I watch people march under Black Lives Matter (BLM) around the globe. Trepidation arises in my stomach from my concern for the people’s safety from COVID-19 and associated police powers, each equally unwanted during a protest. An ironic smile slightly touches my lips, about extended police powers under the guise of ‘health’ cast against those who advocate an end to racialized policing.

The ‘ping’ sound of a new email draws my attention. I see it is from my cousin, titled ‘old family photos.’ My cousin saved the electronic file as: ‘Heithersay Prospecting, 1893, Coolgardie’. Curious, I open the photo that takes me to a significant moment. My white great grandfather; Afghan cameleers, and Aboriginal trackers, each embody an impressive end-of-nineteenth-century poise.

It strikes me that this is one of those uncanny timeless moments etched in history that play out before my very eyes in the present.  A moment where personal family stories – represented in the photograph I open – are writ large across national and global political landscapes.

I contemplate the way my personal family history entangles with race relations enacted past and present. The family photo encapsulates the essence of why the BLM movement came to be and its current relevance both globally, to Australia, and for me, a white Australian citizen. I think about the centuries of persecution against Black people and how the privileges attributed to white people are yet to reconcile in many countries, including Australia.

A matrix of time and place yawns wide before my very eyes.

In this suspended matrix moment, photographs of the activists who campaigned against the nine-minute choke-hold of George Floyd, an unarmed African American man who called out ‘I cannot breathe’ until he asphyxiated, murdered by Derek Chauvin police officer flood traditional and social media celebrating the first guilty verdict of a police officer. In Australia, 475 First Nations peoples have died in custody since a Royal Commission to Aboriginal Deaths in Custody 30 years ago. The Government continues to ignore the recommendations.

The pictures my cousin has sent me vexed me in a way I’ve never experienced. I feel gut-wrenching sadness and compassion for what I see. Who are these people? Whose country are they on? I start to notice the details before my eyes and feel my breathing return with the usual passing of time. The caption says ‘The Annisfield Prospecting CPY LTD’ to the left and toward the right-hand bottom is ‘Coolgardie.’ On the back of the photo is ‘1893’.  My cousin notes that one of the images is on an expedition party led by the Heithersays. John Heithersay is my great grandfather.

The image taken in Coolgardie has the soft browns of its time, 1893. The quality of this old photograph that had lasted 200 years with little fading, although there is some damage from wear and tear, draws me. The image is still clear enough to view the people, to see the red shades of fine powder-granulated dirt upon which people and animals stand and sit. Hand-sized rocks are scattered here and there to the horizon.

Two large white-trunked trees stretch a few ghostly gangly arms up and across beyond the frame. Smaller saplings as far as the eye can see emerge from the land as if a hand has cast their seeds and is gently caring for them under the expansive, bright sky. In the timeless pause, I feel the dirt granules underfoot, smell the trees’ slightly sharp eucalypt scent, and hear the soft whispering of the leaves.

The scene reminds me of Gammage’s book The Biggest Estate on Earth: How Aborigines Made Australia how the oldest continuing culture developed carefully pan-continental environmental and agricultural management that sustained all natural resources. Brown marks from sticky tape smudge the sky of the photo. This picture represents an era that catastrophically disrupted this ancient care of the country.

Four First Nations men sit cross-legged at the feet of their master, my great grandfather John Heithersay. My breath stifles. I look in turn at each man. The thought arises: here it is. I wondered if my family was ever directly involved like this. Simultaneously I am aware of curiosity: who are you? From where do you come? … My grandfather had slaves! Were your family harmed or killed? What happened to your country?

I look at my great grandfather with misgiving. What have you done? 

I look closely at each person’s clothing in the photo as if doing a virtual pat-down security check for weapons. I expel a deep sigh of relief; there are none. No tell-tale bulge in clothing. Nor is there a ‘saddle gun’ visible on the camels. If they were the hunter/killer type, wouldn’t they proudly brandish their weapons? I look again at the cameleers. Is this a package deal of camels, cameleers, and Indigenous trackers to service what became the Kalgoorlie gold-vein craze? 

I remember going to school with Afganni Descendents in N.T. Their families had been Australian for many generations like mine. Perhaps the Aboriginal men astutely evaded death through their arrangement with the cameleers. Maybe they are family through marriage. After all, the camels, cameleers, and Aboriginal trackers must have worked together before my great grandfather procured their service.  

