Dealing with Black History Month Burnout
When I began writing this post, I was sure I’d been something of a coward this Black History Month. There was a niggling sense of guilt telling me I could have done so much more, to the point that I almost found myself at a loss for what to say on the topic of being burnt out from Black History Month. In all honesty, this year, I’d shied away.
Of course, I’d celebrated BHM. But, I’d unwittingly drawn the line at engaging much further beyond that. Not from a lack of passion for creating change and appreciation for the enormous achievements and contributions to society from people of African and Caribbean descent. But, from the strain I foresaw it’d come with if not done from a safe distance at this point in time - an overwhelming feeling I’ve known all too well previously.
Reflecting on the past month made me think about the nature of being a social activist. Of what that is, whether I’m it, and if so, how good of one I am. In doing so, I reconciled with myself that I certainly am an activist. I use my voice, platform, skills and time to work towards change. This work can be soul-edifyingly rewarding. But at times it can also be hopelessly crushing. Which, is perhaps a side of it I don’t much like to dwell on or share, as it’s hard to inspire others to believe change is possible, during those times when I’ve doubted the possibility myself.
But, acknowledging the existence of that fact, means I can speak more truthfully about the realities of both Black History Month, and social activism as a sustainable endeavour.
There’s No Such Thing As A Superhuman Activist
The title ‘activist’ perhaps leads people to think that those who fight for change have a never ending fire burning within to fight injustice. One that drives them like superhumans each day to speak out boldly with powerful ignition. I believe this is an idea particularly assumed with black activists. In so many images relating to Black Lives Matter, we see the raised fist salute - a symbol signifying black liberation and power. One which may elicit a range of strong responses, depending on the perspective of the person viewing it.
But, the truth of the matter is that behind every instance of a raised fist salute is just another regular person. And behind each person, is a human story that’s led them to the point of taking a stand. But more importantly is the fact that within that human story, is the vulnerable individual at the centre of it, merely trying to do their best. Which means that like any other average person, there are times when that internal fire feels replaced with a well - and one at dangerous risk of running dry.
It’s in those moments that the raised fists turn instead into open palms that hold lowered heads in fatigued exasperation. When those everyday people wonder when a change will become a reality - this is something I’ve experienced on many an occasion myself. It’s a soul-searching moment that tends to crop up when I see just how much insurmountable resistance, anger and glaring apathy there is on social media.
Or, when those same qualities rear its head within the structures that govern our society. An apt example of this being the DFE’s recently released guidelines (written about in one of our earlier blogs). Guidelines which threaten to stifle educators from being able to truthfully teach how the world is experienced differently because of daily and institutionalised racism, classism, ableism, homophobia and transphobia.
One of the things that I’ve found incredibly disheartening, in some instances, is sensing the resistance and lack of willingness to engage and understand, from loved ones and friends. That said, I must say that on the whole, I have a great circle of friends from many different backgrounds I love dearly who are equally as invested in, and deeply care about, equality in the many forms we need it to come in. They’ve shared, supported, listened, learnt and mused with me - no matter how difficult the discussion.
Unfortunately, there is also an apparent collective unwillingness in parts of the wider society, which has been displayed in several ways. The creation of the ‘All Lives Matter’ campaign in response to Black Lives Matter, which by its very nature, misses the fundamental point of BLM (whether this is through ignorance or malice, isn’t always transparent). The resistance we’ve seen against bringing down statues of men like Edward Colston, whose significant portion of wealth was reaped from the slave trade.
And of course, there’s social media - a worryingly intense microscopic sample of our society. It has the propensity to enhance people’s brashness, emboldening them to say things they perhaps wouldn’t in person. Consequently, revealing the depth of the divisiveness, disdain and callousness simmering in the underbelly of our society, bringing to light some of the things that colour our various everyday interactions in reality.
The Personal Cost Of Collective Change
I believe the only way to tackle this and become a more cohesive and open society, is to face the harsh reality of the current condition of our society head-on, by way of educating. It’s through truthful, unbiased education that a real shift can happen within the broader landscape. But, this is only possible through calling for it in all environments, Including the ones predisposed to ignoring those very calls, and potentially invested in maintaining the status quo.
