Structural racism, white denial, and ideas for a better future.

The thoughts of a white passing, mixed-race speech and language therapist in the UK

- by Anon

I want to share my experiences of racism in the speech and language therapy profession and academia, and to offer some ideas which may help us remove structural barriers and change the profession for the better. As a mixed-race person, I acknowledge the privilege that I enjoy in the profession and in society: sometimes I’ve been a victim of racism; sometimes (when I am considered to be “white” or “one of the good ones”) a beneficiary of it.

The brutal murder of George Floyd and the incredible work of Black Lives Matter activists and protestors have forced many white colleagues to face the widespread existence of racism in our culture, perhaps for the first time. But we have long known our profession to be un-diverse and largely unrepresentative of the racial, cultural and linguistic diversity of the clients we support.

I feel fortunate to have worked for the past few years in a diverse, well-run and actively anti-racist NHS department. But my experience shows me that this may be the exception rather than the rule. If we truly want to challenge racism in our profession, and provide a better service for the people we support, we need to address, disrupt and replace the racist systems and institutions that allow inequality to thrive.

I hope my own experience helps highlight some of the barriers and obstacles we face.

School:

I know a lot of people are bullied in school and I’m not recounting these experiences to elicit pity. I just want to show that racism can be a barrier to entering the profession long before university and the workplace.

I grew up in a small town with almost no ethnic diversity and a lot of entrenched racism. Secondary school was an isolating experience. I was called a “N*****” in the classroom without friends or teachers standing up for me. I was bullied on a daily basis for the way my hair looked. I even had my hair set alight while walking to a lesson.

I was aware that me and my family were seen and treated differently by the entirely-white teaching staff. Despite being studious, har-working and quiet,

punishment for my minor misdemeanors was wildly-disproportionate compared to white friends and peers. I had an English teacher who would go out of her way to humiliate me. Though she knew I had a fear of public speaking, she would make me read out in class, and would always choose the most embarrassing sexualised passages for me to read out, which would result in others laughing at me. I desperately wanted this to stop, and I tried to make her like me by signing up for the extra-curricular activities that she ran. I volunteered to be in a school play she directing, and after missing one rehearsal (with plenty of notice) to attend my brother’s birthday party, I received an A4 letter home (addressed to my mum, who is Black) condemning our family’s “bad attitude” and explaining that I wouldn’t amount to anything in life. This was made all the more hurtful when I discovered that white friends had skipped rehearsals without explanation and without consequences.

Despite my love of learning and good grades, my academic interests were often ignored or discouraged. Once, when I signed up to attend a talk on applying for university, I was told by my class tutor that I couldn’t go as university probably wasn’t for me (I have since completed a PhD). Later, when I wore braided hair in school, the same tutor told me I was dressing in an over-sexualised manner and needed to change my look. For context, the school’s white, middle-class Head Girl once modelled a glass bikini and everyone thought this was wonderful and artistic (no judgement, but the disparity is obvious).

When I left school, I went straight into retail work. But the desire to learn and study kept nagging at me so I sought the advice of a fantastic local ‘Connexions’ office. One worker there felt I would be a good speech and language therapist and encouraged me to apply for university.

Getting work experience as a speech and language therapist is difficult, and often relies on family connections (a factor that probably perpetuates the profession’s racial imbalance). I was privileged enough to secure a week’s work experience with a local therapist. And when I received my acceptance letter for a speech and language therapy course 300 miles away in a big, multicultural city, I was delighted to be leaving my small and small-minded town behind.

University

In many ways, university was the making of me. The course and the university library opened my eyes to new ways of seeing and thinking about the world. But it wasn’t free from racism. Our cohort was mainly white British, with only one international student, one Asian student, and two Black students among my peers.

During the first few terms, some white peers commented on my “lovely mixed-race skin tone” and fawned after mixed-race children on their clinical placements. An uglier side of racism started to show in our cultural competence sessions when a fellow course-mate boasted about posting pork through an Asian person’s letterbox: an admission that wasn’t treated as regrettable or shameful; but as a badge of honour, with peers giggling along.

On another occasion, when checking our grades together, another white peer (who I had considered to be a friend) picked up her phone right in front of me to complain to her mum that I’d received a higher grade than she. How could this mixed-race girl do better than her? It was clear she felt envy, frustration and even injustice that I’d been marked higher.

Racism came from staff too. I remember having my hair mocked and my mixed-race identity laughed at by a tutor, as if they knew better than me. This staff member joked several times that I wasn’t properly mixed-race because various white people seemed blacker than I did. I felt humiliated and went home and cried. I’d opened up to discuss and reflect on my experiences, and to be shut down with laughter felt like an insult.

