The Danger of Conspiracy Theories and the Spread of Hate: A Personal Encounter

 The moment someone you think you know reveals a deeply ingrained prejudice, it feels like the ground beneath you shifts. It’s disorienting, frightening, and deeply unsettling. This is exactly what happened to me when a person I had invited into my home to help me with my blog casually dropped a series of anti-Semitic remarks, cloaked in the language of “research” and conspiracy theories. What made it even more shocking was that this individual was educated—a white British man in his early 40s with a degree in law. His words were not just hateful; they were a stark reminder of how misinformation, conspiracy theories, and miseducation can fuel division, fear, and hatred. The conversation took a dark turn when he claimed, “Jews run the world, especially America, and control the rest of the world.” He insisted that he had done “research,” though I knew such “research” likely came from dubious websites and echo chambers that perpetuate harmful stereotypes and conspiracy theories. What struck me most was the certainty with which he spoke, as if his beliefs were indisputable facts. He even added, “Everyone is equal except the Jews,” a statement so contradictory and hateful that it left me speechless. But his bigotry didn’t stop there. Before launching into his anti-Semitic tirade, he had scanned my blog and taken issue with my use of the word “Black” and my discussions of racial inequality. He told me I should “take away the word Black” and accused non-white people of “always playing the victim card.” Then, in a stunning display of projection, he called *me* a racist and claimed I was “full of rage.” The irony was not lost on me—here was a man spewing hateful rhetoric, yet he had the audacity to accuse *me* of being divisive. This was my first direct encounter with such blatant anti-Semitism and racism, and it shook me to my core. Here was someone who, on the surface, seemed rational and educated, yet harbored deeply divisive and hateful views. It was a chilling reminder that prejudice knows no boundaries—it can exist in anyone, regardless of their background, education, or profession. The Role of Conspiracy Theories and Misinformation Conspiracy theories like the ones this individual repeated are not harmless. They are dangerous. They dehumanize entire groups of people, reduce complex global systems to simplistic and false narratives, and create an “us versus them” mentality. The idea that Jews “control the world” is one of the oldest and most pernicious anti-Semitic tropes in history. It has been used for centuries to justify discrimination, violence, and genocide. Hearing it repeated in my own home, by someone I had trusted, was horrifying. What makes these conspiracy theories so effective is their ability to prey on fear and uncertainty. They offer a false sense of clarity in a complicated world, providing scapegoats for societal problems. But this clarity comes at a devastating cost: the erosion of empathy, the spread of hatred, and the perpetuation of division. 

 The Hypocrisy of Selective Equality 

The individual’s claim that “everyone is equal except the Jews” was particularly jarring. It revealed the hypocrisy and irrationality at the heart of his beliefs. Equality is not a conditional principle—it cannot be applied selectively. To say that one group is exempt from the rights and respect afforded to others is to undermine the very foundation of justice and human dignity. This selective equality is a hallmark of bigotry. It allows the perpetrator to maintain a self-image of fairness and rationality while justifying their prejudice. It’s a way of saying, “I’m not a bad person, but…”—a phrase that has been used to excuse countless acts of discrimination and violence throughout history. 

 I won’t lie—I was scared. Not just because of the hateful words themselves, but because of what they represented. This encounter was a stark reminder of how easily hate can spread, especially in an age where misinformation and conspiracy theories are just a click away. It also highlighted the importance of education—not just formal education, but the kind that teaches critical thinking, empathy, and the value of diversity. Challenging this individual in my home was terrifying. His tone was aggressive, and his beliefs were so deeply entrenched that any attempt to reason with him felt futile. In the end, I told him to leave. It was the only way to protect my own peace and safety. But the encounter left me shaken, a reminder of how dangerous and pervasive hate can be. 

A call to Action 

 This experience has left me more determined than ever to use my blog as a platform for promoting understanding and combating hate. We cannot afford to be silent in the face of bigotry. Silence only empowers those who seek to divide us. Instead, we must speak out, share our stories, and challenge harmful beliefs wherever we encounter them. To anyone who has experienced something similar, I urge you not to let fear silence you. Share your story. Challenge the hate. And to those who harbour such prejudices, I ask you to reflect on the harm your beliefs cause—not just to others, but to yourself. Hatred is a heavy burden to carry, and it only isolates you from the richness of a diverse and interconnected world. In the words of Elie Wiesel, a Holocaust survivor and Nobel laureate, “We must always take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented.” Let us all take a stand against hate, in all its forms, and work toward a world where equality is not just a principle, but a practice. Thank you for reading, and for joining me in this important conversation.

My journey to work with a bigoted taxi driver

 Today I thought I would share my conversation with my taxi driver from work. Because of the mental torture, I went through since he started taking me to and from, I would turn it into a book.

May 2024:  Monday Evening - The Journey Back

The late spring sun hung low in the sky as I wheeled myself to the waiting taxi. Hunter leaned against the car, scrolling on his phone, his face bathed in the amber glow of sunset. He looked up when he heard the faint hum of my wheels against the pavement, straightening with a nod of acknowledgment.

“Good day?” he asked as he opened the boot and reached for my wheelchair.

“Busy,” I replied, easing myself into the passenger seat. “Yours?”

“Not bad,” he said, folding the chair with practiced ease. “School runs, airport runs, you know how it is.”

I nodded, settling into the seat and closing the door. For a moment, there was only the sound of the engine as we pulled away from the curb. The hum of traffic outside mingled with the faint tinny sound of a radio playing in the background—a voice discussing the latest football results.

“You into football?” Hunter asked, glancing at me as we stopped at a red light.

“Not really,” I admitted. “But I hear enough about it at work.”

“Ah, shame,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m a big fan. West Ham. Always have been.”

He launched into a passionate recap of their weekend match, his words spilling over each other in excitement. I listened politely, nodding occasionally, until he shifted the conversation into a familiar territory.

“Of course, it’s not the same game it used to be,” he said, his tone suddenly sharper. “Too much money now. All these foreign players coming in, ruining the league. Whatever happened to giving young British lads a chance, you know?”

