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ISSUES: Racial & Ethnic Discrimination
Chapter 2: Tackling racism
We need more than safety pins to stop
racism
I have no doubt that the initiative was started with the best of intentions, but sadly
it does more harm than good.
By Hussein Kesvani
Y
esterday, a close friend was
racially abused while taking her
normal commuter train home.
A second generation, hijab-wearing
Pakistani immigrant, she had been
reading a newspaper when two men
sat opposite her and taunted her
about Brexit. “You better pack your
bags and go home” one of them had
sneered, while the other had used
various expletives, including calling
her a “P**i” and a “sand n***er”.
Despite other passengers being on
the train, she was forced to get off at
the next stop, and wait another hour
to get back home.
Since last week’s vote to leave the
European Union, the number of similar
reported attacks on immigrants
and ethnic minorities has surged.
According to True Vision, the police
hate-crime
monitoring
website,
there’s been a 57 per cent increase in
reported incidents of abuse since last
Thursday. Meanwhile, Tell MAMA, a
hate crime monitoring organisation
say they’ve seen a spike in racist
attacks on Muslims, adding to a 300
per cent increase in Islamophobic
abuse in the past year.
This surge might come as a shock to
many. But for most ethnic, religious
and sexual minorities (and especially
those who make up the intersections)
this isn’t anything new. In fact, as
many have said online in the past
week, last week’s vote didn’t create
the racism we’re currently seeing.
Rather, the overtly racialised, anti-
immigrant narrative of both leave
campaigns certainly made racism
seem acceptable. To put it simply, for
many ethnic minorities, the racism
that’s surging has always existed, and
we’ve had to experience both the
subtle and the overt. But it’s only now,
as those close to us (or at least, those
who we have as friends on Facebook)
describe instances where they’ve been
racially abused, that swathes of the
media and the general public, intent
on believing in the existence of a post-
racial society, have realised racism has
been allowed to fester.
One reaction to this surge has been the
‘Safety Pin’ initiative – which urging
people to wear safety pins as a sign
of ‘solidarity’, an outward message
which indicates to ethnic minorities
that “you are safe around me”. The
movement seems to have caught on,
as I saw several people on my morning
commute donning the pins.
I have no doubt that the initiative was
started with the best of intentions,
but sadly, I’m not convinced that it’s
a practical way of helping the most
vulnerable feel safe, and in fact, does
more to perpetuate some of the worst-
informed narratives on race in this
country.
For starters, that’s because anyone
who has experienced racial abuse in
public, including myself, are largely
aware that not everyone is a racist, as
the pin wishes to assure us.
But we’re also aware that such
messages do little to stop, or limit
actual incidents of racism itself –
whether that’s being followed around
a shop by security guards, being
discriminated against in a workplace,
or being told to “f**k off back home”
on a train full of commuters. Feeling
safe isn’t knowing that someone,
somewhere out there is wearing a
safety pin because they respect your
existence. It’s the knowledge that said
person is willing to step in when you
feel the most powerless, even at the
expense of their own safety.
But there’s a more problematic side
to the Safety Pin campaign too.
Ultimately, it reduces racism to overt,
visible acts. One that denies legitimate
racism as physical action recognisable
to white people. Those who partake
in the campaign may claim they are
doing so to stand in solidarity with
those subjected to post-Brexit racism
and harassment. But such solidarity
means little if the only form of abuse
being stood up to is intense, physical
abuse without acknowledging the
wider settings in which such attacks
are permitted in the first place.
That means recognising a larger
context
of
oppression,
faced
particularly by the poorest and most
disenfranchised. The type of abuse that
affects such people psychologically,
by encouraging them to suppress their
emotions, and opinions to justify their
existence. And in turn, to diminish the
everyday experiences that inform how
they live their lives.
Part of the reason why minorities are
so much more vulnerable now comes
down to the dehumanisation they
faced during the bitter referendum
battle. But this dehumanisation wasn’t
caused by any side of the campaign,
but rather the forcible silence they
faced on all sides of the political
spectrum, that ultimately reduced
them to their heritage.
As I said on Twitter yesterday, the
Safety Pin campaign may be well
intentioned, but for many, reads only
as a visual symbol for “Not all white
people”. To truly combat racism in
Britain, we need less of these sartorial
symbols, and more assurances that the
experiences of those who have dealt
with and fought racism will be taken
seriously.
1 July 2016
Ö
The above information is reprinted
with kind permission from
The
Independent
. Please visit www.
independent.co.uk for further
information.
© independent.co.uk 2017
