I wrote a piece for This Magazine that detailed an incident involving my daughter. I credit this incident for pushing me along on my journey into active and ongoing advocacy.
In the piece, I shared that “when my child was in second grade, her white teacher decided to use Black History Month to give a lesson on slave catchers. After listening to vivid descriptions of the brutal and dehumanizing indignities suffered by people who look like her, my then-7-year-old had called me in tears. Fearing capture, she begged to be picked up to avoid her fate.
Her tiny, traumatized voice awakened in me the advocate I wish I didn’t have to be.”
Instead of saying this pushed me along in my journey, it is more accurate to say this incident threw me off a cliff. I fell into the kind of advocacy that I’ve since started to think is inherent to parenting while Black.
This Black History “lesson” took the blinders off for me. A product of it myself, I had been merrily wandering through my children’s experiences within the Canadian education system. I had chosen to naively assume, or perhaps wishfully believe, that the system was better than it had been when I was part of it.
Oh, but to be that naïve again.
Of course, education advocates and leaders from all over the country have pointed out that our education system is steeped in anti-Black racism. Long before the “racial reckoning” that marked 2020, Peel Region, a school board representing neighborhoods just outside of Toronto, as well as the Toronto District School Board, faced accusations of human rights abuses and issues that were deeply rooted in anti-Black racism.
While much light is shed on incidents that occur within the country’s largest and most diverse school boards there are few, if any, school boards that have been immune to incidents of racial violence.
But, I digress.
The real point is that the harm my daughter experienced during that slave catcher incident is in no way unique to my child. I know as a Black parent, finding myself thrown, unprepared, into the role of my child’s advocate isn’t unique to me.
In fact, it often feels like a good part of our role as parents while Black is spent policing the systems our children are in for as long as our children remain in them.
This constant vigilance isn’t confined to the education system. As I speak with many parents, I hear stories of their child’s teammate in sports using the N-Word, or that their child’s daycare is problematic, or the doctor is culturally insensitive.
And frankly, although it’s lowkey exhausting, it seems as if being a Black parent means being a Black advocate. And this particular part of parenting while Black is not celebrated or talked about nearly enough.
Whether we like it or not, at some point many of us become advocates
When many of us define advocacy our minds conjure up images of the big advocates among us. Those giants driving policy change and arranging protests. But when we do think of these folks, the everyday acts of parenting advocacy can be overlooked.
I imagine some of us try to minimize what we have to do because the thought of ourselves constantly, relentlessly advocating on behalf of our children can feel overwhelming. If we are honest, it’s something most of us would love not to have to do.
But we do it. We show up. All. The. Time.
Whether your child is called the N-Word, or experiences some other more subtle, but still harmful, microaggression in their school, on their team, or at the mall, we stand at the ready. When the school fails Black History month, we raise our concerns, stay vigilant and keep moving along.
It’s a good thing that most of us realize that advocacy is not synonymous with conflict. That said, parenting while Black is almost certainly synonymous with advocacy…
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Parenting while Black often means instinctively doing things that others don’t and remaining watchful in ways other folks don’t have to be. Advocacy doesn’t have to be loud or obvious. We can advocate by arranging a protest or simply showing up to parent council, being that watchful and involved parent on field trips.
We believe our children when others do not
Our role as advocates can be pivotal for our kids. If one of our children tells us something has happened to them that they didn’t feel right about, we generally believe them and this alone can be a huge part of their healing.
An advocate is a protector and we instinctively play that role. At the heart of most of our efforts to advocate is simply a desire to heal and move forward and to centre our children and their feelings. Holding space for our child’s lived experience and perspective is affirming. Especially if you are the first person to believe or listen to them.
Although my first response to my children is often “Wait…what?” my kids have learned this is in no way dismissive of their experience. It’s just me trying to wrap my mind around nonsense.
We can’t take for granted the power of ensuring our children feel heard.
We do not expect our child to get every detail right about who was there, what was said, or the tone or ask them to think about how the offender might have “meant it”. Having likely experienced some kind of racial insult or racially charged situation ourselves, we know that the worst response to someone raising a concern is to have it dismissed, or to be convinced the offender “didn’t mean anything by it”.
I’m convinced that this belief in our children, diffusing some of the harm, discomfort and self-doubt racial trauma or insult can cause is a huge part of what our “work” as advocates.
Whether you decide to take your concern forward to the school, team, coach, or whomever validating our kids can be a key step in helping them to self-advocate or not internalize the intended harm.
We advocate even though the world tells us not to
This is the part. The decision to say something or let it go.
I get it. Your child raises something to you that their teacher said in class, or you witness something during a practice, and you think – well, that’s not right. But now what?