I resisted the urge to sigh. It was the same argument I’d heard a dozen times before, thinly veiled beneath a veneer of nostalgia.

“Some of those ‘foreign players’ are the best in the league,” I said lightly, choosing my words carefully.

“Yeah, but at what cost?” he countered. “You look at the England team now, and half of them don’t even feel English. I mean, some of them don’t even sing the national anthem!”

I turned my gaze to the window, watching the city blur past. His words lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken implications.

I thought of the countless times I’d been asked, “But where are you really from?” as if my skin and my accent couldn’t coexist. I thought of my mother, proudly British but still fielding questions about her heritage after decades in this country. And I thought of the players Hunter was talking about—men who had worked twice as hard to prove their worth, only to have their loyalty questioned because their skin wasn’t the right shade.

There was a certain irony in the way Hunter spoke, his words dripping with pride for a nation built on the labour of people like me and my family. He didn’t see the contradiction, didn’t see how his casual dismissal of “foreigners” mirrored the same dismissiveness I’d faced in boardrooms, in hospitals, in every corner of my life.

Hunter must have noticed my silence because he changed tack.

“Still,” he said, “you’ve got to admire them for their skill. That Rashford lad, for instance. Good player. And I’ll give him credit for feeding the kids during lockdown, but don’t you think he should stick to football? All this political stuff—it’s not what we pay him for.”

I turned to him, startled by the abruptness of his words. “You don’t think athletes have a responsibility to use their platform for good?”

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug. “But they’re not politicians. They should leave that to the experts. People don’t want to hear about politics when they’re watching a match. They want to escape all that.”

His words hung in the air, and I felt the weight of their implications pressing against my chest. I wanted to tell him that for people like me, there was no escaping it—that politics wasn’t something we could turn off like a football match. It was woven into the fabric of our lives, shaping the way we moved through the world.

But I didn’t. Instead, I said, “I think it’s brave. Using his voice to speak for those who can’t.”

Hunter nodded slowly, as if considering my words, but I could see the skepticism lingering in his eyes.

When we pulled up outside my flat, Hunter jumped out to retrieve my wheelchair. He unfolded it with the same ease as before, holding it steady as I transferred over.

“See you Wednesday,” he said, flashing me a quick smile.

I nodded, thanking him before wheeling myself toward the building. As the door closed behind me, I let out a long breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

from a book I am writing called : The taxi diaries: A Black woman's ride through bigotry

Why I think my first male White PhD Supervisor Hated My Anti-Racist Research

Pursuing a PhD is often romanticized as a journey of intellectual discovery, a time when researchers are encouraged to push boundaries and make meaningful contributions to their field. But for many students of colour—myself included—this journey is fraught with obstacles rooted in systemic racism, institutional fragility, and the personal biases of those who hold power in academia. When I chose to focus my research on anti-racism in higher education, I didn’t anticipate just how much resistance I would encounter from the very person meant to guide and support me: my white PhD supervisor.

This resistance was not just an academic disagreement. It reflected a deeper discomfort with the subject matter itself—an unwillingness to confront the realities of race, power, and privilege in higher education. In sharing my story, I hope to shed light on the broader challenges faced by Black students and scholars and the impact of institutional complicity on our research, well-being, and futures.

The Challenges for Students of Colour in Academia

Higher education has often positioned itself as a space for enlightenment and progress. However, for students of colour, the reality can be starkly different. Universities remain sites of exclusion, where the lived experiences of Black and other marginalized students are routinely invalidated, overlooked, or tokenized. For many of us, navigating academia means battling microaggressions, systemic inequities, and an unspoken expectation to assimilate into predominantly white institutional cultures.

As a Black PhD student researching anti-racism, these challenges became especially pronounced. My research sought to interrogate the ways in which universities perpetuate and normalize racism under the guise of neutrality. Yet, I was met with resistance from my supervisor at every turn. From dismissing my methodology as "biased" to questioning the validity of my findings, their feedback often felt less like constructive critique and more like a deliberate attempt to undermine my work.

The Precarity of Black Scholars

One of the most glaring issues in higher education is the precarity of Black scholars. Black academics are severely underrepresented in tenured positions, with many occupying temporary or precarious roles. This lack of representation has a cascading effect: without Black faculty in leadership positions, there is often little advocacy for issues affecting Black students.

This precariousness also means that the burden of supporting students of color often falls disproportionately on Black faculty who are already stretched thin. These scholars are not only expected to produce rigorous research but also to act as mentors, advocates, and role models in ways that their white colleagues rarely are. This "invisible labor" is rarely acknowledged or compensated, further entrenching the inequities that Black academics face.

As a student, I felt this absence deeply. While I had supportive peers and external mentors, the lack of institutional backing from someone in my immediate academic circle left me feeling isolated. My supervisor’s repeated attempts to downplay the significance of my work mirrored a broader institutional failure to prioritize anti-racist initiatives beyond surface-level commitments.

The Impacts on Research and Black Students

This resistance doesn’t just affect individual researchers—it has far-reaching consequences for the research itself and for the students it aims to support. Anti-racist research is inherently disruptive. It challenges deeply entrenched systems of power and calls for a reckoning that many institutions are unwilling to confront. When supervisors and institutions resist this work, they effectively stifle innovation and perpetuate the very systems of exclusion they claim to oppose.

For Black students, this lack of support can be deeply demoralizing. It reinforces the idea that our voices and experiences are unwelcome in academic spaces. It’s no coincidence that Black students face higher attrition rates in graduate programs. The constant need to justify our existence, our research, and our worth takes a toll on our mental health and academic progress.

In my case, the emotional and intellectual labour of defending my research left me drained. I spent countless hours crafting careful arguments to pre-emptively counter the criticisms I knew I would face. Meanwhile, the energy I could have devoted to deepening my analysis or expanding my research was instead spent navigating institutional barriers.

