Round Leaning Mirror with White Frame
Even though we shared the same culture and beliefs, we were very different, starting with the obvious: the colour of my skin.
BY TIFFANY
IMAGE BY EMRE CAN ACER/PEXELS.COM
As a white West Indian, I feel very distant from mainstream European and Canadian culture and identify fully with the traditions and customs of my Caribbean background. The foods I eat, religious ceremonies, customs and blessings, music, dance, costumes and carnival culture: all of this represents my Guyanese upbringing and heritage. This still, however, does not make me belong to the predominantly Black population of West Indians and the Caribbean. I struggled for many years to understand the displacement I began to feel in high school around my West Indian friends.
Growing up in Toronto, I went to school, played sports, and had friends from all different backgrounds, cultures, and races. It was not until I reached high school that I began to feel isolated and yearned to belong to a group. I felt out of place with my European friends and became known as the white girl who chilled with all the Black people. I never classified myself as this, and I began to develop insecurities around my race, culture, and identity. I was too Black for my white friends and not Black enough for my Black friends. Being a product of Guyanese parents, whose descendants migrated from Portugal and Britain, I was left examining who I was and where I belonged.
It got to the point where I would ask my Black Guyanese best friend if I was going to be the only white person at the party, because if so, I had no interest in attending. It made me feel uncomfortable and unwanted. I was unsure of who I was. I stuck out like a sore thumb and had become very self-conscious. As much as I loved the culture, the music, and the vibes, I did not want to put myself in that situation—distressed and feeling awkward. I could not for the life of me understand what was happening. I interrogated my parents and was infuriated by my feelings and perceptions. My mother explained to me the historic relationship between the different races within her country: “The Black people did not like us because white people did not treat the Black people properly. That is known!” When the Europeans migrated to Guyana, their economy was focused on plantation agriculture, which initially depended on slave labour. These were deep-rooted positions that could not be changed overnight. My mother explained that even though we were generations removed since then, and that yes, ultimately Guyanese people were one and the same, regardless of where their descendants were from, there were many differences that set them apart. Although this did not explain the current situation I was in, it gave me a better understanding of the divide. I did not look like them and therefore could not be one of them. Even though we shared the same culture and beliefs, we were very different, starting with the obvious: the colour of my skin.
I recently learned from my Black Trinidadian husband that there is another explanation which probably justifies the differing attitude of these classmates. He enlightened me on an impactful level. He asked me: “Did your parents ever teach you what to do when you are pulled over by the police? Did they ever tell you to never put your hands in your pockets or reach for anything when in the presence of the cops? Did they ever tell you to always agree with the cops because if you don’t, you may get shot?” I could not believe that this is something my husband had to be taught because he is Black. I could not believe that this was a conversation that I would now have to discuss with my children. This is when the lightbulb went off.
No matter where I come from, I still have white privilege. I am embarrassed and ashamed to admit that it has taken me so long to realize this, but I am now conscious of the unfair advantages bestowed upon me, this unearned dominance in society I gained simply by being white. Doing what I would consider to be a simple task, like driving to work, can be very stressful and even dangerous for Black people in my country. This is very concerning, and yet it is the reality. I can look back on many situations and experiences and see how things could have gone very differently if I was not white. I think the biggest problem with white privilege is a lack of acknowledgment, or even awareness. I believe that knowledge is power, and it will take a lot of mature conversations between the privileged and the underprivileged for progress to occur. I now accept this knowledge and see that it underlies many areas of my life. I now understand that I will always be the white girl who hangs with all the Black people. I now know that I, having white privilege, must take a stance on behalf of all non-white people who experience judgement, discrimination, and prejudice every day in this country.
I deeply appreciate the rich culture I have participated in and will continue to belong to as part of my West Indian identity. I am sometimes troubled by the knowledge of my fierce background and to be honest, I carry a heavy weight of guilt surrounding my race and the privileges it implies. To consider myself part of the West Indian community without acknowledging the privileges given to me because of my skin colour would be unfair and unjust. By recognizing the differences caused by these deeply-rooted and engrained feelings and biases, across all members within my own community—Black, White, Indian, or Asian—I have begun to understand the separation and the difference between myself and much of the West Indian community. I find it very disturbing that a person’s race plays such a crucial role in defining his or her or their treatment by society. However, I know this change starts with open-minded conversations between people willing to be heard and people willing to listen. These discussions bring about awareness and knowledge that would otherwise be left unheard, leaving us as a community to stagnate. This knowledge, these conversations, have provided me with a huge shift in perspective—when you know better, you do better! Honest, real, and raw conversations are just the beginning of change.
Tiffany is a student in Humber’s Bachelor of Health Sciences program and a happily married soccer mom of three children. Her children are her greatest teachers and biggest supporters. She has a passion for anything to do with health, wellness, and growth. Tiffany’s goal in life is to be the best version of her authentic self and to encourage and create space for others to be the same.
Image: Round Leaning Mirror with White Frame (Emre Can Acer/PEXELS.com)
Edited for publication by Gabriel Atkin, as part of the Creative Book Publishing program.
HLR Spotlight is a collaboration between the Faculty of Media & Creative Arts and the Faculty of Liberal Arts & Sciences and Innovative Learning at Humber College in Toronto, Ontario. This project is funded by Humber’s Office of Research & Innovation.