Now, as I look at the Indigenous men in the photograph, I again have the thought: Who are you? I have to find out. Mmm, to find out about these Indigenous men in the photo, I first have to know where the hell is Coolgardie?

Online I find the Wangka Goldfields Aboriginal Language Centre Aboriginal Corporation (GALCAC) based in Kalgoorlie, Western Australia (WA). Sue Hanson, a Senior Linguist, promptly emails me back. The photo is of immense importance to the Centre. Sue tells me that three main activities decimated the Coolgardie region’s Indigenous people: the mining industry, the railway installation between Perth and Kalgoorlie, and the pipeline from Mundaring to Kalgoorlie.

Sue writes that by 1910 only twenty to thirty people had survived. The descendants of those survivors are currently trying to prove their relationship to the land through Native Title. She is sure the descendants will be delighted to see this photo as they have no images that date back to the 1890s.

I wish I could send The Uluru Statement from the Heart, written by First Nations to the Australian Government and people, through the matrix of time to my great grandfather. I think about how the story of my great grandfather, the Afghan cameleers, and the four Indigenous men on Wangka Country is just one of the thousands of moments. It could have been different in 1893 if there had been Voice and Treaty with First Nations People. Instead, that era brought genocide.

We need people’s movements such as BLM to march and demonstrate on the stolen ground never ceded that First Nations Sovereignty and Black Lives Matter. Daily, during a global Climate Crisis, governments and big business destroy sacred sites for fossil fuels and roads, right across Australia such as the Stingray Sisters in Maningrida, N.T., Wangan and Jagalingou in Queensland by Adani, Jukkan Gorge Caves, in Western Australia by Rio Tinto, and the Djab Wurrung trees by Victoria State Government because we don’t have a document such as the Uluru Statement from the Heart as our nation’s spiritual constitution. This document is our shared cultural and spiritual understanding for the benefit of all Australians.

God is dead, said Nietzsche long ago. Since then the phrase has been interpreted in many different ways. One is an observation of the collapse of order, the dissolution of hierarchies of power between leaders and followers, teachers and students, parents and children, employers and employees, men and women, news producers and newsreaders—An exponential surge in student protests, and social media interactions of once-newsreaders-now-turned-news-producers, among others, substantiates the argument.

Some call this state of affairs the chaos of postmodernism, an era dominated by a loss of trust in authority, a questioning of power, followed by the belief that with no order, no right and wrong, that every value is necessarily right, every concern as equal as any other; others identify it as the phenomenon of moral and cultural relativism. But dissidents react by saying, ‘Stop! We have to draw the line somewhere! There must be standards!’

The ingenuity of Nietzsche’s statement lies in its prescience. Made at the turn of the twentieth century, it foretells the news headlines we are now privy to, more than one hundred years later. Through the mouthpiece of Zarathustra, Nietzsche warned posterity about the imminent danger of a world that found no merit in hierarchies and dividing lines. Through Zarathustra, Nietzsche reproduced the trope of the quintessential madman in literature. Thus Spake Zarathustra is the story of an unpopular prophet, castigated and excoriated for his cryptic statements, who broaches matters we now know were ahead of his time.

Nietzsche foresaw the eradication of order, systems, and hierarchies as a preliminary to nihilism; a negation of the individual rather than a longed-for affirmation of the self, which has ironically dominated the political forefront of countries with liberalist agendas. Such an agenda has sought to celebrate individualism, exalt every trait and concern of the individual, in order to allow him/her to grow to be healthy, wholesome, unique. Rather than that, these steps in the direction of caring for individualism, of pushing the liberalist agenda forward by recognizing every trait (and hence creating labels for everything) is fostering a culture of hypersensitivity, drowning the individual in a bucket of labels so that he/she is beginning to matter less and less.

African-Americans feel their identity to be threatened, especially by their White, American counterparts.

These labels do not manifest the ‘Who am I?’, but instead emphasize ‘What am I sensitive about?’ (Interestingly, and quite tellingly, as an indication of how labels are also relative, in Western and Central Europe this aspect of the liberalist agenda that exalts the individual is embraced by right-wing economic liberals and heavily criticized by left-wing radicals, whereas in the US it is resonant with what is seen as the progressive left.)