The Cost of Institutional Complicity

My supervisor’s hostility toward my research also reflected a broader issue within academia: the institutional complicity in maintaining whiteness as the norm. Universities often frame themselves as progressive spaces, yet they rely on structures and practices that uphold systemic inequities. Diversity initiatives are frequently reduced to performative gestures, while meaningful efforts to dismantle racism are met with resistance.

This complicity has a direct impact on students. When institutions fail to support anti-racist research or to prioritize the well-being of Black students and scholars, they reinforce a culture of exclusion. The message is clear: you can be here, but only on our terms.

A Call for Change

Reflecting on my journey, I’ve come to understand that my supervisor’s resistance wasn’t just about my research—it was about their inability to confront their own privilege and complicity. Anti-racist research demands accountability, and accountability is uncomfortable. But discomfort is a necessary part of growth.

To truly support Black students and scholars, universities must move beyond performative gestures and commit to systemic change. This includes:

·  Increasing the representation of Black faculty in tenured and leadership positions.

·  Providing tangible support for anti-racist research, including funding and institutional backing.

·  Acknowledging and addressing the invisible labour placed on Black scholars.

·  Creating mechanisms to hold supervisors and institutions accountable for their treatment of marginalized students.

Conclusion

My experience as a Black PhD student researching anti-racism was both a struggle and a revelation. It exposed the deep-rooted challenges that students of colour face in academia and underscored the urgent need for change. Despite the resistance I encountered, I remain committed to this work—not because it is easy, but because it is necessary.

To fellow researchers facing similar challenges: know that your work matters. Seek allies who value your contributions, and remember that the resistance you face is often a reflection of the transformative power of your research. Together, we can continue to challenge the systems that seek to silence us and create a more equitable future for those who come after us.

(from an anonymous student)

The Unheard Voices: A Personal Experience with the NHS (Oxford, John Radcliffe Hospital)

The National Health Service (NHS) is a pillar of support for millions across the UK, promising care, compassion, and dignity for all. However, my personal experience has left me questioning whether this promise is fulfilled, especially for those of us who live with disabilities.

As a person who relies on a wheelchair 99% of the time, I cannot express enough how essential it is for healthcare providers to truly listen to their patients. Yet, during a recent visit to an NHS facility, I found myself dismissed and ignored in ways that left me feeling both frustrated and vulnerable.

I clearly communicated my mobility limitations, yet instead of being offered the assistance I needed, I was told to “walk” to the toilet or commode. It felt like a stark dismissal of my reality—a painful reminder that many people simply do not understand the challenges faced by those with disabilities.

The situation worsened as I struggled with my basic needs. I found myself holding on to my toilet needs for far too long because it often took ages for staff to bring a commode. I overheard nurses expressing their concerns about helping me, worrying they might hurt their backs in the process. Their reluctance to assist me was baffling and left me feeling trapped in a situation that should have been handled with care and urgency. The absence of a collaborative spirit—where colleagues could step in to help—only added to my distress.

Adding to my confusion, I had a surreal and unsettling encounter in the middle of the night. A doctor, who appeared to be of Chinese descent, entered my room and began performing some strange hand movements that resembled a ritual. This bizarre experience left me feeling more anxious and isolated. When I later inquired about this doctor, the hospital staff claimed they had no knowledge of their identity. It was as if I was in a surreal nightmare—tortured not only by my physical discomfort but also by the lack of clarity and support around me.

Ignoring patients’ needs can have profound implications. It erodes trust in the healthcare system and can discourage individuals from seeking help when they need it most. It is vital for the NHS to prioritize active listening and empathy, particularly for those who may not fit the typical mold of “patient.” Each individual deserves to be treated with respect and understanding, especially when they are vulnerable.

To ensure that everyone receives the care they deserve, the NHS must implement training programs that emphasize the importance of recognizing and accommodating diverse patient needs. Healthcare professionals should be encouraged to engage in open conversations with their patients, asking questions and actively listening to their concerns.

My experience is just one example among many where individuals with disabilities are left feeling unheard and unsupported. By fostering a culture of compassion and understanding, we can transform the NHS into a space where everyone feels valued and respected.

In conclusion, as we move forward, let us advocate for a healthcare system that listens, understands, and accommodates all patients—regardless of their circumstances. We owe it to ourselves and to each other to ensure that no one feels ignored or diminished within the very system that is meant to care for us. The time for change is now

This was my experience , so dont you dare challenge it- Thank you.

Navigating the World Through Intersecting Identities: Race, Disability, and Womanhood

 

There’s a constant hum of tension in the background of my life, a subtle but ever-present reminder of how different I am perceived to be. As a Black woman in the UK, I’ve become well acquainted with the sharp edges of racism and sexism. But add disability into the equation, and suddenly the weight of navigating the world feels tenfold. My story is not extraordinary in its uniqueness, but it is deeply personal in the way these identities intersect and shape my everyday experiences.

The Invisible Layers of Identity

Growing up, I was acutely aware of my Blackness in a society where whiteness is the default. I learned early on that my presence in certain spaces could make people uncomfortable—sometimes because of my race, other times because of my gender, and often because of a mixture of both. But it wasn’t until I started dealing with the challenges of living with a disability that I fully grasped how layered and intersectional my experience was.

Being Black and disabled in the UK is a peculiar thing. While race and gender are visible aspects of identity, disability often adds an invisible layer of complexity. On the surface, many people don’t notice, or choose not to acknowledge, the additional challenges I face due to my disability. This invisibility can be isolating in its own right, as there’s an expectation to “get on with things,” to not let your challenges be seen, especially in professional spaces.

The Constant Negotiation of Spaces

I’ve often felt like I’m standing at a crossroads, negotiating which parts of myself to bring forward and which parts to tuck away in different spaces. In some situations, my race comes to the forefront. I’ve been made hyper-aware of the colour of my skin and what it represents to others. I’ve felt the unspoken pressure to perform “Blackness” in a way that others can easily digest—whether it’s by toning down my opinions or carefully navigating workplace dynamics where being assertive risks being labelled as the “angry Black woman.”