But these type of gaslighting comments — “you’re not really mixed race,” “my (white) friend is blacker than you,” — became typical from white peers and mentors. More than once they had me questioning my own identity, making me feel like I was the second-coming of Rachel Dolezal: a fake, and an embarrassment.

On other occasions, when fellow students considered me “white,” they felt free to share their racist opinions with impunity — giving me a bit of insight white entitlement closed doors and how deep the rot goes: the deep resentment many white people feel when forced to accept their privilege and the basic truths of colonial history; their fear and defensiveness about things they may have said, done or believed, or things their friends and family may still say, do and believe; the personal annoyance they feel at having their safe, comforting worldview shattered by the reality of systemic generational oppression and inequality.

Self-identifying “liberal” white friends have often asked me, apropos of nothing, to recount my experiences of racism (how about the time I was grilled over my right to receive treatment in hospital because my British-born mum didn’t look ‘British’ enough; or the time an outspoken racist parent at school phoned around to tell other parents I was a “slut” for dating white boy at the age of fifteen; or the times parents of a speech and language therapy clients have told me they only wanted to work with ‘British’ therapists) only for the same white friends to instantly side with the racists and tell me “well, they sound like they had good intentions,” or “maybe they didn’t like you for another reason,” or “maybe you were just being oversensitive.”

For my part, I’ve benefited from my privilege as a mixed-race person. And I’m ashamed to say at times I haven’t confronted people as often as I could have. Because selfishly, at times survival has been my focus, and many times I have resolved to simply cut people out of my life rather than challenge them.

Work

As a mixed-race person who often passes for white, I don’t believe I’ve ever experienced the discrimination at job interviews that many of my Black and Asian colleagues have had to fight against. In recent years, I have been fortunate to work for a wonderful NHS speech and language therapy department within a genuinelydiverse team. I have felt safe and supported amongst colleagues when experiencing racism from service users.

But this isn’t the case everywhere.

Working in less diverse NHS trusts I have heard a client described as “big, black and grotesque.” I have seen a senior speech and language therapist describe a client’s parents (who had the same complexion and heritage as myself) with the words: “I don’t know what they are, you’ll see what I mean when I meet them.” I have observed microaggressions in the frequent, deliberate and mocking mispronunciation of non-English names, laughs about how many Mohammeds there were in a class (with no mention of how many children there were called Jack). And I have experienced eye-rolling reactions from colleagues when using therapy resources that depict Black, Asian and ethnically diverse people.

On a systemic level, I have seen some workplaces discourage the use of interpreters leading many children to slip through the net without correct intervention or even correct diagnosis. I have heard bilingualism condemned as damaging to the language development of children, and I know parents have been persuaded to abandon home languages, and to blame themselves for ‘causing’ their children’s difficulties.

I felt saddened by the RCSLTs slow response to Black Lives Matter. For how long can British institutions raise and discuss the problems of racism and a lack of diversity, without making genuine attempts to correct things? I am pleased that RCSLT have since apologised for their failures and re-committed to a better, more inclusive future — but I can already see the support for the Black Lives Matter movement dwindling among some colleagues. And many institutions have quietly withdrawn their support for Black Lives Matter when asked to back up their commitments with actions instead of platitudes.

Instead I find inspiration and hope in the words and actions of the many student speech and language therapists and colleagues who have spoken out on these issues already. People who are much more eloquent and courageous than I am. People who are and will be a persuasive and positive force for change.

I’ll finish with a list of immediate changes I would love to see in our profession:

1) For RCSLT to support all members to become actively anti-racist with tangible, practical action — antiracist training must be mandatory not optional.

2) A Bulletin takeover addition by Black, Asian and ethnically diverse speech and language therapists and students — directly addressing the existence and problem of racism in speech and language therapy, with a regular feature (in addition to the column mentioned in the latest Bulletin issue) keeping us abreast of active, positive changes.

3) Data collected on the ethnicity of members, supported with university data on how many Black, Asian and ethnically diverse people join courses (as well as demographic information on how many graduate and how many leave) and data on how long Black, Asian and ethnically diverse people wait for first jobs after graduating, and how long we take to move up bands.

4) A profession-wide focus on diversity and inclusion with a clear outline for implementation (including recruitment and representation on university courses) and clear plans for how its success will be measured and monitored.

5) A mentorship scheme for career development for Black, Asian and ethnically diverse colleagues.

6) Campaigns to emphasise the fact that bilingualism is normal and positive within society and within the profession.

7) A culture in which speech and language therapists always work with interpreters when clients and client’s families speak additional languages, and families are supported not to abandon languages in favour of English.

For many white colleagues, I’m sure this is a scary and unsettling time. But as others have observed: denial, inaction and silence can help no one. We live in a racist society. We work in a structurally racist profession. Not attempting to change this is an act of complicity.

Keep on pushing,

Anon.