The growing trend of associating the label of ‘Ethnocide’ on the Black Lives Matter (BLM) movement in the United States has encouraged people from other cultures to wonder whether they are victims of the same phenomenon. Ethnocide it must be recalled, is the practice of destroying the soul of a people, as opposed to genocide which aims at decimating a whole genus or race. Ethnocide is the cultural assimilation of a non-dominant group by a dominant one, and the BLM movement has waved this card because African-Americans feel their identity to be threatened, especially by their White, American counterparts.

Yet, the distinction between pain and trauma slowly disintegrated. About twenty years ago, ‘trauma’ began to include experiences that were both physical and emotional, roping in a subjective element to is determination.  The label of ‘trauma’, or for that matter, ‘PTSD’ is now widely used, furthering the culture of ‘antifragility’, ‘safetysim’, or hypersensitivity that are weakening us.

One point must be stressed upon at the outset: the United States has for a long time been the ‘trend-setter’; the originator of most labels that have in no time, gained currency in other parts of the world. Raphael Lemkin for instance, knew that he had to come to the United States for his cause to gain legitimacy; for the label of ‘genocide’ to be recognized as a punishable crime.

Naturally if this country is where labels usually originate, there is a lot to say about how this process can and has gone wrong, for one of the insights one gains in a thorough study of anything, is that no system, no phenomenon, no process can be perfect.

So for example, the sensitivity we have developed to every remotely negative experience/reaction/feeling to external stimulus (of whatever form), and following that, our decision of affixing ourselves with an associative label (among the myriad of those to choose from) has made labelling—or self-labelling for that matter—rather effortless. Many of us now feel that in respecting the sensitivities of the other (to avoid the other from being ‘triggered’), we’re constantly having to walk on eggshells.

These practices of self-censure place barriers on communication, on the freedom of expressing ourselves, and while some groups may feel liberated by being given the chance to speak up, others feel threatened to express themselves in case their speech, or any part of it should encroach upon the sensitivities of an interlocutor.

The result: a constant atmosphere of tension and apprehension in which no speaker is at ease, and where one must necessarily begin with a barrage of disclaimers. (In the past few months, it has now become a requirement on several websites accepting submissions for novels, short stories, and other art work, to insert one or more disclaimers in case content may hurt the sensitivities of the reviewer/s).

Overall, a feeling of malaise seems to have crept in, especially (and ironically) in forums that are meant to foster creative thought and writing, and in the context of free speech, one of the pinnacles of liberalist constitutions, young writers, as validated by Sir Kazuo Ishiguro, seem to be intimidated and silenced.

It is justifiable that certain words should be used carefully, because of their meaning and purport, and the reactions they may stir up in marginalized groups suffering centuries of torture, oppression, and abuse, but the matter is quite another when one has to question whether it is legitimate for a writer from a dominant group to create characters in his/her novel who hail from a non-dominant one.

Questionable when one can no longer feel free to express a violent experience one has endured because it may expose a reader/listener/viewer to violence. If we don’t arm ourselves with our interior defences, or to put it a different way, develop and strengthen our immunity against external attacks, even the slightest, then all these labels, these shields, or the sources of distress they denote, would drown us, weaken us, and expose us to harsher threats later in life.

There are different societal undercurrents at play in the United States today. On the one hand, there is the ongoing Black Lives Matter movement, and on the other, the growing radicalism of white-supremacist groups, who recently invaded the U.S. Capitol on January 6. Nihan Duran interviewed Sundiata Cha-Jua, Associate Professor of History at the University of Illinois on how to understand the fault lines of American society and politics given the concurrently rising movements: BLM activism and the white-supremacism.

َQHow do you evaluate the recent Black Lives Matter protests in the U.S., following the global reactions to the killing of George Floyd on May 25, 2020? Have the Black struggles for justice and equality re-surfaced as a political force in the 21st century?

The COINTELPRO destruction of the radical stream of the Black Power movement in the late 1970s produced a prolonged period of relative quietude in the Black Liberation Movement (BLM). Around 2010, the movement began to resurge. Activists introduced several tactical innovations, such as the initiation of the #hastag for organizing in response to the killing and murder of Oscar Grant and Trayvon Martin. Cell phone footage of Grant’s killing, for example, went viral on the then four-year-old YouTube platform, as it was watched by 500,000 people in four days.