But then there are other times where my disability takes centre stage, albeit often invisibly. The thing about living with a disability is that it isn’t always immediately apparent to those around me, which can be both a blessing and a curse. I’ve had to explain myself more times than I can count when I’ve needed accommodations or support. People are quick to judge what they can’t see. If you’re not in a wheelchair or visibly in need of help, you’re expected to be “fine,” to push through whatever challenges you might be facing, no questions asked.

What’s harder still is when these aspects collide. As a Black woman, I already experience skepticism about my capabilities in certain spaces. Add a disability to that, and I feel like I’m constantly trying to prove that I belong, that I can keep up, that I’m not “less than.”

The Isolation of Otherness

One of the hardest parts of this journey has been the isolation that comes with feeling like an outsider, not just in mainstream society, but sometimes even within my own communities. As a Black woman, I’ve experienced solidarity in certain spaces, but there are also moments where my disability becomes a point of separation. People assume I’m fine because I’m strong. There’s a stereotype that Black women are resilient, that we carry everything on our backs without breaking.

But we do break. I break. There are days when the weight of my intersecting identities feels crushing. Days when navigating public spaces, workplaces, and even friendships feels like a battle between what I need and what society expects from me. The expectations are exhausting: be strong, be capable, be “normal.” But my lived reality is far from that, and it’s in those moments of struggle that I realize just how little room society makes for people like me—people who don’t fit into the neat boxes of identity they want to put us in.

The Strength in Vulnerability

Yet, through all of this, I’ve found a quiet strength. There is power in vulnerability, in being able to admit that my journey is hard. I’ve come to realize that my experiences as a Black, disabled woman are valid, even when the world tries to tell me otherwise. I don’t have to be everything for everyone. I don’t have to hide parts of myself to fit in.

It has taken time, but I’ve learned to embrace the intersectionality of my identity. My disability, race, and gender are not burdens, but parts of me that shape the way I see and interact with the world. They’ve made me more empathetic, more resilient, and more aware of the struggles others face. And while I still battle with the societal expectations placed on me, I know that my voice, my experiences, and my story matter.

Navigating the Professional World

In professional settings, the challenges intensify. As a woman of colour, I am often underrepresented and overlooked. Add my disability, and I become even more invisible. I’ve faced countless microaggressions—people underestimating my abilities, assuming I’ve reached where I am due to quotas rather than merit. There have been times when I’ve had to push twice as hard just to get half the recognition.

But it’s not just about being seen; it’s about being heard and valued. I’ve had to work through moments where my ideas were dismissed only to be picked up by others later. I’ve had to navigate colleagues who see my race and gender as indicators of incompetence or fragility. And when I’ve needed adjustments or understanding due to my disability, I’ve felt the silent judgment, as if asking for basic accommodations somehow makes me less capable.

Moving Forward

I share my story because I know I’m not alone. There are so many women out there who are navigating similar intersections of race, gender, and disability. Our stories are varied, but our struggles are connected. The more we share, the more we open up space for others to feel seen, to feel heard, to know that their experiences are valid.

As I continue to move through life, I carry the lessons of my intersecting identities with me. They shape how I approach challenges, how I interact with the world, and how I view myself. I’m learning that it’s okay to take up space, to demand that my needs be met, and to assert my worth. And while society may not always make room for people like me, I’m learning to carve out spaces of my own—spaces where I can be all of who I am without apology.

Microagressions in the workplace -Toby’s story

I had just got seated in a café when I heard my name being called. I didn’t look up as I just thought there could be another Abbie.

‘Abbie, its me Toby!’. The name sounded familiar so I looked up and lo and behold, my friend Toby had made his way in the café where I had been enjoying a hot cholate drink.

‘Long time, what are you doing here?’ I asked pecking him on both cheeks. ‘I thought you went back to Africa?’, I added.

‘I did but went to Belgium after that. I was working for a big non governmental organisation’, Toby added.

‘Wow! How did you find it and what are you doing here then? ‘, I asked curiously.  I had met Toby while working part time while I was studying. We just got on and used to talk a lot about the challenges we faced on coming to the UK. Toby was from Ghana and we had so much in common.

‘Long story Abbie but let me get a drink first’, he said going to the counter to pay for his drink.

He came back quickly and I said, ‘I am all ears. What’s the story?’ I asked sipping my hot drink. I thought it was just about his settling here. I was not prepared for what he told me.

‘Before I bore you with my story, you look well Abbie’, he said.

‘Thank you ‘, I responded. ‘And so, do you’, I added. I hadn’t seen Toby for more than five years now and we had not even kept in touch.

Toby had gone back to his country and got married. His wife got a scholarship to go and study in Belgium and they decided to go together.  ‘Life has treated you well Toby’, I said.

‘Oh yes, I can’t complain and my wife is doing well so she has been posted here, that’s why we are here’, he added.

‘Great! How about you? I asked, pleased for my friend.  When they came back to England from Belgium, Toby didn’t have a job so he started looking for work again. Luckily, he got temporary work and he didn’t mind as he hoped to get a long-term job in the long run. His nightmare story started when he accepted this job in a big organization.

Toby’s experiences of micro aggressions and his talk of depression.

Toby was a quite guy, only talked when you talk to him, unless he knew you.  Professionally a great employee who paid attention to detail and eager to learn. I was one person who made Toby talk and we used to talk and laugh before he left the UK, but generally a bit on the quite side, if not shy. What he told me was rather shocking and worrying. When Toby was posted to the job he accepted hoping to learn as much as he could and had hoped this first position would lead to bigger things. He was to work in a team of five ladies. At first, they all seemed happy to have a man in the team. Then he noticed that it was all a façade. The last thing they wanted amongst them was a black man, and soon this would become clear to Toby.

