Racism and baking
I once had a heart-to-heart with a fellow Unitarian Universalist about the racism I sometimes feel. I would never own the label racist--I’m a typical liberal in that sense--but I have some racist reflexes (I realise that sentence may sound like classic denial). My friend told me we are all racists (thanks to the media, white privilege, segregation, etc). She said you can’t grow up in America without these conflicts. I found her comments comforting but I still frequently have to examine my thoughts and overcome the irrational or ill-informed or knee-jerk prejudice.
I also comfort myself (or hyper-rationalise) by saying I’m not really racist, I’m judgemental--which transcends racism. For example, I have lots of opinions about people taking responsibility for themselves and, thanks to poverty porn, I see plenty of examples of irresponsible behaviour. This Belfast Telegraph story left me tut tutting about the number of people claiming benefits in Northern Ireland.
I combat these tendencies in two ways. Contextualisation and familiarity. The former means I try to understand the many barriers people experience to escaping generations of poverty, welfare dependency, poor educational provision, etc. In Northern Ireland, for example, there is a high degree of mental health problems associated with the Troubles. Suicide rates are very high here as well. And the economy doesn’t produce many jobs for people with low educational attainment.
My internal conservative contrasts this narrative with another that says you can’t completely discount individual agency. I think it’s a liberal trap to not attribute some portion of outcomes to the individual. But what portion? I have no idea. These aren’t binary issues with a neat formula. There’s a popular book out now called Hillbilly Elegy by a man who went to Yale and questioned what about his hillbilly roots made him an exception. It doesn’t reflect well on the choices his mother made, such as a constant stream of partners disrupting their lives then moving on. His perspective makes a lot of sense to me. But I’m also persuaded by a totally contradictory narrative about the dire impacts of neoliberalism and globalisation. I read an article about rampant heroine addiction in Huntingdon, WV. A lot of people making bad choices? Or is Huntingdon a sacrifice zone left behind by the brutal form of capitalism that has evolved since WW2?
As for familiarity, another way to combat narrow-mindedness is to expand your circle of friends. By having black friends in America, for example, I find I’m more immune to a media that serves up a steady diet of criminals, rap artists, and sports figures that trigger my judgemental genes. Good books and good friends counterbalance a biased narrative. It’s one thing to have an intellectual underpinning to fight racism but so much more powerful to have emotional resistance to racist narratives.
Since moving to the UK, I’d say I’m most often triggered by irritation toward muslims. I really don’t like hijabs or niqabs or burkhas. If women have moved to societies where they enjoy full freedoms, why perpetuate oppressive cultural expressions of modesty? All I can say is I’m on a learning curve on this one. I see that France--wanting to force French citizens to adhere to French values of freedom and equality--has gone too far with its burkhini ban. One cartoon I saw showed a kneeling woman being lectured by French police next to a kneeling woman being lectured by muslim men.
Which brings me to my headline. Last year when Nadiya Hussain won the Great British Bake-off, I thought it was a terrific moment for Britain. Her parents immigrated to England from Bangladesh and she wears a hijab. And she is talented, funny, bright, and free to pursue her dreams because her husband is watching the kids. She’s also adorable--her facial expressions are so varied and hilarious that there are viral mashups of them. Britain fell in love with her and possibly, like me, enjoyed “getting to know” a modern muslim who enjoys a life unfettered from the cultural norms her hijab might imply.
Seeing a good thing, the BBC produced two episodes of the Chronicles of Nadiya, following her as she returned to Bangladesh. The series was hugely popular, inspiring complaints of there being only two episodes. Because I admire Nadiya and would love nothing more than to sit down to tea and buns with her, it helps me keep an open mind as I see women in traditional dress. I don’t think I’ll ever be OK with a burkha or even a niqab, but I’d like to keep learning about the lives of women who are so mysterious to me.
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