If you’re a member of a minority in a rural or suburban area of Britain, there’s every likelihood that you will have been made aware of your race in school, in the local supermarket, by your neighbours and perhaps by the local authorities. Without many real-life examples of blackness in close proximity, besides immediate family, young black people can be driven to seek role models within the media. But the lack of varied and different black British experiences portrayed on screen – it’s nearly entirely London-based – can ultimately do more harm than good, especially when black people so often aren’t the creators.
The first realisation of race, as a black person living around few other black people, often comes from being reminded of your “otherness” – and it’s not usually in an empowering way. Ultimately, you’re left with two options: assimilate, shrink and internalise the racism that you experience; or reject it, and take pride in your blackness despite being the only black person around. However, the reaction of white people to such displays of unapologetic blackness is seldom warm.
Smaller communities tend to be more cautious of outsiders. And when your race is the first marker, it makes relating to your peers that much more difficult. For all of us, this starts in the classroom, where many black people first encounter that which makes us different. In these instances, black people often risk ostracism and, as they become adults, the loss of employment, housing and academic opportunities.
Figures from the 2011 census indicated that only 3% of the population of rural areas were Black and minority ethnic (Bame), compared with 17% in urban areas. If we’re seeing less of people who look like us the further away we are from London and other major cities, increased exposure to whiteness can have a lasting impact on how black people see themselves.
Code switching, where subtle changes in language are used to distance oneself from being instantly labelled black, often takes place in the workplace. It is far easier to pull off if you’ve regularly found yourself around white people, so much so that by the time you’re a teenager you’re already adept at picking up on those subtle cues that point to racial micro-aggressions. In my case, that meant heavy use of slang towards me and teachers tending to assume that I was more likely to be rowdy and a distraction in the classroom.
Although there are nuances to living in London as a working-class black person, economic status does so much to influence your understanding of the world, from education to health, that race alone isn’t enough of a commonality when seeking to understand the complex nuances of black Britishness. Essentially, black Londoners have more in common with other Londoners than with black people elsewhere in the country.
This geographical bias is especially true in the arts, and for a long time was the case in grime. For a while, it felt as though there was a romanticisation of grime due to its association with London. It goes without saying that grime culture itself, from pirate radio to reloads, found its roots in London, but culture can never remain confined to one region for long – especially when other marginalised people engage with it.
Elsewhere in the media, especially those made for the white gaze, we very rarely see inclusive representations of black Britishness. The homogenising of such representations, which often depict black British people as existing only in the country’s cities, erases those that aren’t seen as inner-city youths in need of saving. It’s why the FX show Atlanta has been well received for its precise and sharp account of inner-city blackness, showing what this may look like through the eyes of the city’s inhabitants.
Unfortunately there is a huge lack of access to information and education on black British history. Although institutions such as the Black Cultural Archives in Brixton exist, there is still a preference to look outward to America, in order for Britons to gain an understanding of race from the perspective of black people. Stories such as the 1963 Bristol Bus Boycotts, led by Paul Stephenson, which influenced the passing of the Race Relations Act 1965, and the elections of Smethwick in 1964, which saw Malcolm X visit the West Midlands town following extreme racial tensions, are not only a reminder of Britain’s history of race outside of London but a sobering reminder that this “history” isn’t too long ago. Failing to acknowledge how events such as these have shaped communities and attitudes across the country since the mass arrival of black people in postwar Britain has stifled actual steps towards dismantling discrimination.
The more we begin to see these events documented in the curriculum, museums and galleries, as well as on screen, and as the numbers of Bame people in rural areas and towns continues to rise, the more it will become difficult to ignore the problems of racism in our country today.
It’s not about one experience – city or rural – being worse or better than the other. It’s about amplifying a wide range of black British voices that exist not only in large, urban areas but also the farthest corners of the country. These are important stories, and if we continue to overlook them, it will damage any attempts to tackle how racism affects our society.
• Jesse Bernard is a journalist and writer