Toby explained that microaggressions ranged from excluding him in conversations, treating him like an idiot.Toby was an intelligent guy with two degrees in Stats and Maths.  As a new person, he needed guidance- sort of an induction in the new job but the ladies decided they would do no such thing. Some even complained he was disturbing them when he asked work related questions- even complained to senior management, others, just blocked him in conversation-like he wasn’t there.  Whatever he did was never right. For a person who had worked for a big organisation in Belgium, he couldn't not understand what he was doing wrong. One of the ladies lived in the same area with Toby and whenever she saw him on the bus to work would get out and get the next one. The other asked everyone in the office if they wanted a cup of tea and left him out. While these might seem small issues, try being on the receiving everyday and se how it feels. It got to the point of him being scared of speaking to any of the girls for fear of being reported to the managers for disturbing 'the hard working ,ever busy ladies'.

He didn’t know who to ask anything, if he did, one would say don’t disturb so and so, she is so busy. The same ladies would from time to in go on their phones during office hours or chat to one another endlessly excluding Toby. He told me if he went for his lunch, he would come back to an office full of laughter but the moment he took to his seat, the silence will be deadening.

He said he realised he was not welcome and came to the conclusion that these people might have not worked with people from other cultures. He said, ‘Abbie, I felt as if there was something wrong with being black, having an accent and just being different’. I started to get anxious every Sunday night when I knew on Monday I would be in the office with these ladies’.

I could not believe what I was hearing. All I could think of how neo liberalism really has made us believe that we are living in the post racial years. It took me back to my own experiences in places, where I could also feel that I was not welcome. Unfortunately, there are new forms of subtle, unconscious or colour-blind racism and we live in a society that seem tired of hearing about race. And it is people like Toby and myself and many others who can only know what it feels to experience racism.  As a friend of mine once said, racism that is direct and clear cut is better to accept than the one that comes camouflaged, because what does one do? No one will believe you and people would only say ‘chip on shoulder’ and one wouldn’t be able to prove it as well.

Our drinks got cold and I offered to get us new ones.

I got up and left Toby looking forlorn. ‘How can I help my friend?’ I thought to myself. Sadly, it was not the first time hearing such stories. What worries me is this happens in big organisations.

I came back and sat down with my friend. I thought the best therapy was to let him talk.

After spending two weeks he decided to keep silent and only talk when he was spoken to. ‘I decided to give them their space, Abbie’, he said. ‘And when you get back you are so drained, angry and you can’t have quality time with your family’, Toby added.

I was getting upset. My friend was really in trouble I could tell by his face.

‘People can get depressed, or even kill themselves just by the way they are treated in organisations. Its better if organisation could just stop pretending they are for diversity and stop torturing ethnic minorities than bring them in an organisation only to kill them’, he added.

‘Toby, are you still working in this organisation?’, I asked worryingly.

‘No, I left. I will be looking and taking care of my son now while I think of what to do next.  I could not carry on working in that toxic environment. Maybe I will do some studying’, Toby said. 'I am lucky I could leave ,but imagine those who cant afford that luxury. But these things stay with you', he added

My brain was now working overtime.  I was not a trained counsellor but what I was hearing didn’t sound right.

‘You should talk to your GP as well Toby. Studying might also help you put this experience behind you’, I said. I reminded Toby that not all organisations are like that and should look for help.

‘I am glad I met you Abbie. It feels so nice to be talking about this to someone who can identify with what I have experienced. Those women do not like people like me. I could not carry on, the environment was too toxic and even the management didn’t seem to understand me so I had no one to go to’, he added.

‘I am sorry Toby that you had to go through this’, I said.

‘And you worry whether, they would believe you against five people’, Toby added.

I was sad. There was silence, each of us thinking. We didn’t even finish our drinks.

‘Let’s have our drinks before they get cold again. Don’t worry about me, Abbie. My son and wife will keep me sane and besides I have friends like you’, he broke the silence.

‘Of course’, I said, not sure he would be OK. He showed me his wife and son’s pictures. We laughed and talked about old times when we were both new in the UK and feeling homesick. It was nice to see my friend smile and laugh but I was deeply affected by his experiences.  We bid each other farewell and promised to keep in touch. I went home thinking. How can workplaces with few ethnic minorities protect them from microaggressions?  I don’t think this will ever be possible as more and more organisations would like to claim they have race and equality on the agenda, but the truth is people are feeling isolated in some organisations. I am not only talking about Toby but I have spoken to friends who have been in similar situations as Toby’s. Some left their jobs but others still soldier on because they have no other way of making a living. And the problem is how do you know whether were you go will be better?

So, what does the future hold?

What Toby has experienced is nothing new and there are many Tobies out there who are taking this treatment silently. I shudder to think how many cases of mental health and suicides a result of this kind of treatment. We seem to have moved a lot from the days of direct racism but as I said the racist of the 21^st century is worse because its difficult to prove. I have spoken to people who like Toby have gone home fuming with anger from they way they would have been treated by colleagues and management with nothing to could do. Terms like ‘too sensitive’, ‘you are not cut out for this place’, ‘you have chip on shoulder’, ‘you like playing the race card’ have been used to anyone who dared say anything. A friend of mine once said we need to have some research on the long-term effects of isolation of minorities in the workplace. From my friend Toby’ s experiences and many others I am sure if such research were to be carried out, we will be shocked. The problem I see now is every organization wants to be seen as embracing diversity. While it is a great thing to do, there is no point if it’s only done to tick boxes because the issue of equality, equity and diversity affects real people. Organisations should think through their policies and make sure they are not making ethnic minorities ‘s lives in the workplace even worse.

 

Disclaimer:  Toby - not his real name but the story is true and happened to my friend I shall not mention here. He is alright and for now is on a career break doing a PhD in Mathematics. We talk and laugh, he has been able to speak to his GP and is enjoying being a stay home dad and doing a part time degree.

Being the only person of colour in the office.

Today I’m wearing a colourful headscarf over my dreadlocks and big hoop earrings in my ears. That may not sound to you like a professional set-up, but it’s how I dress sometimes.

I’ve never had a boss who (as far as I know) deliberately set out to make me uncomfortable as a black person in the workplace, but I’ve had plenty who didn’t approve of how I talk and dress.