Because of this, the need for frank education makes it hard to avoid a certain level of personal cost. When racial experiences are had by one group and not another, there’s the tendency to question its validity. Other times, the trend has been to deny it entirely or merely overlook its importance.
As an Educator for The Black Curriculum, part of my role is to navigate this. Facilitating a safe space for different views to be explored and listened to. But also, presenting truths that likely haven’t been brought to light, previously. It’s within that space that a new form of learning can take place, which is why I love being able to facilitate that experience. I’ve delivered sessions where participants have moved past the discomfort and awkwardness of discussing the topic of race, between people who experience and see it so differently. After which, participants of all backgrounds come to a place of deeper self-reflection, and a realisation of how much more work there is to do. In that space, we can be honest about our differing experiences and views (past or present) that we haven’t been proud of, or, that we have been scarred by.
Nevertheless, I’m trained to do this. When I walk into that space, I’m committed and prepared to facilitate those discussions. But, on the occasions where I’ve been off duty, so to speak, I’ve stumbled into conversations and interactions I wasn’t ready for. In social gatherings, for instance, during introductions, when exchanging what everyone does for a living. Mentioning - even in passing - the work I do has on occasion, been something of a show stopper. One that raises guards and eyebrows alike, as well as speculations on the need for black history, and an almost silent condemnation for the mere mention of the topic. The palpable silences of extended sips of wine being gulped during those awkward moments would be rather comical if it weren’t so sad.
In other cases, conversations ensue in a fairly diplomatic fashion, but without tact and genuine openness. Two things without which it’s not possible to have a constructive discussion about race. Because one person who hasn’t experienced racism may be talking about it from a place of hypothesis and scepticism, meanwhile, another who has and continues to experience it is discussing it from lived experience. The retelling of that story requires them to reflect and rehash their experiences with racism - along with the pain, humiliation and isolating fear that often goes with it. Yet, they’re required to recount those stories, in calm, succinct ways and pose them as evidence. Suppressing any accompanying trauma, so as not to become emotional and risk their message becoming lost in translation. A draining task, especially when doing so in a conversation where the intent is to debate, rather than to understand.
If I, an educator, have felt this level of angst in such situations, I truly feel for those who aren’t, who happen to find themselves in such expectant conversations. Or, more hostile ones.
Creating Your Own Ways Of Dealing With Burnout
Dealing with post-Black History Month burnout is something for which there isn’t a definitive guide. It means so many different things to different people. This most recent BHM, in particular, may have been a trying time for people of all colours who are wishing for a more just and fair world for all. As such, the solution may differ for many. We perhaps, therefore, have to create our own tailor-made personal guides for handling the emotional toll of BHM. And ultimately, of this line of social activism in general.
My own approach is one of self-care and self-acceptance. It’s accepting that despite the assumed narrative (and sometimes necessity), of being strong and black as a default state, I am just a mere human being. So, it’s okay to take a step back and not feel compelled to be a voice explaining and defending all matters “black”-related, at the drop of a hat. But rather, to draw boundaries for myself and others. Making time to work towards raising awareness, as well as time to focus on the things and people that bring me joy, and simply be.
The need for self-care and looking after mental health is something so easily overlooked in the black community, despite the dire need for it. This, again, is possibly owing to the narrative that to be black, is to be strong automatically. A dangerously reductive box which overlooks the fragility, vulnerability and humanness in every person it’s imposed on. And one that many in the black community feel a pressure to uphold. Black Minds Matter is one such organisation working to rectify that, doing amazing work to make mental health services more relevant and accessible for the black community and to remove the stigma surrounding it.
Perhaps it all boils down to one thing - being compassionate towards ourselves. Doing what we can, when we can, and showing up in the way we’re most able to. Pausing when needed, to re-charge and re-engage.
How are you handling post-Black History Month burnout?