This internal debate is also unique to us. I constantly debate with myself whether or not I need to raise a concern. And whether or not something is worth “it” – worth the possible trauma, worth the gaslighting and worth the frustrating reality that perhaps nothing will change.
The world gives us every reason to think we won’t be believed and the effort of speaking up or advocating for our kids won’t be worth the outcome. One thing that keeps me bringing up my concerns is the fear that no one else will.
When I raised my concern about the slave catcher lesson up to my daughter’s school it was made clear to me that “no one else had a problem with it” … (*ugh*) so had I not voiced my concerns, who knows how many other 7-year-olds would have had the misfortune of being subjected to this lesson.
So seriously, now what?
I hope I’m not making advocacy sound easy or like a foregone conclusion. This sh*t is exhausting.
But, if you’re looking to step into ‘louder’ advocacy – or a situation has gotten beyond the point when you can hope things will change – there are ways to make advocacy “easier”, for lack of a better word.
Do what comes naturally
I often regret advocating in person, and rarely start with this. I get frustrated by the looks some folks are too slow to cover up and I am not great at thinking of quick responses to gaslighting.
I’m a writer, so I do what comes naturally to me. E-mail is my best friend – first because writing things down helps me to organize my thoughts, get concise and stay (relatively) emotionally detached. I am much better at writing – it gives me the chance to describe the incident, outline my specific concern, let the recipient know what I would like to see happen and ask for their feedback.
The second reason I send emails, and always suggest it whether you are a writer or not, is to ensure a concern is documented. This makes things easier, particularly when and if you have to escalate your concern to a principal, superintendent, or school board trustee.
Other friends of mine say swear by meeting in person or on the phone. They feel it allows you to humanize yourself and the other person which helps to diffuse the situation and get to solutions.
Whatever you feel comfortable with, whatever comes naturally, let that be your go-to if you need to advocate.
But – if you do meet in person or have a phone conversation, the rule of documentation is still key – it’s still super important to follow up that meeting or discussion with an email that captures and reflects that you spoke, your concern and any commitments made to move forward.
Don’t let anyone rush you – ask as many questions as you need to
However you decide to raise your concern – be that in email, phone or in person – don’t be put off if the tone of the person your speaking to or corresponding with gives you the impression that they do not have any time or interest in addressing your concern. This might look like responding to your 3 paragraph message with a one-line response via email, or cutting you off before you finish questions during an in-person meeting or phone conversation.
You’re not wrong for having questions, your time is also valuable and you both have a role in making your child safe. One of the ways parents are discouraged from advocacy is by being made to feel less, rushed or like their concern is the “least” of the problems being dealt with by this person that day.
First, this nonchalance does not reflect the validity of your concern. So, if the person you raise your concern with cannot or will not make time for you, or you feel rushed, don’t be afraid to mention your discomfort and feeling of being rushed. It’s ok to suggest another appointment when they have time to dedicate their full attention to the matter or let them know you will email them, and their superior, or governing body to make sure they have time to address your concern.
Lean on community
I firmly believe in the power of community. I have come to realize how much more strength, resilience, and practical knowledge we glean when we lean on folks we can count on.
It truly takes a village to raise a child and when you need to advocate on behalf of your child, the village is the best place to go for support.
That comes in the form of family and friends, other parents from your school community or online villages (hint hint, like this one!), or Facebook groups. These folks can serve as a sounding board for your thoughts.
In every parent group I sit in, we exchange stories that remind me that I am not alone in my experiences or perspectives or just allow me to share a laugh that helps make all the other bits bearable.
With so many badass advocates in our midst, it can seem like we have a natural tendency towards using our voice and lived experience to advocate. But for some of us, this is harder, quieter work. And that’s just fine. All of it can help us and our kids heal and move forward.
It can also seem like the role of advocate is one Black parents automatically adopt and continue to play out of necessity. Destigmatizing and unpacking the idea of what it means to be an advocate can make this part of our parenting less exhausting.
I’d love to see advocacy normalized.
Well, actually, I’d love to see a time when advocacy is no longer needed.
But until then, it may mean parenting while Black means parenting while advocating. Let’s face it, the squeaky wheels gets the oil – and our kids are parched. But also, when we feel like we can advocate I think it will mean we collectively feel empowered, and sure that our lived experiences and concerns are legitimate.
With any luck, every concern we address will bring us closer to the day we don’t have to advocate at all.
But that might be “naïve me” talking again.
It is not always easy and only when we take the fear and uncertainty out of the word will advocacy seem less daunting. In the comments share how you advocated and positive changes it brought about.
