Republished from BlackPresence.co.uk
I often think that my mixed heritage gives me a fantastic advantage of speaking about race issues. A perspective that sometimes I feel neither Black or White people can truly understand.
Looking in the mirror every day as a child and wondering where my brown features came from was a particularly hard thing to grapple with but apart from one time in infancy, I don’t ever remember being troubled by my ethnicity. Quite the opposite in fact, I always felt proud of who I am, despite not having much actual detail about my origins.
I was born to a White woman in the 1970’s, my Black father has never been a part of my life. I was adopted from Manchester and went to live in the Derbyshire countryside with a loving, childless, working class White couple. Despite the obvious pitfalls that would follow. My early life was great.
Being one of the only kids with a drop of colour in the area certainly provided it’s challenges. My adoptive parents, who are the only parents I have ever known faced the normal whispering campaign by the village gossips and bigots but on the whole people were supportive of their decision to take in a “coloured” child.
I always had plenty of friends to play with, but there were experiences that revealed the racism engrained in English society in the Seventies and Eighties.
Some of the nicknames I had were Choccy, Coony, and Chalky. Seriously, this seems unreal now, but the number of mixed race guys I have met over the years who were also dubbed “Chalky” after the Jim Davison character “Chalky White”.
Although my parents tried their best to protect me from this name calling, there was a limit to what they could do. At the time I was so woefully ignorant of the true meaning of these slurs. Yet I honestly believe that the kids who called me
these names, were too. These were names picked up from the culture of their parents.
Comedians such as Jim Davidson and Bernard Manning were popular in those days and “Black Jokes” were part of the “comedy” landscape. I bore it all, until puberty.
I have, like many people suffered racism, and like many mixed race people, I have suffered discrimination at the hands of Black, White and Asian people. I probably have too many experiences of racism to go into here, but indulge me, whilst I present to you a few of the ones that stick in the mind, for your examination.
- One School report day, my mum sat me down to discuss my distinctly average grades. Almost every class report said, Philip is intelligent , he refuses to apply himself. My mum told me that one of the Teachers had said to her “Negroes are naturally indolent, they need to be pushed at every turn”.
- Aged about 12 I was hanging around at the other end of the village and this little kid came up to us and was chatting to us, he let me sit on his bike. I was cycling round and round in circles and suddenly his dad came running out into the garden bare chested. Saw me on the bike and shouted “get off that bike, you Black Bastard“. Naturally, stunned I jumped off the bike, dashed it to the floor and flipped him the bird and shouted “up yours” before sprinting off before retribution was visited.
- Like so many Black and mixed race kids my age, I had no reason to love the police in the 80’s. Aged 14, I was cycling my Bike through the Village of Bradwell, suddenly a cop car past me and pulled me over. I faced a barrage of questions such as “Where are you from”, “what’s your name” , “whats your name?…”where are you from?”, “who’s bike is that?”, “where did you buy it?”, “whats your name again?”.After explaining several times who I was, and that I was from the next village, the cop let me go on my way. when I asked him why pulled me up, he told me that a bike fitting the description had been stolen from the area, but I know that was a croc of lies, because he never even took the frame number, it was just intimidation, plain and simple.
- In Junior School I was something of a wimp, but I was turning 11, when something clicked in me. I had decided that I wasn’t going to take racism anymore, because I knew that if I didn’t start standing up for myself, I’d be in trouble when I got to high school.One sunny afternoon I was strolling around the village when I was challenged by another boy, who was in fact, a year younger than me to get off the path. In fact his words were “move Choccy!” , I just laughed and said, “No, you move.” this went on for a few minutes before we resolved to settle this like men at one o’clock on the corner of the street. He went and spread the word, lots of the older kids came down on their bikes, I’m sure they thought he was gonna beat me up, he had a reputation for being a hardnut.
That day the worm turned. I battered that kid, in fact he only landed one punch in the whole fight and that was when I was trying to pull my coat off, because I’d gotten too hot from punching him repeatedly. He didn’t know my Dad had taught me a load of boxing moves. That day things largely changed forever. High School was a breeze and I had respect.
When I was around 16/17 I used to go drinking in the Ex-Servicemans Club. It was a Private Members Club and you could be a member at 16. There were these two blokes, who used to go in there who would just sit and abuse me. They were in their mid 20’s and I was just a skinny 17 yr old so the best I could do was give them some verbal back.
Years later I walked into the George Hotel, and was having a drink when I spotted one of these Idiots sitting in the pool room, he was clearly drunk, so I thought I’d have a word. Bear in mind that I was about 24 at this point and I’d filled out considerably. I strolled over to him and said “Hello there, ….”. “oh, hello mate” he said. Well that was it, red rag to a bull time! I started shouting at him, “Dont you want to call me Nigger, or Coon , or Wog? “its mate now is it? , I’ve a good mind to smash you all over this place! ” He started protesting his innocence and a few other people intervened. It was totally worth it to see the cowardly reaction he gave though without the backup of his mate.
You see so many of these racists had clearly identified me as being diferent to them, simply by the colour of my skin, to them I was Black. Yet conversely, many Black people I have known have sneered at me or frowned upon me for being “too White”.
In the late 90’s I was at University, I had a wide social circle that included people from Norway to Nigeria, Greece to Ghana. When meeting some of the Black guys for the first time they would all greet me with the stereotypical Black handshake which consisted of a hand grasp, then sliding the fingers, then a thumb lock and flick/click of the fingers or a gimme five motion.
The maddening thing was that no two guys ever seemed to do the same shake. They always looked at me with suspicion when I couldn’t do it. You see, that despite being heavily interested in Black politics and left wing movements, I’d had little contact with Black people on the whole. Years later in Africa, I had no such experience, no African I met in Zimbabwe, Malawi, Zambia or Mozambique greeted me in the same way as the Black guys at Uni. Instead of regarding me with suspicion they treated me like a long lost brother.
Other examples of my “Whiteboyness” came at a Jamaican wedding, my first one. I didn’t know any of the dance steps. Everyone else in the room did.. I prayed for the ground to eat me up, I dropped out, my girlfriend at the time was cringing and I can’t remember feeling so alone in a crowd. Even eating the food was an issue. What man doesn’t like “Curry Goat” , but Pigs foot? No, I wasn’t up for eating a pigs foot and again, I stood out from the crowd.
Over the years I have received both plaudits and criticism from Black people over the creation of this site my motives for creating it. I have been told I’m “Not Black”. My answer is I’m not White either, and I look Black, and have been treated the same way you have. I have also pointed out that had I been living in America, or Apartheid South Africa, I would have been treated as a Black person. It bought little creedance.
You see, the thing with being mixed race in Britain is that you STILL don’t actually fully fit in anywhere. My point of view is that people of all colours need to know the struggles of peoples of African Descent, before anyone can truly begin to understand that the colour of a persons skin does not wholly define them. It is merely a part of their identity. Culture and experience actually count for much more than a superficial marker like skin colour.
Republished from BlackPresence.co.uk