I wish I knew how to respond to racism in public spaces
Having my motherhood questioned by a white woman in the park still shakes me with anger a year later
This weekend, I’m going camping. I camped a lot as a kid, but I haven’t gone camping as an adult in nearly 10 years. I have been racking my brain in efforts to recall even a smidgen of my Girl Guides and Scouts training.
In my eagerness to experience the great outdoors, I’ve also had to stop and think about what it’s like to be a Black woman in public spaces as it hasn’t always been a positive experience.
Last August, I took my son to a local playground right at the tail end of the first wave of the pandemic. My husband and I had struggled finding ways to occupy our then two-year-old son during the lockdown. It felt like such a relief to have access to the playground again that I pushed myself through the anxiety I had about taking a toddler to a park by myself (while 36 weeks pregnant). We had just found a groove on the swing and my son was happy. I was happy. Black boy joy was in abundance.
Then, in just a few quick seconds, all the joy and excitement I had been experiencing was taken away carelessly by a stranger.
While pushing him on the swing, a white woman (who was on the swings next to us with her grandchild) looked over at my son and asked me, “Oh, do you live with his family?”
It took me a second to understand what she had just said, but then it clicked. “I’m his mother,” I responded politely.
I thought that would be enough, but then she followed up with: “What ethnicity is his father?”
I stumbled, then politely said, “He’s Caucasian.”
“Oh,” was all she said back.
This is not the first time my role as mother has been questioned and it won’t be the last. I get it. My son is a mixed-race kid. He will never have the same skin tone as his mother or father, but I dare you to not look at his eyes and see mine looking right back at you. Or see his father’s smile beaming back at you.
I was mad. I had been having such a good moment pushing my son on the swing.
I armed myself with a response. “How dare you! How dare you assume I was anything BUT his mother! Do you know how hard I have worked since the day he was born to be the mother he deserves? Do you want a picture from each of the 183 days I spent in the NICU waiting to bring him home? Do you know how much anxiety I have from his past and the fears I hold for his future as a Black man? How dare you take away the most meaningful role I’ve ever had from me so thoughtlessly. How dare you not take a second to think about your line of questioning because now you’ve ruined the great day I was having!”
I said all this. In my head. I’d like to think it was my polite Canadian facade but, truthfully, I just didn’t know how to respond to racist encounters like this one.
Being Black doesn’t automatically mean I’m good at responding to racism. Some people are gifted with the ability to know what to say the moment they encounter a transgression. I’ve seen people I admire eloquently craft in real time a response that empowers them and simultaneously disarms the offender. I observe these exchanges in awe, wishing I had the same confidence and talent to let my attackers know I ain’t having it. I’ve been practising and have become better, but the truth is that I’m just not great at confronting racist comments in the heat of the moment.
So I remained silent.
I had to wrestle with myself internally to get back into the moment and continue playing with my child because, at the end of the day, this two-year-old was unaware what his mom was experiencing and he was still in his moment of joy.
I was shaking with anger by the time I got home. I shared with my husband what had happened. I wrote an emotional social media post about it. I talked with anyone I could that day about what had happened. My entire day was disrupted by this one encounter. That interaction sat heavy with me all day and a year later I still think about it.
Because this is what happens. People will say careless racist things and not think of it for a moment, but those who are on the receiving end are left to deal with it. To feel it. To unpack it. To question themselves. To be upset with their silence. To forgive themselves. Then store it away so they can deal with their day. All of this happens within moments. It can be so exhausting, especially when you have to do it over and over again.
It’s frustrating that this exchange happened at a beloved playground.
It’s understandable when Black, Indigenous and people of colour (BIPOC) choose to not be in public spaces because those spaces are not always welcoming. I’m reminded of Christian Cooper, the Black man in New York’s Central Park who filmed a white woman calling the police on him while he was birdwatching.
There are countless stories out there of BIPOC people experiencing racism and discrimination in parks and playgrounds. Still, I refuse to stay confined in my house, especially in the summer with two young children. I have every right as anyone to enjoy the beautiful public spaces that are within our reach and I will.
So as I prepare for camping, I’m arming myself with anti-racist responses, as well as extra-strength bug spray.