Q. What impact did such a reach-out have on the acceleration of the movement?

The national response to the murder of 17-year-old Trayvon Martin in 2012 accelerated the use of online petitions as an innovative movement organizing tactic. Martin’s murder also gave rise to #hashtag BlackLivesMatter, which has also made an impact as activists used another relatively new social media format, Twitter to mobilize protests. Consequently, new organizations sprung up and older groups were reenergized. New youth-led and oriented groups such as the Dream Defenders, the former Million Hoodies Movements (now Brighter Days for Justice), and the Black Youth Project (BYP-100) emerged.

Since Michael Brown’s death at the hands of Ferguson, MO police officer Darren Wilson in 2014, a new phase of struggle in the Black Liberation movement focused on police killing and criminal justice has swept the U.S. and, in the summer of 2020, surged beyond the borders of the U.S.

Q. You mentioned that there is a “shift in emphasis.” What does that “shift” indicate when the long tradition of Black liberation movements in the U.S. is considered.

#Black Lives Matter’s slogan “we are not your grandparent’s revolution” links it to a divisive strategy more reminiscent of the Yippies, “don’t trust anyone over 30,” than the intergenerational legacy of Black liberation movement organizing. That is not to deny Frantz Fanon’s observation that “each generation must discover its mission and either fulfill or betray it.”

The point is that older more experienced activists have always played a mentoring role in the Black Liberation movement. The cutting edge of the 1960s movements, specifically the organizations, strategic visions, and political analyses still relevant come from the nationalistic Black Power wave, not the liberal integrationist Civil Rights movement.

So, the infantile divisive generational politics are doubly irresponsible, because it erases the Black Power movement. M4BL has reversed that error. It has adopted the symbolism of the Black Power movement- the fist-and centered its programmatic initiatives on a five-year plan under the slogan “Black Power Rising 2024!”

Q. What does white people’s involvement in America in the BLM movement indicate?

The involvement of such a large number of Euro-Americans evidences the Black Liberation movement’s ability to convince a broad sector of the U.S. public that systemic racism accurately describes American society. However, white engagement would be better utilized if they built solidarity, created a constituency inside white communities and civic associations that practiced the politics of the Black Panther Party’s rainbow coalition. I am also quite mindful of A. Phillip Randolph’s 1940 admonishment that “where you get your money you also get your ideas and control. We need white ‘allies’ to organize support for Black self-determination, and a pro-labor, pro-socialist movement” in white neighborhoods and social spaces.

Q. Do you think that Black politics can find its way to move from merely a critical progressive to mainstream American politics?

Why not? Since the 1830s, the Black Liberation movement has demonstrated its ability to intrude into and shape U.S. politics. The Abolitionist movement, the Civil War, Reconstruction, and the Civil Rights and Black Power movement are examples of moments in which the Black Liberation movement seized the center stage and focused the eyes of the empire on us. C.L.R. James powerfully made this argument more than 70 years ago in the “Revolutionary Answer to the Negro Question” (1948).

Since the Ferguson Uprising and particularly this past summer, Black people reaffirmed their capacity to boldly reshape both social movement and electoral politics in the U.S. Perhaps, the best example of the power of the Black Liberation to remake U.S. politics is the rise of the African American reparations movement. Before the end of the 20th century, the Black reparations movement was virtually unknown to the U.S. public.

In the last six years, the African American reparations movement has gone from a fringe movement in U.S. politics to a strategy endorsed by all leading contenders for the 2020 Democratic Party nomination, though largely through some universal policy scheme. Nonetheless, there have now been two congressional hearings and several cities have passed reparations resolutions and few, notably Evanston, Illinois, and Asheville, North Carolina have enacted legislation.

Q. You mean that politically as well, the U.S. has come to acknowledge the persistent predicament of its Black people?

Definitely. Millions of people in 200 cities, domestic and abroad took to the streets to protest the police murder of Black men, women, and children. The Black Liberation movement has forced American society to admit the existence of systemic racism, which I prefer to call racial oppression and to “commit” to its elimination from U.S. institutional life in colleges and universities, corporations, and government agencies.

Q. Despite growing awareness, what is the possibility or limitations of a “post-racial” America? Especially today, when we witness the white-supremacist undercurrent getting more and more visible both on the social and political scenery.

