There’s a lot of talk at the moment about social distancing and the body language that people are adopting since the coronavirus struck. A friend lamented to me it was completely unnerving, and a little disturbing, to see the lengths to which people will now go to keep their distance.
It’s true. I’ve seen people cross the road rather than safely pass someone in the street. I’ve also witnessed the sideways glance from someone in a supermarket aisle who is clearly worried that should you get within a five metre radius then one of you will immediately drop dead. It’s a horrible feeling on both sides.
But many Black people have experienced this unnerving and at times dehumanising feeling way before Covid-19. I can’t help but feel that if there are individuals who are uncomfortable by the way some people exaggerate their physical distancing when there is potential danger, imagine the crushing hurt when this occurs and there’s nothing to be afraid of?
I recall an occurrence a few years back, when I got on an overground train from Liverpool St to somewhere in Tottenham. As I entered the carriage I saw there were two young people sitting to my right and two empty seats opposite them. As I began to move towards one of the empty seats, the young woman turned to her friend and said in Spanish, “Man, I hope this guy doesn’t sit with us”. (“Ojalá este no se siente al lado nuestro.”) My Spanish is pretty good so I knew what I heard, but before sitting down I looked behind me to see if there was someone else she was referring to. But no, it was me.
Inside I began to seethe. How dare a foreign national make me feel uncomfortable in my own country? I wanted to shout, ‘Who do you think you are?’ But I quickly calculated that if I became cross and questioned the young woman for making me feel uncomfortable, I knew that these situations could quickly descend into me being the aggressor and her the victim. But I also knew that if I did nothing then I would feel dreadful.
“I wish I could say that incident of being socially isolated was a one-off, but it isn’t.”
Thankfully my best friend inadvertently came to my aid when he called me on my mobile and I responded in fluent Spanish, “Hola Gary, que tal estas?”
Their faces instantly froze. The woman looked to the left and the right and within a few uncomfortable minutes — for her — they got up and left.
I wish I could say that incident of being socially isolated was a one-off, but it isn’t. Many Black people including myself will tell you that on long-distance train journeys, if we’re already sitting down, the empty seats next to us will be the very last to be occupied.
And I distinctly remember the powerful anecdote the actor Jamie Foxx related when he spoke to an audience at the House of Lords to promote his new film, Just Mercy. He said when he was in lift wearing casual clothes, a group of white people entered and instantly shuffled to the corner of lift to lengthen the distance between them, until one of them recognised it was the Hollywood icon. Then they all relaxed and even began laughing. Foxx told his audience, “They all thought it was a bit amusing. But in truth it wasn’t, it was appalling. It’s what Black people face all the time.”
There will be many people who cannot wait for things to return to normal and for social distancing to be a thing of the past. However, I hope we don’t go back to normal. I hope that this experience has taught us just how dehumanising it is to feel you are less than, even in social spaces which we are all supposed to share.
Lord Simon Woolley is a cross bench peer and CEO of Operation Black Vote