I am Listening for a Heartbeat

When Ahmaud Arbery went for a run in February, he was shot and killed. In the running world, a global campaign went up to run 2.23 miles to remember his birthday, February 23, which was a few days after he died. Later, I noticed the #runwithmaud hashtag on my running feeds, so I checked it out.

On Instagram someone I follow had proudly posted a picture of a 2.23 mile run, with the hashtag. The comments were in the hundreds. Having time on my hands, more time than usual anyway, I scrolled down a little until I got to something interesting, and terrifying. There was actually a conversation going on about whether or not Arbery was a "real" runner, since according to the poster, he was wearing khaki shorts and boots (he wasn't, actually, but anyway). The conversation proceeded about "who is a runner?" and "do you have to wear fancy expensive clothing if you're a runner?" (By the way, the answer is no, you could run naked if you want.) No, but that's not the point, is it? The actual argument was: if he wasn't wearing "runner" clothes, and he was wearing "thief" clothes, then somehow that made it alright to shoot him twice in the chest? Because he was a Black man running?

Most people by now know about the most recently famous racist atrocity to come out of the U.S., and I'm sure there have been more in the interim, and before, and after. The fires are burning, the people are on the move, justice is being called for. Lives are at stake. We know that "I can't breathe" was not something someone said when they were ill with Covid19. We know that George Floyd was murdered by a white man, and that the end of his life he called out to his mother.

As a white person, in fact one of the last colonialists in Africa (I was born in Kampala in 1956, when it was part of a British Protectorate), I am fully aware of my privilege. I am also fully aware that, as a feminist, I am offended and supremely annoyed by the spectacle of a man declaring how much of a feminist he is, and explaining my politics to others. A man cannot understand why I am a feminist down to my core. That's that, end of discussion.

That discussion feeds my understanding of exactly how I should approach the movement, the resistance against racism (institutionalized and personalized), the demonstrations, the anger. I am not going to shout out my support. Neither will I say that racism goes both ways, or that it's us, the people, against them, the racists (and colour doesn't enter into it). No, I don't want to be in the limelight as that amazing white woman who supports Black Lives Matter. I don't need to fill the limelight so that the people who really have something to say are, again, silenced. 

We all posted a black square on Instagram today. With the unfortunate use of the hashtag #blacklivesmatter, we inadvertently covered up important information that is covered by that hashtag. I believe that is a metaphor for what white people are always doing, with our louder voices and our automatic membership in the club of privilege. 

I think we all need to take a good look at ourselves, an honest look with a touch of humour, and figure out what exactly we are doing with our support. Are you giving money? Or are you posting a selfie of yourself at a demonstration and taking up space? Are you providing care for your black friends, or are you proclaiming to everyone about how many black friends you have? Are you clarifying stuff for your white friends, or are you keeping quiet and letting black people speak?

So, here I am, with all my black, brown, yellow and beige friends, patting myself on the back and being oh so PC. But I really only wanted to say one thing: 

I worked as a birth attendant for twenty years. I've listened to hundreds of heartbeats; I have looked into the eyes of hundred of birthing mamas; I've witnessed hundreds of babies being born. Every single baby is a special being; every single birth is a miraculous event. We are born the same: naked, from our mother's wombs. From the moment we are born, we have the potential to love each other or not. Choose love! White mothers, it is up to you to teach your children well. A naked, tiny baby doesn't deserve to be taught how to hate. And a naked, tiny baby doesn't deserve to be hated. 

I'm not prepared to pat myself on the back right now so that I can feel better about how I'm not part of the problem. The problem is such a stinking, complicated mess that OF COURSE I am part of it. For what it's worth, I support the fight for justice, for peace, and against racism. I submit my support with the understanding that no one needs or wants it. That your anger may be greater than my "support". In the meantime, I'm going to continue to work towards a world where every baby can grow up loved, cherished and fulfilled. Where mothers of babies can be loved and honoured and valued. Where people are not measured by the colour of their skin. Let this pain be the final labour pain in the birth of a just world. 