And I get it: Employers want the workplace to be a setting in which people can—well—work.

I know I can’t expect all of the comforts of home when I’m supposed to be focusing on representing my workplace in a professional way.

The problem is that many employers end up perpetuating racism just by following the norms that most people consider harmless, or even helpful, for creating a professional work environment.

One can unintentionally make one feel unwelcome just by upholding what’s widely considered to be “normal” workplace culture.

For instance, common standards of professional dress create dress codes that aren’t easy for many people of colour – and pretty much anyone who isn’t a wealthy, able-bodied white man – to follow.

The requirement to adhere to such a dress code would make one not just uncomfortable, but also set one up for failure. There’s an expectation to look like someone other than myself in order to do a job I’m perfectly capable of succeeding at while I look like myself.

Maybe that doesn’t seem like a big deal. There are larger issues when it comes to race and work – like blatant discrimination in hiring, racist harassment, or institutional racism.

But even so-called “trivial” things like dress code requirements and everyday micro aggression add up to create big problems for access, safety, and equity for people of colour in the workplace.

And it’s not just clothes that create obstacles for people of colour.

When you think about it, all of our common ideas about professionalism in the UK are based on an ideal of upper middle class whiteness.

So let’s think about it and then do something about it – because following the status quo on professionalism is a sure way to cause unintentional harm.

Here are some of the ways common workplace culture has created struggles for me in the workplace, and how we can work to change them.

1. People Look Down on Me Because I Don’t Straighten My Hair

Like other aspects of the dress code, you may not think that hair is the most pressing issue when it comes to race and the workplace. But for me, it’s huge. I once went to have biometrics done with a funky afro hair. On seeing me the lady at the counter shocked me by talking to me as if I was deaf and unable to comprehend what she was saying. I was given the classic, ‘Can- you- stand –over –there- and wait?’’ This was spoken slowly as if to a two year old. Why, because I looked very African possible since I was doing my biometric having arrived and therefore unable to speak English. I bet you if my hair was straightened, a bit of make-up she might have spoken to me in a normal voice.

Like many other Black woman, my hair plays a significant role in expressing my pride and my identity.

In order to fit many people’s standards of professionalism, I have to take time, put in money, and endure pain to permanently alter the texture of my hair through chemical straightening. Black folks with natural hair can be judged as everything from gang-affiliated to “distracting.”

But, shockingly, there is no correlation between straightening my hair and doing better work. When I put it that way, it’s obvious, right?

I’m a hard worker, and saying that I have to change my hair to do my job is misguided at best – and actually, it feels pretty downright insulting.

So by choosing to wear my natural hair, I’m taking a risk.

No matter how much self-love I build up, I still have to face external barriers that say that my natural beauty is not appealing

2. People Think My Natural Voice Sounds Unprofessional

There’s no one way of talking like a white person or a Black person, but usually in the UK, the idea of “speaking professionally” brings to mind a specific form of English.

That form does not include the way I naturally speak, and it sure doesn’t include African, African Caribbean.

The fact that I feel the need to change the way I speak is strange, because throughout my life, I’ve heard “compliments” about my so-called “proper” way of speaking – comments like “You’re so articulate!”

I’ve learned that this is not a compliment. It’s basically another way of saying “Wow, you don’t fit the stereotypes that come to my mind when I picture a Black person!”

There is a problem, and not only because people expect me to be something I’m not. It’s also a problem because of the negative misconceptions people associate with African/ African Caribbean accents. In a professional setting, Black users of thick African accent are judged as unintelligent, uneducated, gang-affiliated, and more. Fun enough, not Europeans. Theirs are seen as sweet and cool accents.

These racist and classist ideas about how we should speak in a professional setting actually affect all Black folks, regardless of how we naturally speak, because we’re all judged based on the same stereotypes.

I went to a Christmas party once and a workmate having been drinking all evening had the guts to ask me to ‘speak like an English person’. That was so upsetting and to make it worse people laughed. That ruined the party for me.

 All of us should be evaluated on how well we do our jobs, not on how well our voices can hide the fact that we’re Black.

3. People Doubt My Capabilities Because of My Name

Studies show that potential employers associate “black-sounding with violence and incompetence, making them much less likely to call back Muchecheti  after an interview than Connor or Smith.

Job-hunting can be discouraging enough as it is – and it’s even more demoralizing when you realize potential employers might be throwing away your CV upon reading your name, without even considering your qualifications.

My name reveals my Blackness, and I really shouldn’t have to think of it that way – like it exposes something negative about me. Turning down my application because you know I’m Black is racist discrimination, period.

But oftentimes it’s more subtle than potential employers thinking, “She’s Black, so I won’t hire her.”

Even people who don’t think they’re racist can hold subconscious biases like believing Black people aren’t hard-working. And even beyond hiring, these biases can come through in ways like laughing at our names or insisting on calling us by nicknames you find more appealing or easier to pronounce. I once worked in an office where I constantly heard other team mates either laugh at people’s names or complain that more visa people were applying (even when some of these people were British people).  And even they were visa people, aren’t we living in the world of global competition where the best gets the job?

Some Black people end up changing their names or going by initials to improve their chances of success in the job market. It’s just one of the many ways Black folks feel pressure to change or hide who we are to avoid being misjudged.

4. People Judge Me as Excessively Angry If I Get Mad or Set Boundaries

Emotion is a natural part of life – everyone gets mad sometimes, including at work.

There’s an understandable expectation to keep emotions in check, to a certain degree, in a professional setting. I wouldn’t be a very good employee if I lost my cool with every condescending customer or irritating co-worker.

But you wouldn’t be a very supportive employer if you held my emotions to a stricter standard because I’m Black.

Unfortunately, this tends to happen.

As the study on “black-sounding” names revealed, many people associate Blackness with being violent and dangerous. Further research on implicit biases shows that people who don’t even realize they hold racist views can feel this way.

I used to think my ability to be patient in all kinds of situations would help me avoid being misjudged as excessively angry.

