Social Policy in Ontario

Walls, Bridges, Homes is a series of essays written in response to the emerging global appetite for a progressive narrative around inclusion and immigration. The series frames the thematic focus on 6 Degrees Citizen Space (Sept. 25-27), a forum presented by the Institute for Canadian Citizenship. 6DegreesTO.com

Reni Eddo-Lodge is a journalist and writer based in London.

I recently spoke at a music and literature festival that was so painfully white, its participants began to fret. Keen to hear about arts and culture, they asked why there were very few people of colour in the crowd. This fact was so worrisome, that when a black man made his presence known, he was promptly rewarded with a round of applause.

These people were very concerned about inclusion. It’s an admirable goal, and one of the foundations of liberal democracy. Everyone must be included in its mechanisms for it to work effectively. Our politicians tell us that there is nothing more idealistic than living in a liberal democracy, that it is core to the idea of fair play and that all other countries should strive for this state. In the face of sinister ideological threats and fanatical far-right activism, we cling to its meaning now more than ever. The loudest alternatives look like a huge step back from the hard-won rights of social progress. But maybe now is the best time to examine what inclusion really means.

At the festival, I watched the round of applause while internally cringing. Although this audience meant well, their applause was unsettling – a painfully self-conscious act of white guilt. I’ve never been keen on inclusion because it’s an uncritical cop-out, accepting the status quo as is, while fretting why the marginalized are not fully participating. Materially, through race, class, gender, wealth or access to opportunity, we are not all the same, and never have been. Recognizing the need to include is a good thing. But for there to be difference, there has to be a normal against which difference is measured against. I wish my fellow festivalgoers realized the power in their norm. To truly include, our job is to deconstruct that normal.

For some time now, liberalism has been too keen to flatten and erase difference in the pursuit of political harmony, believing that if we say we’re all the same, then we’ll all get along. But this is a willful ignorance of existing barriers, of shapers of inequality. The values of liberal democracy have never been fully realized. If they had, we wouldn’t need an inclusion agenda, because everyone would be free to fulfill their potential. But racism, sexism, homophobia, ableism – all social walls, built into the structure of the way things are – are active hindrances to any semblance of meritocracy.

Those of us who are concerned with social progress not only see these existing invisible structures, but we seek to redress them by pointing out that they exist. The first step is dealing with the problem by naming it, although that can be a risk in itself.

On the other side of the political spectrum, those who seek to exploit these existing divisions are more concerned with the physical kind of boundaries, such as throwing up walls to keep the “other” out, in order to maintain power.

I too put up a “wall” in order to expose a wall, which is why I wrote my book, Why I’m No Longer Talking to White People About Race. Originating from a blog post that was written at a point of intense frustration at white willful ignorance, its publication prompted the opposite effect. In setting a clear boundary, I was able to speak more freely, and it flew in the face of the politeness of liberal culture. I was asked how I could I cut myself off like this; the answer was with difficulty. I was asked if my withdrawing from this crucial conversation was somehow an impingement on others’ right to free speech. The answer was no. If anything, any infuriation at my silence revealed a peculiar entitlement.

I had to put up a wall for my own sanity. I had to stop talking to white people about race because I could see theirs and they could see mine, but they couldn’t see their own, or the power implicit in it, how all their assumptions about race shaped the world, and how they never questioned themselves on it. My wall was temporary, and it sparked an interest that I didn’t anticipate. I spent the next few years talking to white people about race. After I had made such a declarative statement in that blog post, white people suddenly felt that the issue concerned them.