Dismantling Colonial Processes
I’ve been reflecting a lot on proofs of racism over the past few months. Why do instances of racism (and other -isms) need to be accompanied by documentable proof filed by precise processes? What emotional labour does that demand of those needing to record and relive such experiences and how much proof is enough? To situate this issue in the current context of the Black Lives Matter and Defund the Police movements — or in the case of Joyce Echaquan’s death in Quebec — how many graphic videos need to be shared for people to believe it’s more than a few bad apples? Without those videos, who do our structures protect? Who gets the benefit of the doubt?
Effecting change even on a small scale can feel like an uphill battle when racism is often subtle, un-documentable, and thus easy to brush off. It’s time we re-think the processes by which we operate right down to everyday practices at school or in the workplace and question who formal structures serve. An abundance of bureaucracy can hurt BIPOC by impeding anti-oppression attempts as well as dismissing different types of knowledge and experience.
It’s impossible to speak of this issue without acknowledging how many systems have been designed to operate in this way. Notably, they played a huge role in the oppression of Indigenous Nations and communities. White laws, white treaties, and white courts have consistently determined worth and power, which trace these standards back to inherently colonial foundations. It will never be an even playing field when one side must fight their battles by the other’s rules — and the first step is to acknowledge that these are not the only rules that exist.
White western culture places so much emphasis on formal process and so-called “professionalism,” but what happens if we honour lived experience and alternative forms of knowledge equally? Earlier this year, I tried to get a doctor’s note for burnout. I called my counsellor, who told me she did not have the authority to write one. I called my family doctor, who said they hadn’t seen me recently enough. I called a walk-in clinic, and after asking two questions, the doctor on the line emailed me a note and invoiced me for it. Only then was I able to take a week’s leave off work, wondering exactly how a stranger could justify my self-awareness better than I. I knew what I needed but couldn’t act on it until someone else’s signature was on the paper.
By no means am I advocating for a rejection of science, but I’m questioning the types of knowledge society trusts. Too much significance is bestowed on formal education, which only caters to select learning styles and perpetuates disadvantage. Similarly, tangible logic is favoured over emotional intelligence and intuition — but a PHD doesn’t outweigh experiential knowledge, especially when issues of identity are concerned. Moving away from colonial practices starts with validating our instincts, our lived realities, and our feelings, even if we can’t immediately articulate the reasoning behind them.
The role of communities and process should then be to support in acknowledging individual and collective realities rather than police the format or language they’re presented in; the latter is merely an extension of tone policing. In prioritizing formal processes, we adhere to a white-centric standard that is not tradition for many other cultures that favour oral practices, long-term relationship building and trust, or experiential learning.
Within our systems, that can look so many ways, such as offering alternative processes and valuing unconventional qualifications in hiring decisions, elevating BIPOC voices through the channels they most feel comfortable expressing in, being open to different working styles and collaborative organizational structures, and investing in relationships and personal growth. Importantly, these solutions must first come from those in positions of power, not entry-level workers fighting to find their voice in a system designed against them.
It isn’t enough to simply understand diverse realities; organizations need to apply that knowledge in routine practices. One example of that is the concept of judicial notice, which “may be taken of matters of fact that are so generally known and accepted that they cannot reasonably be questioned” (S14.02 Watt’s Manual of Criminal Evidence). In a court of law, this would mean a defendant does not have to prove concepts already established, such as geographic facts. In the past, judicial notice has also been taken of colonialism, displacement, and racism to varying degrees. This concept is far from the ultimate solution, but what if we took it, broadened it, and applied it to systems like our schools and workplaces, which in themselves necessitate less need for proof than courts? What would it look like to go into a professional space that has already established the challenges BIPOC face, from micro-aggressions to systemic discrimination? What would it mean to not need to scrounge up proofs of racism each time? We would be working from a much higher starting point.
It’s easy to believe that the structure we know is the only one that functions, and that all hell will break loose when we abandon that rigidity. Too often, checks and balances are associated with facts, figures, and professionalism, but that system is fallible and harmful for those unfamiliar to navigating such process. Dismantling colonial practices needs to be woven into everything we do, and that starts with the very culture of our communities. It’s time diverse lived realities are treated as fact and alternatives designed to not only accommodate individuals but to change as a system altogether.