Believing in Black knowing and standing in Black power

Disclaimer: Readers be aware this article mentions names of First Nations people who have passed away.

‘As the objects of constant scrutiny Aboriginal bodies whether they are absent or present are racially marked as being inferior, pathological and different. Texts produced by Aboriginal women scholars signify a racialised and gendered body that functions discursively, as an immediacy of racism in the form of white patriarchal epistemic violence.”
–  Aileen Moreton-Robinson, 2011

As a Yuggera woman and social worker, my life and my work has been shaped by my relationship to staunch Black people. At the same time, I have felt the full brunt of colonial epistemic violence (which Aunty Rosalie Kunoth-Monks called out). I was  forced to reconcile what Black historian and activist WEB Dubois would call, “warring ideals”  at QUT Carumba Institute’s writing retreat held on Wop-pa (Great Keppel Island) as part of QUT’s undergraduate research experience scheme. 

Initially, embarking on this retreat I held strong assumptions of not being ‘good’ enough to take part in this program. In fact, on the first night of the retreat, I cried after hearing how articulate everyone else was. I felt as if I didn’t belong, despite the warm Welcome to Country from Dr Harry Van Issum as a Traditional Owner and scholar. However, by the end of the retreat I was able to shake off those harmful thought patterns to fully appreciate the power and possibilities of Black knowing – something which I not only possessed but embodied. 

For a long time, before coming to university, I hated most parts of who I am. I didn’t like standing out, I didn’t like that I was different. I hated being darker than everyone else and I hated having curly hair. For a long time, I rejected the part of me that was Black. This deep-rooted insecurity has consumed me for my whole life. In year 12, I became more aware of what was happening around the world, and I became fed up with pretending  I was someone I was not. I got tired of pretending  I didn’t care about social issues and decided to stop hating myself.

Following in the footsteps of my Black mother, I elected to study social work at QUT and currently work as a social worker in the area of domestic violence.  In my work and studies I can see quite clearly the workings of “white patriarchal epistemic violence” and its impact on Black family structures. White social workers too easily construct Indigenous men as perpetrators of violence, yet we know that Indigenous men are suffering  the ongoing impacts of colonial violence, as other genders do. The binary language that distinguishes victims/survivors from perpetrators, is itself a form of violence in its refusal to account for the ways in which perpetrators have and continue to be victims of violence – of colonisation, misogyny, toxic masculinity and intergenerational trauma. 

It pains me to see the number of cases involving Indigenous families and white social workers’ refusal to understand the broader historical, political, economic, social and cultural conditions in which violence is produced.  Ann Curthoys outlines the harmful nature of using victim-perpetrator binaries when considering domestic violence within Indigenous families. She also emphasises the importance of understanding the historical and cultural context of family violence in our communities. Trauma informed programs such as Strong Women Talking, led by Butchalla and Garrawa woman Sono Leone, aims to “educate, equip and empower” Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander women who have experienced domestic and family violence. The women are educated about the cycle of violence and the different ways it can manifest, equipped with tools and strategies to heal from their trauma and finally they are empowered through revelation of their self worth and power. More programs such as these are needed to address the root problem of intergenerational trauma. 

Within my discipline of social work, I have found there is a resistance to understanding the nature of intergenerational trauma, in the ways that we do. For instance, Uncle Graham Brady at the writing retreat spoke so powerfully of how our blood holds the trauma of our ancestors noting that this intergenerational trauma is within us. Rather than a problem, it is this that enables us to have a better understanding of the social issues within our communities.  On reflection, despite what I know and feel, I recognise that in my classes at uni, I am reluctant to speak up because I think that I do not articulate myself as well as others. At work, I think of myself as too young and inexperienced and that “I must be wrong” when people at work think differently to me. 

So I stay silent. 

In the past, when I have been outspoken, I experienced rejection from those around me, which scared me. As someone who enjoys connection and connecting to people, I was afraid of feeling isolated and alone and as such I found myself doing anything I could to remain agreeable to the people around me. I would keep myself small and stay quiet, trying to not take up too much space, if any at all. 

This is a violence that few seem to speak of – of always deeming oneself as unworthy of existing or belonging.    

It would be Wakka Wakka and South Sea Islander social worker and academic Kevin Yow Yeh who would insist that I was worthy of participating in the Carumba Institute undergraduate research experience. If it weren’t for him, I would not have participated. All it took was one person to see my capabilities to alter my perspective of my power.  

The Carumba Institute retreat created time and space to think more deeply about the nature and function of power. Throughout my life, I have assumed power to be a commodity, something to be given and taken away. This understanding has meant that I have seen myself at times as powerless, without agency until someone bestows power (or recognition) upon me. 

Professor Chelsea Watego speaks of Black power differently;  power is something that we hold and embody as Blackfullas. My Black ways of knowing and practicing social work, in its difference are valuable and are an enactment of Black power. Even in spaces where I am often deemed the youngest and “most inexperienced,” I have come to believe that being Black is powerful, rather than powerless. 

Standing in Black power, I am more comfortable with people who refuse or reject my knowing. I can challenge my need for external validation, my need to be liked by everyone (especially white people) and see those who refuse my knowing as people who I do not need in my life. Instead, I now surround myself with people who acknowledge all parts of me. 

Standing in Black power means taking up space and being comfortable with the conflict that such a stance presents, and not cowering from the fight.  I see the fight as inevitable in asserting Black knowing and Black power. 

Standing in Black power is a rejection of the violence of silencing that Spivak speaks of in her seminal text “Can the Sub-altern Speak?”.  As such, I am more outspoken and I am no longer afraid to be ‘wrong’ because in my Black knowing, I have come to realise that it is the systems and structures that are wrong, not me.  I have come to see and believe that Black Knowing is the answer to epistemic violence made possible by surrounding myself with other Blackfullas who uphold the same values. 

This journey of self-love and re-discovery has been hard. I am still working on being confident in my Black self, but through immersing myself into my culture more and forcing myself out of my comfort zone, I have become energised by the ongoing work of contesting the epistemic violence that seeks to penetrate our minds in the same way it has penetrated the profession in which I work and study. 

It is this work that I know will make a most meaningful material difference to our people, our families and our communities.