skin will be an issue as they grow up - a white person will never have to have that conversation with their child. For that reason I am hesitant about bringing an innocent soul into THIS world. Would I like to be a mother? Not sure; there are too many conversations I will need to have with my child and I’m scared, I’m scared of watching the natural joy from my child’s face disappear once they realise how the world sees them.

The murder of George Floyd has remarkably opened the world’s eyes to racism. We know it’s there – it’s ALWAYS been there but now is different; the world is witnessing an uprising. Black people are speaking up and being unapologetically black! The frustration has boiled over and we can no longer keep schtum. I attended the protest at Parliament Square on 6th June 2020; it was my first protest and it meant so much to me – I was finally allowing my voice to be heard. The outpouring of solidarity was quite something too. It was unexpected and I found myself having to hold back tears. Now is the time when we need to see who our real allies are - we know you exist! Will you “PULL UP” with us?

“Change is coming. The next generation of young black souls will not sit in silence; they will walk with their heads held high knowing that they are seen, heard and very much an equal member of all life that matters.”

Words written by - Miss L. Mbala Image taken by - Mr S.J Sargeant Rights owned by both parties

My name is Tia

I am a 19-year-old black female student.

This statement was written with true pain, however, I present to you a very small look into my early years of secondary education, which had a devastating impact on my mental health and, resulting in 5 suicide attempts from the ages of 11-19, chronic depression and anxiety.

At secondary school amongst 1500 students, I was the only black person (predominantly white). From the very first day it was apparent that I was unwelcome and this was exemplified every day through the actions of students and the complacency of teachers. Micro-aggressions were rife, lack of representation and attitudes towards racism were pitiful.

These are a few examples:

‘you are a coconut’

‘you are very articulate for your kind!’

‘you are not like other black people’

‘look at my spray tan, I am nearly as dark as you’

‘your hair looks so messy’

‘Why can you wear braids? But I can’t’

‘if I am friends with you, can I say ‘n****’?’

‘How come you don’t like KFC?’

This incessant covert racism led to me feeling insignificant and incompetent, which during adolescent rapidly internalised to self-hatred and feeling utterly worthless. Coming from a multicultural primary school, I did not realise society placed my black identity at the forefront of my existence. Self-deprivation followed, as I was led to believe every essence of blackness was distasteful and should rightfully be criticised. This made me do things to seek white approval but also left me conflicted as I did not fit the perpetuated stereotype of a young black child. I remember at age 14 asking my mother, if there was any possible way for me to be white so I could fit in and be accepted in an environment where I was an outcast. Although my mother did her very best to reassure me, it did not change my reality. School days became what I described as ‘an isolated pit of despair and inadequacy’. No one wanted to establish a friendship with me, let only communicate without mentioning a negative connotation about my race or features. This insufferable isolation seemed to be oblivious to the teacher, I reach out trying to seek help from student services regarding this prolonged inferiority complex present in school but I was ignored and hushed aside. My reality denied and solutions that were offered were all based on me adapting my behaviours, rather than addressing the issue at hand and the fact is, no one wants to have this uncomfortable conversation that a child is being isolated, exclude and outcast solely on the premise of his/her race, let alone try to fine effective solutions.

This silence became deafening and what was once discrimination was now racially motivated bullying. I became vulnerable, small remarks were now profound. My name abolished and replace with ‘nigger’, ‘blacky’, ‘the Oreo in a marshmallow school’. I vividly remember being reminded that my skin was the colour of poop, therefore, insisting that I should scrub hard with a wash. Can you imagine yourself at 14, scrubbing your body pleading, crying, begging the black to vanish?

The teacher refused to acknowledge the racism but in fact fuelled it. Tokenism was at the forefront of my education. The saying ‘let us get a black person perspective’ was thrown around so casually, that I did not understand that was wrong till I was much older. Moreover, when I did feel able to speak, I remained silent in fear of demonization and embodying the stereotype of a confrontational black woman.

The teacher would always come to me last, regardless if I placed my hand up for help first. I would see their eye flicker past me like I was invisible, which indeed made me feel like the personification of invisible and shamed for being born black.

Criticism toward my hair being inappropriate and suggesting it should be more ‘tamed’ or ‘straightened’.

Out of all the things I have shared, the most profound thing, was that the only member of staff of the faculty who looked like me (black woman), never once acknowledged me in the same way as my white counterpart. Although each individual discrimination was imperceptible, over time a pattern emerged where I was over disciplined due to racial bias likely have be stemmed from her own personal turmoil of being the only black teacher in an predominantly white environment.

If that does not solidify the toxicity of my environment, the deterioration of a once joyful young black child to a child who tries to kill herself to rid of the trauma it caused, will.

I was told to ignore racism, my experience and feelings denied, MY present belittled.

“I am Tia and this is my truth.”