Should I be an ‘Ally’ to Black People? # 197. 08/04/2025

Out of Many, One People.

Welcome. Because of the Easter period and holidays the next blog will be on Tuesday, May 13^th. Meanwhile a more reflective piece considering our personal attitudes.

Should I be an ‘Ally’ to Black People?

The idea that white people should be black people’s ‘allies’ hit the national news in March last year when North Face, the outdoor goods retailer, offered a discount to those who completed their ‘Allyship’ course on countering racial injustice.

The question of whether white people should identify themselves as allies of black people in their struggle for justice is one of those ‘damned if you do, damned if you don’t’ issues that can face white people. (Another example: should I or shouldn’t I be advocating that African governments ought to be democratic?). If I do not come forward as an ally, then ‘if you are not part of the solution, you are part of the problem’, ‘silence is violence’, and am I walking by on the other side? If I do come forward as an ally, then am I a ‘White Saviour’, graciously offering my support to suffering black people?

On balance I choose not to come forward as an ‘ally’ of black people. I give the reasoning below, but also with the rider that this doesn’t mean that all is well and that white people can just sit back.

Why I am not an ‘ally’.

1. Being an ally is performative.

Living in a multi-racial society means living in relationships. Setting up being an ally as front and centre in how I relate to other ethnicities, especially black people, immediately distorts the relationship. It risks inauthenticity. The other person becomes part of my project. How I understand, respond to or value a fellow human is skewed from the start by a feeling of how I ought to behave. Right from the start there is an element of moral virtue in our relationship – the more so that since the ‘racial reckoning of 2020 the salience of race and racism in our society has increased dramatically. The result is that how I respond to a black person becomes a moral test of my decency, perhaps not entirely unlike how I respond to a charitable appeal. My standing as a good person is on the line.

Just as an unfortunate but unavoidable consequence of affirmative action policies is that they put a question mark against the appointments and achievements of all black people through creating the suspicion that they only received the accolade because of their ethnicity (‘he’s a DEI hire’), so at a personal level by setting myself up as an ‘ally’ of black people the result is that all of my relationships with black people are called into question. Just as it is unfortunate when senior black people claim that they are still not regarded as equals by their colleagues, because the unavoidable taint over the reasons for their selection corrupts a fair assessment of their capabilities, so too as an ‘ally’ all of my relationships bear the possibility that I am simply seeking to demonstrate my moral worth rather than have a genuine respect, affection or love for the person.

It is right that when I relate to someone who is racially different from me then I need to be alert to all the issues, questions and backgrounds that their appearance might point me to. Their ‘race’ - and all the prejudices, rejections and pain that will certainly in some measure have gone along with it - needs to be an element built into my awareness of the relationship, but that is only a subsidiary element in my relationship to that person as they are. All relationships are shaped by a variety of affinities, shared experiences, and the indefinable qualities that do or do not cause relationships to develop, but if I feel that I have a moral, or indeed political obligation in the relationship then it becomes demeaning and disrespectful.

That is, relationships are simply personal and should always be marked by respecting and valuing the other person. Becoming an ally to black people inevitably brings a performatve element into the relationship. There is a commitment outside of the relationship which unavoidably makes it inauthentic.

2. Being an ally is presumptuous.

At last year’s Democrat Convention in the United States a newspaper showed a picture of a white woman wearing a tee shirt bearing the slogan ‘Defund the Police’ and with the outline of four black figures. Presumably she considered herself their ally. Yet a result of the reduced police presence in black communities since the death of George Floyd has been a 29% increase in black homicides. Arguably, the policies proposed by the woman in the tee shirt caused the deaths of black people. With allies like this who needs enemies!

Such a presumption to speak for black people is castigated by Professor Glenn Loury: ‘Last month, President Biden delivered the commencement address at Morehouse College’s graduation. . . If you derived all you knew of America only from that speech, you would think it was a racist hellscape where black men are daily gunned down in the street by cops, and those who survive are barred from employment due to the colour of their skin. Aside from lip service paid to Martin Luther King Jr. and Richard Coulter, a former slave and one of Morehouse’s founders, barely any mention is made of the work that black people in this country have done to better their own lives, to elevate themselves and their families, and to contribute to the nation. We’re led to believe that only Joe Biden and his promises can save us from the country that he has helped govern for the last fifty-odd years. Morehouse is one of the most prestigious Historically Black Colleges & Universities (HBCUs) in the nation. The young men in that audience worked hard to earn their seats, and their commencement speaker ought to have honoured their achievement’ (The Glenn Show 11/06/2024).