Sorry but the “post-racial” idea is ridiculous and odious. It is rooted in a colorblind racial ideology that denies structural racial oppression. It insidiously contrasts the success of the meager Black elite to the assumed failures of the working-class Black majority. That the election of Barack Obama sparked the rise of right-wing social movements such as the Tea Party and that his administration was followed by Trumpist fascism that used racist appeals and policies to pursue the neoliberal agenda of tax cuts, deregulation, and privatization, all exposing that the postracial ideal is fallacious.

Q. What about the U.S. Capitol siege on January 6 then? What did make this possible? Was Donald Trump the chief responsible for this or only a symptom of undercurrents?

Ultimately, we can trace the rise of contemporary fascism that culminated in the January 6 assault of the U.S. Capitol building to the economic crisis caused by the transition to a financialized global racial capitalism, but it would be a grave error to underestimate the central role played by anti-Black racial oppression. The dislocations and alienation caused by the new structure of capital accumulation is the foundational cause but Donald Trump’s rhetoric, policy agenda, and explicit xenophobic and racist appeals mobilized white supremacists and nationalists. He recruited and weaponized them into an anti-democratic battering ram against egalitarian public policies.

Q. What to expect now, after the U.S. Capital Siege? How do you think this will impact the future of U.S. domestic politics?

The Trump regime rolled the rock back and unleashed fascist hordes who now control one of the two corporate parties. The fascists are here to stay. They are likely to elect dozens, if not scores of new congresspersons and continue to control more than a score of state governments.

The number of emails commencing with or entailing the phrase “we live in unprecedented times” or a variation of this has surely mounted to unsustainable levels since the onset of COVID-19 as a global crisis. But it is no exaggeration to say that history has reached a point of imminence, a point where the viral pandemic, the failure of neoliberal democracies, and the smartphone-to-internet-to-media-exposure of police brutality has necessitated a climax that has been building for some centuries. The murder of George Floyd links at the last bolts of a long chain of events that is fastened to the colonial empire.

The problem is now clearly systemic, has always been systemic, but its institutional hold is being foregrounded. The new politics of antiracism is not, in fact, new. In Ibram X Kendi’s 2019 book How To be an Antiracist, an Amazon top-seller on the subject of race, Kendi defines that “‘Racist policy’ says exactly what the problem is and where the problem is. ‘Institutional racism’ and ‘structural racism’ and ‘systemic racism’ are redundant. Racism itself is institutional, structural, and systemic.” The nature of the power-structures that uphold racist policy is not the subject here, but that this policy is as much a problem of cultural weight as political.

Even so, the move for equity in representation is valuable. The movements and decisions of galleries, publishers, and other cultural institutions are in this way no less acts of policy than those of the state. What the galleries, the publishers, the film studios police, is not the rights of individuals in relation to the law, but the way individuals think about their rights. When a gallery or civil building is stocked with neoclassical evocations of Columbus and other colonial figures, with the works of white-American and white-European artists, the presence of “Black artists” and “artists of color” is very often represented in a skewed pop-urban way. And the political dialectic here – of featured guest, of novelty, of difference – has the effect of distancing. If this does not fade when the patron leaves the gallery, when the book is put down, when it continues to govern: it is a cultural policy.

In 2019, Kara Walker’s Fons Americanus was installed in the Turbine Hall of the Tate Modern. The 43-foot tall cement composite sculpture became one of the most visited installations in the gallery’s 20-year history. Nothing in its curatorship suggested novelty: it was left unadorned by signage in the central space of the hall, an immense monument for the memory of trans-Atlantic slavery, against the legacy of the empires it built. Its presence was calm, quiet, reflective, its message clear. This seems an example of a cultural policy that has moved beyond its blurry definitions, a resolute artistic display without pretense. The artwork was demolished this year.

Black-authored books have surged in sales. Reni Eddo-Lodge’s Why I’m No Longer Talking to White People About Race is the first Black-British-authored book to ever top the U.K. bestseller list. But it remains consistently difficult, even in literary circles, to find individuals with an awareness of African authors from a region with such a rich literary output as Nigeria, beyond Chinua Achebe and more recently Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. When British and American publishing houses remain predominantly white, it does not take a wide stretch of the imagination to feel a sting of situational profiteering.

