I am writing a book about racism.
‘Why?’ you might ask.
Well, not because I have any expertise on the matter. Not because I want to. Not because it’s easy. Not because it’s comfortable… It’s none of those things. And there are a bazillion easier ways to get a cookie, so it’s not that either.
To be clear up front, I am a a middle-aged 9th+ generation Tasmanian beige-skinned woman who grew up not even knowing there was such a thing as race. I have not personally suffered anything on the basis of my race. Ever.
But racism is my problem anyway.
It is my students’ problem, my friends’ problem, my relatives’ problem, my country’s problem, my online community’s problem; and, thanks to various political influences, it is likely to get poked with a stick more and more often. I am part of all those mini-worlds, and the greater world around them…