Growing up in the 90s, I was acutely aware of the skinhead presence in nearby communities, a shadow that loomed over my childhood.

As I moved through school, the discomfort of being Black—and specifically biracial—intensified. My natural afro often led to me being misgendered as a boy, unwanted physical contact, and even incidents of bullying, such as being struck with a badminton racket in sixth grade. In tenth grade, a classmate shoved me against a wall and hurled a racial slur at me, calling me a cotton picker. Teachers frequently failed to address these incidents, instead siding with white students who claimed they were merely "curious" about my hair or who thought calling me a "chocolate bar" was a compliment. The cotton picker comment went largely unpunished, with the offending student receiving only an in-school suspension unbeknownst to me. 

2017 saw the resurgence of the KKK and research from the University of New Brunswick exposing 150 new hate groups. Simultaneously, the PC government in New Brunswick hired its first Commissioner for Systemic Racism, Manju Varma, to do an audit of the systems in New Brunswick and provide recommendations to reduce racism within the community. 

Almost none of her recommendations were acted on except creating a Black Histories Curriculum, which I also have had the honour of building with other Black community leaders. Although the Black Lives Matter protests were deemed peaceful by local media, incidents such as a white man throwing eggs from a window highlighted ongoing tensions.

The influx of 20,000 immigrants to New Brunswick during the pandemic gave me hope that the environment had improved since the skinhead era of the 90s or the bullying I faced in the early 2000s. However, my experience last February at my high school's inaugural Black History Month assembly was a stark reminder of how little had changed. Despite being established over 60 years ago, this was the first Black History Month event of its kind.

There is a divide between younger and older teachers, with the latter refusing to change with the times and update their curriculums, leading to increased importance for the Black Histories curriculum. 

I’ve since conducted a few sharing circles in high schools around Moncton. I always start by sharing my own experiences first. I’ve recounted how I internalized racism, calling myself an "Oreo," and allowed peers to use racial slurs around me. Yearbook comments from classmates labeled me as "mixed" or "mocha," with jokes implying I would be invisible in the dark.

The girls in these circles echoed my experiences, often referring to themselves using food metaphors and recounting how white peers would make jokes about Black girls, then feign apologies. The issue of boundaries remains, with many girls feeling uncomfortable as their hair is touched or scrutinized, receiving questions about their hairstyles that objectify rather than appreciate.

The girls in the sharing circles have told me that they too refer to themselves as food items, that white girls joke about Black girls being ‘whipped’ then give over-the-top faux apologies. White students ask permission to rap or say the N-word around Black students, putting them in an awkward position of permission-giving.

Boundaries around touching hair persist, with girls being uncomfortably touched and having their hairstyles questioned. They’re asked how they can change styles so often, if their hair is real, and are told they look like dragons or other creatures. 

These comments have made these girls feel they are under a microscope, similar to how I felt almost 15 years ago. At one point in the sharing circle, the girls yelled, “the boys are the problem”. They describe how a white boy will strike up a conversation with them, just to bully them, asking if she prefers Black boys to white boys, but regardless of her answer, the boy tells her she’s not his type because she is Black. Questions like these, and others around race comparison, are doubly confusing for Black girls who came to Canada from African countries, because they were not labelled ‘Black’ in their home countries.

I was astonished to hear how things had evolved but not progressed since I graduated in 2012. There are now just more avenues for racism to flourish. A Black girl in Moncton will get berated on Snapchat because of her race just as often as the school’s MS Teams chat and in person in the hallway. 

In one of my sharing circles, there was sharp disagreement over whether the girls should be standing up for themselves, or staying silent. Some girls, mainly those from African countries, say their parents instruct them to just put up with it, so as not to cause further problems. Students shared that white teachers still often punish Black students even if they're defending themselves against racism. Other parents are encouraging their daughters to stand up to the bullies and remember their worth in these difficult situations.

While I am in no position to tell a parent how to teach their children to react in these scenarios, I know that by never standing up for myself, I slowly was made to feel I deserved the racism around me, which led to people pleasing and addiction by 23 years old. My lack of self-esteem had a direct hand in my mental health and the consequences could only be unlearned with years of therapy, consequences I do not wish on any of these students. 

All girls shared frustration at the lack of staff who can relate to their experiences with racism. I know the importance of representation within schools and how uncomfortable I felt discussing racism with an entirely white teaching staff. 

While there are efforts to diversify school staff, the reality is that fewer young people are moving to the east coast for opportunities, particularly Black educators. It’s crucial for white parents to foster empathy and understanding in their children, guiding them on how to engage with their Black peers respectfully. Curiosity is healthy, but it must come with an understanding of boundaries.

Parents of white students need to find ways of teaching empathy and understanding to their kids who may be curious about how Black children are different but need to understand appropriate parameters of curiosity. Ask questions, engage in conversation, but don’t touch or make other people feel bad for being born in beautiful, unique ways. 

Furthermore, teachers should facilitate these conversations and seek guidance from Black students on how to navigate these challenging topics if they feel unsure themselves. Only through open dialogue and genuine understanding can we hope to create a more inclusive environment for all students.