There is something unsettlingly quiet about racism in a small white town. It hides in the shadows, its twisted roots buried beneath centuries of old earth and colonialism. It puts on a smile and you can’t help but shudder at the exposed canines. It hides behind microaggressions and side-eyed stares, situates itself just shy of the edge of unacceptable, but never crosses that line. And you don’t prefer the outward hatred, the attacks, the slurs thrown like grenades with no care to where they land. Still, every mispronounced name, every crossed street, every clutched purse, it hurts. That’s what they don’t tell you about this quiet racism, it hurts just as much as being assaulted on the street, as being pummeled to the ground by furious fists. It’s the feeling of being Othered. It’s the way people look at you and don’t see you; or maybe they do, but they simply refuse to acknowledge that you exist in the same space as them. It’s being asked in a seminar room full of white people, “How can we stop racism?” as if racism is a math problem that can be solved with a simple equation. Racism + [insert magical solution here] = no more racism. 

And I know that this person meant no harm. The same way I know that there is no malice in a person’s tone when they ask me, “But where are you really from?” And I’m used to it. Really I am. Or at least, I know I should be. But why is it my job to be used to guys coming up to me and saying they really have a thing for Asian girls? And why is it that the cashier who refused to pronounce a name too foreign for their tongue should be excused just because they were too tired to care? Why are we always the ones who don’t get cared enough about? I know that there is no intent to hurt. There never is. That doesn't make it hurt any less. 

It’s like saying a lion doesn't mean to scare away a gazelle by approaching it. Even if the lion has no intention of hurting the gazelle, how is the gazelle supposed to know that? How is the gazelle supposed to recognize which lion will eat it and which lion just wants to get a drink from the oasis? Maybe it’s the fact that a body of water with a lion near it can never be an oasis for a gazelle. Maybe it’s the fact that the only “safe space” we have on campus is a place where we still must accommodate and teach and be understanding of our oppressors. And maybe I framed this wrong. Maybe it’s not just about the lion and the gazelle, but a poacher and a lion and a gazelle and the tall grass they all hide in. 

Racism seeps itself into our lives like a toxic chemical spill that someone purposefully poured into the well. It poisons an entire community overnight. Our lives are not simply tainted by racism, it is coloured by it. It shapes the way we interact with the world, and the way the world interacts with us. The narrative dictates the discourse, the discourse translates into thoughts, thoughts transfer into actions, actions form the normative way of the world, and these norms become the narrative that we tell ourselves. This is why we say that “this is just the way things are. This is the way the world is,” as if we did not make the world. 

When the world is narrowed down to willful ignorance it becomes a place in which this quiet racism thrives. In more simple terms, white people, who have both power and privilege, exist in a space where their power is inherent and privilege is the norm. And when this power and privilege is pointed out to them, they get defensive. They claim that they earned their power, that they have no privilege, that they have lived a life of hardship. They ignore the fact that just because one has white privilege, it does not mean that their life has been easy. White privilege is the inherent advantages that white people possess because of their whiteness in a society that is built on racial inequality and injustice. To not acknowledge white privilege is to not acknowledge the way race plays a major factor in society. The willful ignorance of white privilege is a deliberate silencing of the effects of racism itself. But I don’t need to explain all this. Because people of colour already know this. And white people do too. It’s an unspoken rule in our society, it flows like an undercurrent of electricity. It hums in our veins, it moves like a predator stalking its prey. That’s what the tall grass is for. 

Quiet racism. That’s what I called it before. Quiet in the way it moves, in the way it acts, in the way it lives. It is the quiet actions that uphold institutional racism. Oftentimes, people view racism as something that is concrete; a person’s speech, behaviour, or action. These people are the real racists. They’re the ones to be afraid of, to hate, the ones who need to change. But racism does not exist simply as an outcome of individual attitudes, and cannot be eradicated by simply “changing” a person. Racism maintains the social, educational, political, governmental, legal, and economic inequalities that affect a person’s access to independence, privacy, security, property, welfare, and identity. Racism both produces and is a product of these structures. It is embedded in and saturated by these institutions. One cannot “overcome” racism. Instead, one must constantly be working on and confronting their own internalized views and biases. These are not easy changes. But it starts from the ground up. By challenging one’s own thoughts, beliefs, and ideas, one can see the way their own biases influence their life. White people must examine the way they have benefited from a racially unjust system. It is a privilege in and of itself to simply educate oneself about racism rather than experiencing it for oneself. From there, listening to the experiences of BIPOC individuals will further the conversation around racial inequality. But while these conversations are important, they cannot simply end there. There needs to be thought put into motion in order to move forward—a call to action. Education, social and economic programming, and other actionable tasks will move critical thought into changeable action. 

This is how we get rid of the tall grass that surrounds us. We mow it down, blade by blade.