But now I know that it doesn’t have anything to do with whether or not I’m actually angry – I can be stereotyped as an Angry Black Woman just for sharing my opinion, asserting my boundaries, or speaking in anything other than a sugar-sweet tone of voice.

That makes things really inconvenient, to say the least, in a work setting.

For white men, confidence and assertiveness are treated as positive qualities and leadership skills. But when I was a supervising manager at a retail store, I had to balance taking leadership – like telling a habitually late employee to be on time – with gentleness, so as not to be judged as aggressive when I was just trying to do my job.

I need to be able to be assertive at work not only to get my job done, but also to take care of myself while I do it.

Since emotion is part of a natural human experience, it’s unhealthy for me to suppress all emotion at work. And since setting boundaries is absolutely necessary for self-care, it’s oppressive to expect me to put up with being mistreated because people judge my assertiveness as excessive anger.

5. I Have to Stay Quiet about the Pain of Racism

As woman of colour, racism is part of my everyday life.

We’re often expected to carry the burden of racism silently, because when we talk about it, we’re seen as rocking the boat. And that even includes when racism shows up at work.

Many Black folks are familiar with this cycle: We witness or experience racism, point it out or stand up for ourselves, and then a white person cries, or feels guilty, or says they’re being attacked. Often you hear ‘Oh she has chip on shoulder or she likes playing the race card’. Suddenly, we’re seen as the aggressors creating a hostile environment, rather than being supported through the hurtful process of experiencing racism and gathering the courage to call for it to stop.

Racism is a part of my life, and especially if it’s part of my workplace, I need to be able to express my frustration with it without being seen as “attacking” white people.

6. I’m tokenized as the ‘Only One in the Room’

Many of the examples I’ve discussed so far have come up for me in white-dominated work spaces. Having more Black leaders and co-workers of colour isn’t a guarantee of better working conditions, because we can be guilty of these behaviours, too.

But there’s something special – and by “special,” I mean “oppressive” – about being the only Black person at work.

Even employers making an effort to diversify make mistakes when it comes to tokenizing, hiring one person of a certain race and expecting them to represent everyone from their community.

It’s a lot of pressure.

It comes with knowing that your every move, every misstep, every blunder will be used to judge everyone like you. When I’m in this situation, I feel like any small failure will confirm someone’s racist ideas about Black people being incompetent or lazy.

I know this fear doesn’t just come from my imagination, because of how often employers come right out and ask Black employees to speak for all Black people.

For an idea of how well that works out for me, refer back to what happens when I’m judged as excessively angry. As the only Black person, I feel the pressure to make sure others see me as a “good” Black person – as in, one who won’t call out racism or get angry or “make” white people feel bad about themselves by naming oppression.

In the end, even if I’m being tokenized as the only Black person, I’m still expected to conform to whiteness in a way that’s simply impossible for me. But it can feel like the financial support I need to survive is at risk if I don’t suppress my pain and try.

***

These are some of the struggles of not just being Black in professional settings, but especially of being unapologetically Black. I’m essentially more likely to be accepted at work if I’m ashamed of who I am.

I can laugh at racist jokes instead of admitting that they hurt me, to try to avoid being labelled as an Angry Black woman. I can straighten my hair to avoid the negative stereotypes about what it means to be a Black person with natural hair. I can change my name so my ethnicity isn’t clear on business cards or on a CV.

But I don’t have to do any of these things in order to get my work done, and I shouldn’t have to do them to convince anyone else that I’m an effective worker.

I should be able to be myself – and to be proud of who I am – while I’m at work.

The expectation of conformity with upper middle class whiteness means fewer job opportunities. It can also mean having to work at a job that requires me to put time, money, and effort into changing myself to fit in.

So pressure to conform put me at a disadvantage and adds the stress of knowing that if I slip back into my natural self, my financial stability could be at risk.

But being unapologetically Black doesn’t mean I’m incapable of doing my job. It means I feel free to be me, and that’s a feeling everyone deserves to experience at work.

 

Female Genital Mutilation - a Survivor story

As we continue with our campaign, here is a Survivor story,

Suzie * ( name has been changed) was only nine when her Grandmother attempted to subject her to Female Genital Mutilation.

 

I was 9 when my maternal grandmother visited us. Like any other children I thought it was just a normal visit. The following day nanny woke me early in the morning. She took me to the bathroom and said to me in a stern voice: "I am going to help you to become a proper woman. She then asked me to perform a procedure on myself every morning and she would come and check.

"But nanny...., ? "

"No questions, you do as you are told. We all have done it, your mother,my mother and every woman you see. If you don't, no man is going to be interested in you. I will check your progress in the weeks I am here till I am satisfied, she said.
She left the bathroom. I was scared. She told me if I did not do as I was told I would be in trouble.

I sat on the bathroom floor upset. Later I went to school as normal ,tempted to ask other girls but nanny had made me swear not to tell anybody.She told me it was every woman’s secret.

The following day she woke me again to go to the bathroom and made me perform and act on myself which was incredibly painful. I was dumbfounded. I swore I was not going to do it from that moment. I could not walk properly that day and missed school. For the next two weeks nanny woke me every day but I just sat on the bathroom floor dozing. I was relieved when she finally left.
I swore that as an adult I was going to look for answers, why should older women, women that are supposed to care and look after youabuse a child like this?

I still feel the pain of that day and the shock of what she put me through.
The physical, psychological impacts do not just disappear overnight – it leaves a legacy that stays with you.  For a while I hated men, I used what had happened to me to try and rationalise it – I thought why would I do all that for them?

“People need to speak out about FGM – There is help out there, this form of abuse on young women and children must stop – speak out.”