As recently as 2018, controversial author Jordan B Peterson’s 12 Rules for Life also topped bestseller lists. The allegedly reluctant Canadian star-theorist is known for his refutation of postmodern gender politics, and his denial of the concepts of patriarchy, Islamophobia, and white privilege – all points he aims to disprove through philosophical logic. Unsurprisingly, he has often been canonized by the alt-right, a complex, clustered movement defined by narcissism and violent acts of white supremacy.

The United States was shaken by the death of black American George Floyd, who was pinned to the ground as police officer, Derek Chauvin, knelt on his neck for nearly nine minutes on May 25th and three other officers looked on. His last words, “I can’t breathe”, have become a motto for the millions who took to the streets to protest the violence against black people and the Trump administration’s handling of the issue. Floyd’s death sparked mass demonstrations in cities across the US, demanding an end to racial injustice and police brutality. Yet the peaceful demonstrations partly turned into violent protests and many people started to defy violence and looting. The murder was further politicized when President Trump declared the protestors as “anarchists” and “radical left”. The United States has now been soul-searching on how to end racial inequalities and securing law and order.

“I can’t breathe” protests

After thousands flooded the streets of Minneapolis to protest the killing of Floyd, four officers involved in his death were fired. Protests spread to major cities across the country, including New York City, Washington DC, Los Angeles, Memphis, Denver, and others in a couple of days.

Lafayette Park across from the White House became the center of the “I can’t breathe” protests, and soon turned into an anti-Trump base. President Trump’s reaction was to call the protesters “thugs” and take to Twitter saying: “When the looting starts, the shooting starts.” The tweet caused an outrage and was labeled as “glorifying violence” by the American public.

National Guard soldiers were deployed in some states; nighttime curfews were imposed and Donald Trump vowed to suppress the “thugs”. As nationwide protests continued, Trump said the administration would list far-left, anti-fascist movement “Antifa” as a terror group. Trump doubled efforts to stem the protestors and threatened to deploy the military if states and cities failed to quell violence during protests. Trump’s controversial visit to St. John’s Episcopal Church in Washington, DC marked a turning point as the pundits blamed Trump for mixing religion with politics.

The United States has now seriously divided into two main camps: Trump-lovers and Trump-haters. It is unfortunate that there is no middle-way between these two polar opposites. It’s becoming increasingly common to view everything that happens in the U.S. under these two main perspectives. Floyd’s tragic death could have led to a broader consensus going beyond this bipolar politics, yet it failed. Floyd is dead because American history is full of racial inequalities against African Americans from the very first day of Mayflower’s arrival to the New World. This story didn’t change much when African Americans got their “legal freedom” in 1865. American history books are full of lynching stories awful enough to fill one’s heart with horror. The idea is simple – the main reason why police brutality against black people hasn’t been averted in the U.S. is that it’s a systemic and institutional problem.

Data from 2019 of all police killings in the U.S. compiled by Mapping Police Violence shows that black Americans are nearly three times more likely to die at the hands of the police than white Americans. Other statistics have shown that black Americans are nearly one-and-a-half times more likely to be unarmed before their death. In 2019 alone, black people were 24% of those killed despite only being 13% of the population.

Another dimension of systemic racism is the lack of accountability of police officers whose actions have led to the death of a black person. “Mapping Police Violence” also tracked what had been happening in the aftermath of any white police officer killing an African American citizen. According to data, they reveal more than 200,000 internal investigations that were opened against approximately 85,000 police officers over the last 10 years. Yet, most of them were internally closed without any submission to the jurisdiction. All these speedy internal investigations seem to have set a precedent for officers dealing with black people.

There is one last thing about why a white police officer could kill Floyd so easily: the lack of education. This subject is sometimes not given due attention, yet it’s as important as other items on racial inequality in the U.S. A high school diploma or equivalent is enough to be considered qualified to get admission into police academies where the training lasts between 13-19 weeks. This implies that many American police officers do not have adequate education on the issue of racial profiling. As a result, systemic racism in the U.S. carries on with impunity as a lack of education and racial bias continues the problem of police brutality against African Americans in different parts of the country.

Any gain from the nationwide protests?