I am dedicating this to the innocent black people killed in the US, and to the innocent babies who want to grow up free, and to the mothers who have lost their children, everywhere.

Being Black, Being White

L'expérience de grossesse et d'accouchement des femmes noires, qu'en est-il au Québec?

We had a typical Quebec moment when the organizer of this important forum invited me to speak, as a white doula who has had many years of experience serving black families, and I had to decline because of my own religious practice. I really love this aspect of living here, in Montreal, in Quebec, in Canada, where cultures, religions and heritages slip and slide together, usually quite happily.

Instead, I compromised by offering to write a small piece about my experience as a white doula and midwife here, and the advice I would give others when working in the black community.

First of all, let's get something really crystal clear here. Yes, there are different variegated levels of privilege. But if you are white, you pretty much have to accept that come what may, you are more privileged overall than any person of color. I will never, ever understand the nature of the every day racism that my friend Elizabeth experiences. Yes, she has a great life, yes she owns a beautiful apartment and makes good money and yadda yadda. But people look at her and think something that has to do with the fact that she is black (beautiful mama, african lady, exotic queen, and so on),  and they don't do that with me, or at least if they do decide to put me in a box, its not based on the color of my skin.

So, now that we've got that out of the way, let's talk about how our experiences as white people affect the ways that we work with or for the black families we may serve.

We can fall in to one of several potholes on the road to true justice and tolerance:

1. Overcompensation. Please don't make the mistake of thinking that you need to somehow "fit in" to your clients' cultural or religious activities, beliefs or customs. It's just dumb. You are YOU. Be gracious, be humble, be authentic. Don't wear particular clothes, talk in a certain way or act differently just because you are working with people who are not like you. You will never know what its like to live their experience, so just plan on being respectful and courteous, and try not to pry.

2. Cultural Voyeurism. It's true, some African or Caribbean cultures seem so cool and attractive to those of us who grew up in, Calgary, for example. However, it is not your place, as a guest in someone's home, and particularly as a guest in someone's life, and at a very intimate and powerful moment of that life, to explore your fantasies about what their cultural heritage might be. You are not in their lives to learn about their culture. You are particularly and specifically there to accompany that family on the path to parenthood. The tasks that involves are pretty much the same across the board. Provide prenatal education; facilitate informed choice; translate and interpret medicalese when necessary; assist the parent(s) to figure out what they want for their birth experience and how they plan to reach their goals. Love the new family. Create kind and lasting relationships within the maternity care team. You're not there to find out what its like to be from Congo, or from Switzerland.

3. Random Assumptions. These are the beasties that really get to me. Just keep your assumptions to yourself and everyone will be better off. Remember, something you may characterize as a harmless opinion could be a hurtful assumption.

4. Trauma Rating. Please don't go in to a relationship where you (white person) are providing care for a (black) person, where you have any intention of "turning the racism tables". It doesn't work that way. Historically, men have oppressed women and white people have colonized colored people. It's history. Let's try to avoid playing a game of who has the worst history. That never ends well. As a white person who has been involved in non-profit work for many years, often providing pro bono services for black and other colored people, I see clearly the pitfalls of the Great White Hope and I see how tempting it might be to share my awful traumas ("just like yours, see?") with others. But its a mistaken path. Your pain as a nation or as a people is different from mine. All I can do is respect, love and do my job.

Finally, because this forum is about the black person's experience in maternity care in Quebec, how do these points above affect the doula, midwife and birthing person? Institutionalized racism is a reality in our hospitals today. ("Mexicans bleed, West Africans scream, East Asians' babies don't descend, North Africans come to Canada to cheat the health care system" etc etc etc). As a black person receiving service from the maternity care team, it is so important that you have a birth companion with you who can accompany you through a hospital stay that may be less than pleasant. As a white doula or midwife, watch your words, be doubly careful of acting out your own prejudices and generalizations. Watch your tongue! Open your heart! Stay human!