As regards Britain, Joe Aldred writes: ‘An ally in the Black British context is one who is positioned to help or support in their effort to get a fair share of the available resources and discover ways of making an effective contribution’ but goes on to warn that ‘Allyship that denies, supplants or replaces black British agency is to be rejected in favour only of allies who recognise and honour the absolute humanity and agency of the Black British person or group concerned. In my view, much of the debate about ‘white allyship’ simply replaces one form of denial of black humanity in the form of racism with another form of denial, namely patronising Euro-saviourism with little or no role for Black British agency’ (‘Flourishing in Babylon’ p 136/7).

It is hard to resist the sense that there is something a little self-important in white people designating themselves as allies of black people. Yes, there are times and ways in which we can make positive contributions but to exalt that into a named and specified role is to over-weight the balance of what white people can contribute. Do white people have to feature in every story rather than foregrounding the achievements and opportunities that black people face.

3. Being an ally is ‘political’s .

Not, of course, that there is anything wrong with being political. But being political means taking sides. There are always choices. Outsiders, therefore, ought to be cautious when it comes to taking sides when it comes to issues facing black people. Which side? The reality is that ‘allyship’ assumes that there is a default position on ‘race’, which is obvious and morally virtuous, and therefore one that all sympathetically inclined white allies ought to take without question. The fewer direct encounters that someone was had with black people, and the more it is simply one issue amongst a whole lot of pressures taking greater prominence in their lives, then the more danger that a person (such as someone filling in the North Face form on the run) will opt for well-known, widely publicised, dramatically polarised understandings of the issue. When Reni Eddo-Lodge throws down her ‘kick-ass’ attack ‘Why I am no longer talking to White People about Race’ then I can show I am tough enough to take her challenge and buy the book!

Understandings where phrases with a sheen of sociological learning such as ‘institutional’ or ‘systemic’ racism carry the day without serious interrogation. But they do need interrogation. They have validity but only if there is some attempt to spell out the processes by which institutions or systems do in fact disadvantage black people. Without that attempt, as is often the case, the phrase is empty of content. With reference to his Report, Lord Tony Sewell has written ‘The reason we avoided directly using the term institutional racism is that no one was clear what it meant. It seemed to be a kind of religious chant that would be used to magically condemn a person or institution’ (The Times 03/04/2025).

Assuming that there is just one morally correct black political stance that I ought to align with is inaccurate and indeed patronising. No one would ever dream that there is just one correct ‘white’ stance; we recognise and value diversity of opinion. By contrast to take black political thinking or theological understanding as monolithic (which is often the fate of ‘black theology’ in white hands) means not taking black people and the complexity of their experience and thinking seriously. They become an undifferentiated ‘them’, and thereby less fully human.

Responses to the Sewell Report underlined starkly the differences of understanding of race and racism in Britain held by black people. Whilst on its publication the Report produced howls of indignation, including from some Christian leaders who hadn’t read it, over time the validity of the Report’s main thrust – that racism is only one factor in disadvantaging black people, not the whole story – is increasingly recognised. Nonetheless the bulk of progressive anti-racism, typified in the Runnymede Trust’s response, is to hold on the ‘orthodox’ position that racism is the only issue to talk about. Too often would-be white ‘allies’, especially since the death of George Floyd, accept this. So scrutiny weakens in seeking to appoint black people to leading positions, or inviting black speakers, or publishing books. The pressure to see ourselves as beneficent allies pushes us towards poor judgements. On such a false basis Rock music critics chose Aretha Franklin’s ‘Respect’ as the best record ever made.

I refuse to ally with that understanding of how race functions in our ‘polis’. I value my ‘western’ right to private judgement – the product of both Enlightenment and Christian emphases (albeit recognising the social ills that such individualism has generated). So I will not throw in my lot with the prevalent, progressive understanding of racism that currently holds the field. I trust myself that giving qualified support to black dissenters such as, in this country Tony Sewell or the Equiano Project, and in the USA Glenn Loury or Thomas Sowell, is the most honest response, and therefore one that seeks to honour the achievements and potential of black people, rather than merely giving token assent to an unchallenged party line. Behind ‘allyship’ is the assumption that race is simply a two-sides conflict and that we should support the right side. That understanding has less and less traction in our society. A more complex situation calls for a less simple response.

Not Allies, but . . .

Given the above, in turning down the prospect of being an ally to black people the danger then becomes that white people heave a sigh of relief, believe the matter is sorted, and get on with life. But such cheerful aplomb is unwarranted. Racism exists. Racial insults can still happen, micro-aggressions still continue, inferior services are still offered, fair appointments still not offered.

