Chapter 10: Racial Trauma in Childhood

"It becomes very challenging to develop a healthy sense of self when one’s emotional-psychological milieu is inundated with the repeated race-related messages such as: you are not as attractive as…not as smart as… too dumb to…not intelligent enough to… ain’t ever going to be anything…not college material…not welcomed here…and so forth. The onslaught of devaluing messages makes it hard for youth to know who they really are—and easy to believe they are what others say" ~ Dr Kenneth Hardy

As a child, race was mentioned in many different ways but often negative. It highlighted the difference between me and my peers. Race was mentioned to me as the reason why I’d never be seen, I’d never be enough and I would never be able to connect to others.

I was aware of racism and stereotypes from a very young age. In every situation I carried the comparative notion that I would be seen less favourably than everyone else. I was told early on that I had to work harder than everyone else to be seen, but no matter how much harder I would work, I may never receive the recognition that I truly deserve.

These feelings were just assigned to me. As a young child, my mum would talk to me a lot about race and communicate these messages. It was her way of protecting me. I would often listen to her talk about this with her friends who all had experienced this level of degradation. I hadn’t experienced it for myself (yet) but it felt true and so I carried it. But I didn’t like it.

I internalised that being black meant not being enough. Among all the other experiences I had as a child, including an absent father, I internalised that I wasn’t enough. I hated that feeling and I hated myself.

Like all children, I was a child who wanted love and connection with others but I had learnt that what I looked like couldn’t get me that. I was to blame and those who looked like me were also to blame. I grew up divided between wanting love and connection for who I am, but also angry and opposed at those who denied me this. I didn’t view the rest of the world like this, I viewed my race like this. I was angry at those who looked like me but would act in a way that denied me the love, acceptance, freedom and equality I was craving.

So the struggle became my identity. With every racist experience I had or experienced by others, they only laid true to an internalised message of self hate and a lack of belonging. The survival instinct was to fawn - to play nice, to pretend, to deny a sense of myself in order to survive. If the world didn’t like black people expressing their experiences, I would show them another kind of black person. I would show tolerance and a willingness to change. I would show them that it was our fault.

Like my own sense of worth and belonging as a child, I did not realise that I was innocent to these experiences.

I did not realise that there was something wrong with the world around me. I did not realise that the world delivered unto me and those who look like me, an unexplained hatred that offers no reason than to leave a young child finding his own reason within himself as to why the world would hate him without knowing him.

I understand that this was a trauma response. My way to survive a threat from the world around me. Through each passing racial incident like being called a n***er, being refused service, followed by security in a store, pulled over by police for no reason, assuming me to be a thug, stared at in public, assumed I smoke weed, asked about the size of my dick, assumed I have a criminal record, “fitting the profile”, asked why I’m covered in poo, told I’m nice for a black guy, and chased out of a neighbourhood because they don’t allow “n***ers to play here”. Add these to well publicised events around the world, they all bring up my survival responses. To fawn (play nice or people please), to avoid going places, to hide my identity, look for other black people to feel a sense of belonging, and look for racism in every interaction that leaves a sense of uncertainty.

As an adult, I have spoken with many black men in different ways about this. One of the most poignant conversations I’ve had was the debate as to the messages we give our children. A friend of mine said that he will not raise his children with the message that as black people we have to work harder than everyone else. He explained that for a child to receive that message internalises ‘not good enough’ before they have even tried. He explained that he will communicate to his children that they can do whatever they want to do.

At the time I questioned this and thought he might be leaving his children unprepared for potential disappointments to come. But having reflected on this, I think of my own experience and my own internalised view of self and others. I think of my need to survive through fawning each and every time a racist incident occurs. I think of my need for internal safety and an internalised lack of belonging. I now recognise all of these feelings and began to understand his point.

He wanted to give children a life beyond the internalised restriction of racism. He wanted to give his children possibility instead of certainty. He also wanted to instil a resilience and view racism not as an identity, but a hurdle in life to overcome. He wanted to give his children a life beyond his own. The same way my mum tried to do for me.

The identity of trauma remains far longer than the incidents that cause them. Surviving because of the colour of your skin remains a construct both internal and external. The need for freedom and safety exists equally in both measures. I hope one day we as marginalised societies get there.