As the nationwide protests spread the flame of Black Lives Matter through Washington D.C., Democrats stepped up to change some laws to honor Floyd’s memory. The House Democrats have unveiled some resolutions targeting police misconduct and racial bias; there is no concrete outcome yet. On the other hand, President Trump signed an executive order last week in an effort to bring significant reform to law enforcement. Trump’s order will ban police from using chokeholds “except if an officer’s life is at risk,” as part of a wider effort to incentivize police departments to adopt nationwide standards. Those that choose to be certified by independent credentialing bodies will be eligible to receive Department of Justice grants under his order.

An uprising towards racial equality or a dissension into mob-rule? Both descriptions have been used to cover the recent Black Lives Matter protests in American cities and parts of the UK and Europe. The current climate has resulted in a profound but largely cosmetic shift- corporate, celebrity and even political parties (such as Nancy Pelosi and the Democrats) have made it clear that they are on the side of the anti-racism movement by donating money, verbally supporting and putting a knee down in solidarity with African-Americans (and the double-sided symbolism of a flag of freedom/oppression).

Prominent sports personalities (such as NFL players) who previously shied away from anything remotely controversial have found themselves apologizing for past silence and vowing to do more (after the black-listing of fellow quarterback Colin Kaepernick for his distinctive protest against American police brutality by kneeling through the national anthem during the entire 2016 season).

Now everyone has a racist anecdote to tell from school, the workplace or beyond – whether it’s the white person saying they should have done something more or the black person recounting an otherwise forgotten incident. However, much deeper issues remain; the historical placement of statues that symbolize oppression, the intertwined history of colonialism and the slave trade and its virtual absence in school curriculums, as well as ongoing African-American racial inequality and the dissension into a polarized world-view that is solely about race.

The Killing of George Floyd

The trigger for this profound and seemingly instantaneous plea for forgiveness from the entire African American community was the torturous killing of George Floyd on May 25 (through an eight-minute knee-hold) by a white police officer in Minneapolis after he was called to deal with a suspected counterfeit $20 bill. This became the latest provocation of police brutality against African American males and has become a symbol of the countless (unrecorded) deaths against black people that occur regularly in American cities.

Floyd’s imperfect character has only deepened his “martyrdom”; a father of 5, arrested eight times between 1997 and 2005 for drug possession, theft and trespass (spending several months in jail) and who in 2009 was sentenced to 5 years in prison for aggravated robbery with a deadly weapon. As a symbol of the Black Lives Matter movement, Floyd’s seemingly tragic life story points less to flawed personal decisions and more to the institutionalized racism that is codified into administrative, educational and economic life for African Americans and culminates in either white police brutality against the community and/or time in prison. His face has become the face of the movement with images, murals, and iconography spreading throughout the world. A statue may be next.

Statueclasm

The toppling of statues that represent slavery advocates (such as the recent dramatic falling of Edward Colston in Bristol, UK) or those associated with General(s) or soldiers of the Confederate State in the American Civil War (mostly in the Southern USA) has become another manifestation of public anger and the disconnect between the icons of a place, the complex history and the sentiment of significant portions of the populace.

In fact, the American experience is often used to shoulder and deflect some of the ingrained attitudes to race and ethnicity that are deeply rooted in Europe and other nations. Canada, for instance, has perfected the approach of moral high-ground (it is constantly contrasting itself with its southern neighbor both on the political level and in the popular consciousness) while simultaneously repressing its Colonial roots of active participation in both slavery and genocidal policies to indigenous peoples. This contrasts with the American student’s introduction (although this can vary by state) to these topics, which start with a recognition of internal inherent unholy behavior at the primary school level.

Not Everything is Black and White

BLM stands for Black Lives Matter; in the U.S. people are for the most part either ‘White’ or ‘Black’ – this partially comes out of the segregationist history of the country as well as efforts to highlight massive disparities (such as the civil rights movement of the 1960s). It also raises other less discussed questions – people from the Middle-East, Turkey, and Latin America are usually categorized as ‘people of color’ even if ethno-genetically they may be part of Caucasian groupings (which is also fluid and less defined than is often presented). In the U.S., ‘Asian’ in conversation and on official forms refers to people of Far-East Asian descent (China, Japan, Korea) and is often used by people from those groups as a self-identifier (such as on TV, comedy and radio programs) even though Asia is a massive continent that includes 4.5 billion people and a plethora of ethnicities.