Black Lives Matter: What happens now?

Friday, 14 August 2020

In the wake of George Floyd’s murder in Minneapolis, protests against violence towards black people erupted across the United States and internationally. New Zealand’s capital saw its biggest march in a decade, with an estimated 20,000 taking to the streets.

But in the months since, such protests have petered out in New Zealand. The #BlackLivesMatter hashtag is no longer trending. People who posted black squares on Instagram in apparent support of the movement have gone silent.

Follow-up events in Wellington returned small crowds in their dozens – not the tens of thousands as before. Activists hope this means the mahi to help dismantle structures that enable and facilitate murders like Floyd’s is under way.

But it has also brought about fears of people showing up for the sake of showing up – for a social media photo, or to appear supportive but not be prepared to do anything when confronted with actual racism.

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“If the organisers [of these events] go from feeling like they’re seen, to feeling like they're invisible again, then we’re not doing the work,” says Dr Emalani Case, a lecturer in Pacific studies at Victoria University of Wellington.

Case says it’s important people keep showing up, having conversations, and asking what they can do to help improve situations. “If we’re just marching for the sake of marching, if there’s no real change after that, then what's it for? … We all have a stake in this.”

She says that means all lives; all voices. Case, born in Hawaii, spoke at Wellington’s historic march. The event was organised by young black people – no small feat, but one that sent an important message that those who stand to be most affected by change are no longer willing to accept the status quo.

It’s for that reason Case felt unsure whether she was the right person to be speaking. Microphone in hand, she’d later lock eyes with a young person in the crowd, who created a symbol in the palm of their hand to represent support of a mountain in Hawaii – one which Case recognised.

That connection of movements is what she says is the reason she was asked to speak in the first place.

“In order to be here for the movement, we need to release our own fears and doubts. We are speaking about something so much bigger than all of us … we all have the responsibility to do the work.”

But being a good ally doesn’t just mean putting your voice and body physically out for the movement in marches, activists say. Case says not all contributions and work will be Instagram-worthy, which could explain the drop-off in content.

“Most of the hard work takes place at home with our families, with ourselves … We need to hold our employers to certain standards, demand they commit to being anti-racist.”

There have been racially motivated murders of black people since Floyd. Case says if people aren’t surprised and heartbroken at each mention, that too is something which needs questioning.

Social media has a part to play in the here-today, gone-tomorrow campaigns that seem to thrive online but can cause people to lose sight of longevity, experts say. Think Je Suis Charlie, which saw many online users post tricoloured images to their profiles.

Despite its origins in the murders of 12 people at French magazine Charlie Hebdo, the movement has barely been mentioned in media in recent years, despite journalists remaining persecuted and even murdered for doing their jobs.

Activists seem more optimistic about the future of Black Lives Matter, as long as action towards eradicating systemic racism keeps happening.

Guled Mire, a community advocate who worked with organisers of the Wellington march, says continuing to equip those people with the tools they need to drive change is paramount in sustaining the movement.

“It gives me hope [to see the young people]. I’ve become a very cynical person, involved in these sorts of things for years now. I've been disheartened at the slow place of change … for years having issues dismissed, experiences not acknowledged.

“I’m exhausted in those efforts. To see young people so energised and taking a stand, showing fresh leadership is heartening … It’s for young people to drive, create and shape a better world they found themselves in.”

In New Zealand, black people often feel invisible to wider society, as before the 1990s migration of people of African descent was not as big a phenomenon as it is now, Mire says.

But government reports have consistently highlighted problems of institutional racism in Aotearoa, from ongoing Treaty claims and land confiscations to racial profiling of Māori and Pasifika by police, and inequity in the health, education and justice systems. Last year, New Zealand had its first racially motivated terrorist attack.

In this sense, Mire says the movement is a societal one – not just one for our politicians to deal with. “We need tangible action, meaningful change. And we need it now … we can’t let things get worse.”

The articulation of racism is different in New Zealand than it is in America, says Dr Ping-Ann Addo, associate professor of anthropology at the University of Massachusetts.

The sometimes-problematic “Where are you from?” question is something Addo says, if asked respectfully, can also open up valuable dialogue about heritage.

If there is no discussion for fear of seeming intrusive, people may base assumptions of a certain group on what they look and sound like, which she says is equally unfair.

“Neither one gives people space for voice. People need to be agents of how others are going to see them. That’s why black protest matters. Teaching matters … What is important for black lives mattering is that black lives get listened to, stories get told and believed.”

There is both commonality and diversity in experiences between people of colour, which the recent movement has highlighted, she says.

Navigating that space between Māori, Pasifika and African people is something Kassie Hartendorp, community organiser with ActionStation, says was crucial to the success of the Wellington march.

While she says it was important the event was led by young black people primarily, the recognition of colonisation of Māori and Pasifika cemented solidarity between the communities – something which hasn’t always happened due to being “pitted against each other”.

“Māori are taught that migrants are here to steal their jobs, homes … migrants of colour are often told Māori are lazy and haven’t got over the past … [or that] they’re criminals.

“Coming together in unity … It was a real proud moment to be able to be in solidarity.”

New Zealand being built on the back of violence still hasn’t been adequately addressed, Hartendorp says. And without that, “there is no healing, there is no real restitution, there is no giving back. This harm continues every generation”.

She says it isn’t up to the organisers themselves to drive change – “they're real young people who have everyday problems”. Pākehā must pick up slack to address the big-picture systems which have historically catered to and reflected white experiences.

Tammie Crystal, who helped organise a Black Trans Lives Matter march, says it’s important black queer, non-binary and trans voices are not forgotten, either. “Black Lives Matter has to include all types of black-identifying person … Everyone’s grievances deserve respect, and warrant their own spaces to be talked about.”

She says it’s not about the movement being “hijacked”, but rather offers the view that its momentum has been used as an organising tool for different groups to amplify their own fights and grievances.

Chinwe Akomah organised the Black Trans Lives Matter march with Crystal, and says if allies fail to call out and challenge racism and bias, there’s a chance Christchurch will not be the last terror-related attack in New Zealand.

“I do see this growing, emboldened behaviour from racists and white supremacists who have no fear of justice. They’re emboldened to carry out heinous acts against people of colour … that scares me so much … We like to think of New Zealand as a lovely safe country, but we have problems.”

She says police need better cultural competence training with specific, targeted funding put forward. She also wants hate crime legislation to protect vulnerable minority communities, and for schools to abandon outdated policies on “appropriate” hairstyles.

Her advice is to vote, and write to and lobby ministers and MPs on issues. “Real action comes when you talk to decision-makers.”

Dr Camille Nakhid, associate professor at Auckland University of Technology, says transformation of education, justice and health systems is key – particularly having more Māori and Pasifika doctors, and the ending of class streaming in schools so that indigenous students are not grouped together.

The issue of land ownership also has to be addressed urgently, she says. “This is [a] Māori country … when we say this land belongs to Māori but still hold onto it, that's never going to work.”

The nation’s young people give Nakhid hope – “they want to live in a different world” – but even she does not know how long the movement will go on before those people get tired, too.

“All [people in power] have to do is bide their time … people get burnt out and the status quo resumes.”

Solidarity, then, may be the key to sustained change. Case says when people view the movement as distant, it’s easy to ignore the issues.

“What makes it so complex is if somebody says it isn’t distant. That racism exists right here, in our region, our country. … solidarity becomes something we can work at. … That’s so much harder because it requires work …”