White coaches and supervisors need to stop looking to our black and brown colleagues for answers on tackling systemic racism and start with reflecting on our own whiteness, says Fenella Trevillion
Like many people, George Floyd’s murder last year was a seminal event for me. I can still see the vivid TV footage of fire and anger with the message that Black Lives Matter (BLM) coming across loud and clear.
I reached out to family and friends. I attended events where this was discussed, and the felt senses of shock, anger and unspoken guilt were present. ‘What can I do?’ I wondered. My inclination was to connect with Black and Asian (brown) coaches and ask them. Over time I realised that the starting point had to be with me and my own racism, and to connect with white coaches and supervisors over it. When was that ‘aha’ moment?
Having joined with many black people over this, I asked around in the white coaching community about what we can do to respond. I was met with comments such as: ‘not sure what BLM has to do with coaching’; ‘my view is that all lives matter’; ‘actually BLM has not been a thing for me’; ‘I treat everyone with the same respect and “unconditional positive regard”’ (Rogers, 2004), and ‘I grew up in an area where there were no black people, so racism is not my issue.’
My visceral response was not to let the event pass; this time I had to act. I looked back at my history, attempting to understand its significance for me.
Often the question arises: when did I notice the colour of my skin? I grew up in white apartheid South Africa. One day, I made a racist insult to a member of the kitchen staff on my grandmother’s farm. She was visibly and furiously upset. She told my grandmother who immediately sent me to my room.
Eventually my grandmother came in and told me never ever to say that to anyone again and particularly not to a black person. I was perplexed, yet this event made me aware of the difference in skin colour, and my six-year-old mind told me I’d seriously done wrong. After a time, I accepted my innate racism.
Spending my childhood in a privileged liberal South African environment meant living with a perpetual sense of discomfort and, at times, fear. This was topped up by witnessing regular violence against black people. An added element was the dissonance within the white race; being liberal brought its own dread and sometimes I was the subject of name calling.
An opportunity arose for me to move to the UK, and so, with a deep sense of guilt, shame, and abandonment, I left.
Arriving in the UK gave me a sense of relief. I tried (unsuccessfully) to change my accent, and when I saw the possibility of a question arising about South Africa and an assumption being made about my racism, I ‘othered’ white South Africans and clarified that I did not support apartheid.
Ten years later, I stepped into the racism spotlight again when working in a residential care home for young black male adolescents, for my first social work training placement. It was in Lewisham, London, six months after the New Cross fire in which 13 young black people died in a racist attack.
Relationships with institutions – particularly the police – were poor, the sense of injustice stark. Despite this, the young black people, management and staff at the care home were welcoming, and keen to support and educate my fellow white student and I.
We responded as rabbits in the headlights, utterly naïve, with no sense of the psychological environment, and endlessly relying on our black colleagues to navigate us through this tricky time. I read avidly about racism and black people and gained a much greater understanding about the issues.
Over the next few years I worked in mental health services and occupied various leadership positions. I raised the issue of racism – often not taken particularly seriously by other white colleagues – and felt an implied message that because I was a white South African, I had an issue about it.
I came across some who took it seriously, some who avoided a conversation about it, and others who were colour blind. I called it out where possible, yet often met with a sense of awkwardness by black people who ‘didn’t want any trouble’. There was no discussion about allyship, and the ‘R’ word was mostly avoided.
Fast forward to my MSc in Coaching and Behavioural Change during which, among other things, I reflected on my strong political lens – what was it about? Later, adding in my training in mindfulness, I examined the ‘striver’ in me and perhaps it was a relief to let go of this as an issue. On my MSc course, racism was never mentioned and curiously nor was the issue of bias. Nevertheless, my internal understanding increased exponentially.
Journey of change
Like many white friends, when George Floyd was killed and thousands of black and brown people were dying of Covid-19, I leaned into action. With others in a national organisation at which I volunteered, we organised a Zoom discussion with a panel of black experts on ‘Racism, Inequality and Bereavement’, including the well-known coach, Obi James. When asked ‘how do we become a more diverse organisation?’ she gently pointed out that if we were going to do that, white privilege needs to be addressed, with white people committing to a journey of change. My first ‘aha’ moment.
DiAngelo’s book: White Fragility: Why it’s so hard for white people to talk about racism, became a key text. She writes about the challenge of talking to white people about racism, white women’s tears and white fragility – I recognised them all. I started to notice the information all around me on the experiences black people have in grappling with racism and how they’ve been saying the same things for years without white people listening.
I finally understood why Eddo-Lodge had written the book, Why I No Longer talk to White People about Race. I took on board the thought that white people need to listen and do our own research about our part in the many hundreds of years of institutional racism.
This was my moment of conceptual pivot and second ‘aha’ moment; I’d begun the journey. Yet my behaviour of avoidance allowed me to stay at the cognitive level of reading, seeing and listening.
Exploration continued: I investigated coaching bodies’ responses to this momentous issue. Many NHS organisations had a statement or information about racism and anti-racist practice on their websites, the British Psychological Society had started a conversation and a group discussing it and BLM.
Of the coaching organisations, none mentioned racism or anti-racism. The Association for Coaching (AC) website said very little, although the July 2020 edition of its magazine, Coaching Perspectives, had a strong section on BLM, and I understand that ICF did have a statement on it. With regards to policies, the AC, the UK chapter of the International Coach Federation and the European Mentoring & Coaching Council (EMCC) stated commitment to the Global Code of Ethics (GCE) and the EMCC had its own equality and diversity policy, though neither mentions the word racism. Their websites had a ‘white’ feel to them.
Self-reflection
I connected with a white thought leader in coaching; we had a congruence of view, shared book titles and she suggested I contact a number of people with whom we could consider starting a conversation. I realised these thinkers and writers on race and coaching were black. Where were the white coaches in the space of white privilege? I noticed, yet again, I was seeking out people of colour to give the answers.
My third and most significant ‘aha’ moment came while attending the second day of the Coaching at Work 2020 Conference.
Whilst listening to Grace Owens on decolonising leadership, my mind turned to decolonising coaching and my question on ‘where do we start with changing the coaching profession?’
I reflected on the presentation on Coaching through Covid from Mark McMordie and other co-founders. McMordie told us that it was set up through a group of coaches getting together and “holding a safe space for a compassionate enquiry using the collective intelligence in the field.”
Yes, this gives us a way here. We need to stop turning to our colleagues of colour for answers and start a reflection on ourselves as white coaches and how our whiteness plays out in our lives and in our coaching. Only then will the coaching profession become part of the solution in actively dismantling systemic racism and the pervasiveness of white privilege.
JOIN THE CONVERSATION
- To engage further in a conversation on the topic of this article, contact Fenella: www.fenellatrevillionassociates.org/
or email: fenella.trevillion@gmail.com - Join Fenella Trevillion and Liz Hall online on 13 April, 17.30-19.00 for a discussion, White, Privileged and Fragile.
With a commitment to social justice and kindness, how might we explore together as coaches the impact of our white privilege? - Zoom Meeting:http://bit.ly/3aUU2wd
- Meeting ID: 881 3442 9287
- Passcode: 231807