The Distinction Between Anti-Black Racism and Anti-Racism: My Story and Why We Need to Address Anti-Blackness Within "Visible Minorities"
Surrounded by diversity, a Black woman's voice is muffled by duct tape, poignant symbol of systemic silencing.

The Distinction Between Anti-Black Racism and Anti-Racism: My Story and Why We Need to Address Anti-Blackness Within "Visible Minorities"

I used to be an extrovert. The kind of person who could walk into a room full of strangers and strike up a conversation with anyone. Whether it was in the workplace, at networking events, or just grabbing coffee at my local café, I thrived on connecting with people. But over time, that part of me began to change—and not because I wanted it to.

It wasn’t a sudden shift, but rather a gradual retreat into myself, driven by a series of painful encounters. The irony? The people scrutinizing me, questioning my qualifications, or assuming that I somehow didn’t belong weren’t the #white gatekeepers we’re so often taught to expect.?

No.

They were fellow #immigrants. #Visible minorities. People who had likely faced some form of #discrimination themselves.

Every time I felt overlooked or scrutinized—whether it was my educational background, my job title, or even my right to own a home—the individuals doing the discriminating were often from #racialized groups. It happened when I was buying coffee. It happened when I was applying for jobs. It happened when I talked about owning my house. And it stung every single time. These weren’t just small slights or misunderstandings. These were direct reflections of how anti-Black racism is rampant, even within the so-called "visible minority" communities.

A Black woman's eyes widen in jaw-dropping astonishment as she stands at the bank teller, her face reflecting the shocking reality of racial discrimination in the financial system.

Over the years, these experiences accumulated into something that altered me. I went from being someone who loved the energy of being around others to someone who prefers to hibernate. I don't go out as much anymore, not because I want to avoid human connection, but because the #trauma of repeated discrimination from people who should be #allies—people who should understand what it’s like to be #marginalized—became too much to bear.

Gazing out, feeling locked in. Repeated discrimination from those who should support me has stolen my joy in connecting.

Why My Story is Not Unique: Anti-Black Racism Within "Visible Minorities"

The reality is, my story is not unique, and neither is the pattern of exclusion and judgment I’ve experienced from other racialized communities. In Canada, we take pride in our multiculturalism. We celebrate the term "visible minorities" and use it as a marker of our inclusive policies. But what gets lost in this collective framing is the very real hierarchy that exists within racialized groups—a hierarchy where Black people are often placed at the bottom, even by other people of color.

This is where the distinction between anti-Black racism and broader anti-racism efforts becomes crucial. Anti-Black racism isn’t just something that exists in predominantly white spaces or Western institutions. It thrives in immigrant communities, in spaces where we expect solidarity but instead find #exclusion.


Hidden tears, silent struggles. Discrimination's heavy weight on these young shoulders.

In Canada, the term "visible minorities" is used as an umbrella to describe anyone who is not #white, with little regard for the vastly different experiences within those communities. But lumping Black people together with other racialized groups hides the specific and more violent forms of systemic discrimination Black people face.

For instance:

  • In Toronto, Black people are nearly 20 times more likely to be involved in a fatal police encounter than white people. Non-Black racialized people do not face the same degree of state violence.
  • Employment gaps persist across the board, but Black Canadians earn, on average, 25% less than non-Black visible minorities, even when education and experience levels are comparable.
  • Even in healthcare, where I hold a job title, my experience has often been one of being dismissed or underestimated by non-Black colleagues—many of them immigrants like myself.


Why We Must Name Anti-Black Racism

When we fail to name anti-Black racism as distinct, we allow these experiences to become #invisible. We fold them into broader anti-racism efforts that, while important, don’t address the particular ways in which Black people are oppressed. We create initiatives for "visible minorities" without recognizing that not all minorities are treated equally—that within these groups, anti-Blackness continues to thrive.

And this matters because anti-Black racism demands specific solutions. Solutions that address policing, healthcare, education, and employment not in broad strokes, but with a direct focus on the historical and ongoing discrimination faced by Black communities.


The Problem With Terms Like "Visible Minorities" and "BIPOC"


A soul tired from seeking validation. 'Why not me?' haunts their every step.

Terms like "visible minorities", "BIPOC" (Black, Indigenous, and People of Colour), and "BAME" (Black, Asian, and Minority Ethnic) may seem helpful on the surface—they bring together marginalized groups to fight systemic inequity. But in practice, they often do more harm than good. These terms:

  • Erase the specificity of Black experiences, lumping them together with other groups who may not face the same level or type of oppression.
  • Allow anti-Black racism within non-Black communities to go unchallenged, as they obscure the hierarchical structures that exist within racialized groups.
  • Lead to #tokenistic diversity efforts that focus on increasing the number of "people of colour" in spaces without paying attention to the fact that Black people remain the most marginalized and excluded.

Feeling invisible: the weight of erasure.

In my own life, I have felt this #erasure firsthand. Every time I have been scrutinized more harshly for being a Black woman in a managerial post or questioned for daring to own property, it’s clear that the "visible minority" label doesn’t protect me from anti-Blackness—it allows it to hide in plain sight.


The Way Forward: Naming and Addressing Anti-Blackness

To create meaningful change, we must:

  1. Name anti-Black racism directly: It must be recognized that anti-Black racism exists in a different dimension than other forms of racial discrimination. It is more violent, more systemic, and it has a longer history of #dehumanization.
  2. Challenge anti-Black racism within racialized communities: This means having difficult conversations about colourism, prejudice, and hierarchies within immigrant communities. We can’t move forward unless we address the ways that anti-Blackness operates within visible minority groups.
  3. Centre Black voices and experiences: Any anti-racism effort that doesn’t specifically address anti-Black racism will inevitably fail to dismantle the structures that oppress Black people. Black-centred policies in employment, healthcare, policing, and housing are crucial.


My Path to Healing

Over time, I’ve begun to heal from the trauma that led me to retreat from the world. But healing, for me and for others like me, can only happen when we stop pretending that all forms of racism are the same, or that Black people and other "visible minorities" share the same experiences.?

We don’t!

Anti-Black racism exists within the very communities where we expect understanding, and that is precisely why it is so damaging. It isolates, it dehumanizes, and it drives people like me into solitude.

It’s time we call it by its name.


#AntiBlackRacism #AntiRacism #BankingReform #BlackLivesMatter #EquityNow #Canada #BlackFinancialJustice #VisibleMinorities #ChangeNow #PetitionForChange #QualitativeResearch #InstitutionalRacism #Itsnotok


Romain Williams

Executive Director at The Inclusivity Institute for Better Data | Founder of Artefact91 | CEO of Wom3n and Co | Awarded: Canada's Top 100 Black Women to Watch 2024 & GTA Black Women in Tech

5 个月

Dara Dillon, your bravery in sharing your story is inspiring. Sending love, support, and prayers for your healing journey. May you experience restoration, wholeness, and freedom from the trauma. You are seen, heard, and valued!

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