 

An Obsession with being Skinny- My story

Eating Disorders: My Story

Today I thought I should write about an issue some of us try to avoid. I know it has been said so many times but this is my story. I for example try to avoid talking about eating disorders because everyone I know thinks I do have an eating disorder because I eat less. I never really vomited my food or avoided eating but I was just picky. I hated eating certain food and that worried my family. There was a point where I had to be watched while I was eating and got holiday promises whenever I ate a good amount because I was slim. Fortunately I was not anorexic. I was not obsessed with being slim or attracted to the model pictures in the magazines. I simply had an appetite of a canary. Even now my eating as an adult makes people uncomfortable because they think it’s too little and from time to time bad as it I go after cakes and other fattening foods without any sign of putting on weight. Could be my genes. Anyway so much for me. People are different. However there are many signs that parents can check to see if their kids have eating disorders. It is after all both a physical and psychological problem that can be sorted out once discovered early.

What causes eating disorders?

Eating disorders may develop partly in response to difficult life experiences such as abuse or social pressures arising in puberty and in growing up. They are also more common in cultures where it is considered desirable to be slim. Genetic factors seem to be important, especially in anorexia. Sometimes people with an eating disorder are depressed, and they may have obsessions.

Anorexia: a psychological disorder characterized by somatic delusions that you are too fat despite being emaciated.

Anorexia generally starts in the middle teenage years, and by the age of 15, can affect as many as one girl in every 150 a research found out. Often they've been mildly overweight, and perhaps teased about this. Although it is rare, anorexia can occur in boys too.

It usually starts with normal dieting, but for the anorexic, dieting becomes a central aspect of life, and continues until the girl is far below the normal weight for her age and height. There is evidence that the anorexic's perception of her size and shape becomes distorted, so while to others she looks gruesomely skeletal, she may still complain of looking and feeling "fat".

Signs that a child may be anorexic include:

• She prefers baggy and enveloping clothes that disguise how thin she is.
• She may take great interest in buying food, collecting recipes, and cooking for others.
• She may make a great show of eating salads and anything else that will contribute very little towards gaining weight.
• A layer of fine downy hair may start growing all over her body.
• She stops menstruating.
• She may exercise intensively.
• She may take slimming medicines and laxatives to drive her weight down.

Seek Help.

Bulimia: a cycle of overeating, Does this sound familiar?

This is another case but it affects adults and teenagers as well.

The prevalence of bulimia among teenage girls and young women is 1% to 3%, and the rate of occurrence in men is approximately one tenth that seen in women. According to Prof Simpson, bulimia may arise on its own or develop in someone already anorexic.

In addition to behaviours typical of anorexia, bulimics have episodes of "binge eating", when they consume huge amounts of fattening foods, then privately vomit it all up, feeling deeply guilty. These chaotic eating patterns may cause fluctuating weight, and they may maintain an average closer to the norm, and thus be less noticeable.

Signs that a person may be bulimic, include:

Recurrent episodes of binge eating, which may involve eating in a discrete period of time (e.g. within any two-hour period) an amount of food that is definitely larger than most people would eat during a similar period of time and under similar circumstances.

• A sense of lack of control over eating during the episode.
• She may exercise intensively.
• She may take slimming medicines and laxatives to drive her weight down.

If you are worried that your child could be anorexic or bulimic, check his/her behaviour against these signs and symptoms. If you can identify a pattern of behaviour that fits in with the signs and symptoms, your child needs help. Both anorexia and bulimia can have a serious negative impact on health and may cause severe organ damage.

Causes

Anorexia and bulimia are complex disorders that can dramatically impact a person's thoughts, feelings, behaviors and health. While no solitary cause is known for eating disorders, a number of factors contribute. If you or a loved one exhibit signs of anorexia or bulimia, such as obsession with weight loss, depression or a distorted body image, seek guidance from your doctor.

Negative Influence of Others

Family members, peers or others who pressure a person to lose weight or place excessive value on aesthetic appearance or body size increase a person's risk for developing anorexia or bulimia. According to the University of Maryland Medical Center (UMMC), perpetual prodding by a parent to lose weight increases a child's risk for eating disorders significantly. Criticizing a child's weight may increase her risk for binging and purging behaviors later in life. Coaches who emphasize weight loss as a means of improving athletic performance, particularly in activities such as gymnastics, dancing, wrestling and cross country running, may also trigger the onset of anorexia or bulimia.

Psychological Factors

Psychological factors, such as low self-esteem, depression and anxiety, may contribute to anorexia and bulimia. According to NEDA, a sense of personal inadequacy or helplessness to control situations may also contribute. People with eating disorders often respond to negative self-perceptions and beliefs by attempting to control their body weight and food intake. They commonly place a high value on thinness and believe that weight loss is the remedy for their problems. These harmful coping mechanisms lead to obsession with weight loss and dietary restriction, which further perpetuate psychological disturbances.

Cultural Pressure

United States media and culture tend to celebrate and emphasize thinness and specific types of aesthetic beauty. According to research published in the "International Journal of Eating Disorders" in 2006, an investigation of America's current societal depictions of the ideal female physique revealed that "Playboy" magazine centerfolds and Miss America pageant contestants have been reducing in body weight since the 1980s, at which time the women pictured were 13 to 19 percent below the anticipated body weight. Meanwhile, fad diet and exercise-themed articles in women's magazines have increased substantially. While health-related magazines and media are not considered negative, NEDA suggests that the narrow way in which women are personified throughout the media may contribute to eating disorders.

Let's face it,the skinny jeans culture is affecting many people.

 Hereditary Genes

A family history of eating disorders increases a person's risk for developing anorexia and bulimia. According to UMMC, anorexia is eight times more likely to occur in people related to someone with the disorder. In addition, certain chromosomes have been identified that may be associated with anorexia and bulimia. While additional research is needed, some doctors believe that genetic factors are a primary cause of eating disorders. The National Eating Disorder Association (NEDA) suggests that individuals with eating disorders may have unbalanced brain chemicals that relate to hunger, appetite-control and digestion

Eating disorders have no boundaries so be on the lookout for relatives and friends who might have this problem and support them where ever you are. A friend of mine had bulimia and because of lack of support committed suicide so take it seriously. Whatever the case might be please seek help.

Remember help is there.