‘Do the Work’ is a phrase that has become widely used in anti-racist thought. It rightly gets white people to look at themselves and how we need to change. If we have grown up with a world map marked red because of the spread of the British Empire then we can easily absorb racial hubris. If we have grown up secure in our cultural identity – shared with most of our peers, then we can be insensitive to the fragilty and insecurity felt by others. If the particular characteristics nurtured and valued by our culture prevail, then our eyes can fail to spot characteristics nurtured in other cultures that we are in need of. In all these ways we can imbibe an outlook and attitudes which distance us from people with very different histories, sufferings and cultures. ‘Doing the work’ is an ongoing and never-ending project of recognising and changing those things in ourselves which mean that we diminish or misunderstand other peoples.

I don’t ‘vow to thee my country’. Rightly we thank God for the family and the nation that nurtured us. But not without ever asking questions. Our tendency to defend ourselves from negative assessments can extend out in concentric circles to being over-sensitive to criticism or rebuke of our national and cultural identities. We bridle at criticism of Britain. Yet there is much that deserves thorough criticism, most obviously slavery in the Caribbean, but also violence and gross injustice in imperial expansion, racist rejection of immigrants, and also continuing into the present our collusion and still weak response to global warming. Our experience of the grace of God in our forgiveness ought to enable us to be the more ready to also acknowledge areas of our national life and history for which we should repent. As ineluctably we become more and more world citizens as well as citizens of an ethnically diverse society, so too we need increasingly responsive consciences to the wrongs that we commit or are party to. If we don’t blindly commit ourselves to ‘allyship’, nor should we be blindly committed to national pride or always allying with fellow whites.

If, then, ‘allyship’ is an inappropriately blanket response to the injustices experienced by black people, there are nonetheless many other important nuances and complexities to attend to in how we recognise and respond to our participation in racial injustice.

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Add Ons.

‘Taste of Heaven Intercultural Worship Festival’ is being held on Saturday May 24^thfrom 11am to 8pm in Coventry Cathedral and Grounds, with live worship, practical workshops, speakers, and ‘culturally diverse street food’. Full details from interculturalchurches.org/events.

Saka, Rashford, Bellingham – A Reflection.

(Trigger warning: this is a football related reflection).

As Thomas Tuchel ponders possible permutations from England’s encouragingly talented football squad, Bukayo Sako, Marcus Rashford and Jude Bellingham will all be in contention: all of them talented, all of them ‘black’. They also set up some interesting contrasts. As a poster boy for ‘immigrant optimism’ Bukayo Saka is perfect. Born in 2001 he is the product of Britain’s booming Yoruba Nigerian population. He is fulsome in his tribute to his father: ‘He is a massive inspiration for me from when I was young. He always kept me grounded, kept me humble’. Parental discipline and encouragement meant that he still reads the Bible every night, and alongside joining Arsenal’s academy aged 8 he also got four A* and four A s at GCSE, reputedly more than the rest of the England squad combined. His career at Arsenal has been an upward trajectory of success marked only by injuries.

Marcus Rashford, born in 1997, was the youngest of five children, brought up by a single mother of Caribbean background. His brother has lamented on the struggles of growing up without a father. He joined Manchester united aged 7, made his England debut (and scored) aged 18. He came to wider prominence in lobbying on the issue of child poverty and became an MBE. But his footballing career has stuttered. As well as suffering from injuries he was rebuked in January 2024 for disciplinary reasons, left out of the England squad that summer, and after further troubles with his manager at Manchester was loaned to Aston Villa, where his career has re-blossomed and he has been called back into the England squad.

The contrasts of Sako’s and Rashford’s stories invite many comparisons – fathering and the insecurities of growing up without a father, of the impact of Nigerian and Caribbean backgrounds, of concern for wider issues than football. Despite common footballing gifts they point to different outcomes.

If their contrasts point to the diversity of black life in Britain, then Jude Bellingham (born 2003) raises the wider and growing question of what ‘black British’ means. His faither is white and was a sergeant in the police force until 2022. He has clearly taken a close interest in the development in the footballing careers of both his sons – Jude played for Birmingham aged just 16, and for England at 17. He is certainly one of the most highly rated players in Europe. ‘He is not lacking in self-confidence’ was the very dry comment of an England under-17 contemporary. His mother is of Caribbean background and looked after her son during his three years playing in Germany, whilst the father looked after the other son playing for Sunderland.

In what sense, apart from complexion, is Jude Bellingham ‘black’? The question will become increasingly prominent. 60% of African Caribbean mothers have children by fathers who are not African Caribbean. Many of them will still see themselves as having a meaningful ‘Black British’ identity; but for many others, including Bellingham himself I suspect, questions around ethnic identity will have less and less meaning.