Imperfect conversations

And you can listen to this post below

I started a conversation project. I wanted to have deep conversations about race, and I wanted to have them imperfectly. Sounds good doesn’t it? Sounds exactly like something I would write in a blog post.

But did I really want to have them imperfectly? Not really. I actually wanted to have perfect conversations that sounded like the podcasts that I have listened to daily for many years. I wanted to look perfect on video, and I wanted it to sound like it was made in a professional studio, and I wanted to say profound things and hear profound things. I wanted people to eventually listen to the conversations and be so moved that they would change their minds.

I have always been a closet perfectionist. And even though I have taught myself to take imperfect actions, and I credit any progress that I have made in writing and in life to my ability to fight my perfectionist nature, and take imperfect action, I still sit around doing a post-game assessment, wondering if I could have gotten it a little closer to perfect. But if there is one lesson I have learned in having difficult conversations about race (which I have been having since age 19 when I moved to England) is that there is no place for perfectionism.

When I moved to England, I was surprised to learn how little my British friends knew about slavery (in fact, they knew nothing about it - I wrote about that here) and there were many awkward conversations as they asked me these questions. If I am honest, some of the questions they asked me might have otherwise been considered rude, offensive, or downright racist with the language they used.

One memory that sticks out to me is when a friend who is Indian warned me before I visited her house, that her family was probably going to be rude to me, because they hated Black people. I was curious why and she told me about her Grandmother’s history of being expelled from Uganda in the 70s and then living in Birmingham where there was a lot of racial tension. I was surprised to hear this - especially since she and I had become such close friends. She said she had been scared of me when we first met, but I seemed harmless enough, and more importantly, I made chocolate cake (just kidding). I also wondered what made her invite me to her house, but the truth is - her parents had heard her talk about me a lot, and they wanted to meet me. And they were kind and loving to me on that visit, and every other time we met. And there were many awkward, imperfect conversations during that time.

In fact, a number of people I met asked me many questions that were hard to hear, and were sometimes plain offensive. They asked about my experience being the only Black person in my university course, they were surprised that I spoke and wrote so well. They wanted to understand why it took all day to twist my hair, and they wanted to know if I got sunburned. They also asked me why all the Black people they met were so angry, and they asked if it was true that Black people weren’t smart because statistically they performed poorly educationally (based on something we were watching on the news) and this then prompted them to ask if it was the same in Barbados, and if so how did we run the country. They wanted to know if it was true that Black people had a high pain threshold, and why it was so difficult to extract teeth in Black patients (I should insert here that I have been a dentist for 20 years, so this is a pretty relevant question). They told me that they were scared when they saw Black people approaching them on the sidewalk, and crossed the street. They asked why there was so much crime and poor mental health in the Black community and wondered if it was just a genetic predisposition. They asked why I was different to many of the Black people they met, and said it might be because I wasn’t “really Black”. 

Even now, I cringe when I hear these questions and statements. And I also know that those questions must have been difficult for them to ask, and they were certainly difficult for me to hear. They made me sad, and angry, and they caused me to question my own beliefs and understanding of my own life, and take a hard look at the systems I had grown up with, and what I saw when I moved to England.

But I was glad that we had those difficult conversations that were honest and raw and sometimes rude and hurtful. They helped me to understand others and them to understand me. And while I didn’t remain friends with most of the people I met and had those conversations with (and some of them I never spoke to again), I also made some true friendships and connections during that time, and these are the friends who have stuck by me and who I have stuck by as we navigated marriage and children, divorce, death of husbands and parents and pets, moves around the world, unemployment, broken bones, and a global pandemic. I learned so much about them and about myself, and when I began to consider what some of my roles might be when it comes to dismantling systemic racism, one of them was to begin to have these conversations again.

I should say - I am not suggesting that these questions were always ok, and that everyone should go around asking questions that might be hurtful and triggering in the hope of building connection. And I will admit that sometimes I was guarded in my answers, or would respond with my own unkind words, or not respond at all. But I also feel like the only way we could have those conversations was to have them imperfectly.

These days, as I watch the comments on Facebook posts fly back and forth between people as we navigate our decolonization, and responses to White Supremacy, I notice more than anything, people telling one another to “do the work, and get educated” and that there is no excuse for ignorance. I have had White people start to ask me questions, and then stop themselves and say that they know they should not be asking me anything and instead they should be doing their own work, take a course, read a book, or do some research. Now I am not against any of these actions.

But I have also heard many people (from all races and backgrounds) say that they are struggling with knowing how to respond, and worrying about what language to use, and basically wanting to “get it right”. And while I only speak for myself, I worry that the combination of “wanting to get it right” and the push for “doing the work” will make people afraid to talk to one another, and especially can make White people afraid to talk to Black people - adding fuel to the fire of anti-Blackness, and reinforcing separation and segregation. I question how this will help.

I worry that “just google it” is a way to replace genuine connections, hearing people’s stories, and will leave real people out of the movement. I think conversations are just as important as research. I don’t tell my patients to google it - and I feel the same about this movement - study and research has it’s place, but the movement is too important to be left up to the search engine.

I worry that all of the labels and acronyms and focus on using the correct terminology will lead to optics and performative behaviour over real genuine connection and understanding of one another. It will lead to people being more concerned about changing their language than they are about changing their minds. It will lead to a greater concern with outward appearances over a desire to do the true inner work.

In truth, I wonder how much connection has been lost due to political correctness and a desire for perfection. Sometimes people are afraid to speak in case they say the wrong thing, but that can lead to a breakdown in communication.

I believe that in this time, if we want to have true and open discussion, then we may have to accept that we will all be awkward and imperfect, and sometimes we will be wrong. And that instead of trying to arm ourselves with perfectionism and doing it right, we bring empathy, openness and curiosity to both sides of the table. 

And I think that the two things we can do to continually reinforce these is to ask permission, and be willing to be vulnerable. We need to ask permission, and ensure that the people we are approaching are in the frame of mind to have this conversation with us. And we have to be willing to admit our own shortcomings, be corrected, and tell our own stories. We need to be as focused on our intention as we are on our impact. We need to be willing to be wrong, instead of focusing on being right.

Imperfect conversations. This is the reminder that I give myself daily. And if it’s ok with you, I’d like to remind you today as well.

And I send you big love from a small island.

PS there is a picture I took while I was in England last year, under a pear tree!