Double exposure: Jonathan Doering starts a conversation about race

‘Then we heard the distant thunder of tragedy.’

Covid lockdown was a strange time for everyone, but my family and I were lucky. My wife and I had jobs that were manageable from home, our son was well-provided with schoolwork, and we were living in a beautiful part of South Yorkshire. Our living-room window looked out over the village cemetery, full of trees, with a dramatic range of hills in the distance. The odd cat prowled about, or lay with Sphinx-like patience along the top of a gravestone.

Our lives settled into a comfortable rhythm of, first, work, then maybe a hot drink in the garden, more work, and a walk around the rural estate we had on our doorstep. My Meeting kept contact via Zoom and telephone, and we soon got the hang of online worship. I joined from our living room, with the cemetery and trees in the background. Meanwhile, reports started to come in of dolphins being sighted for the first time in living memory in Venice’s Grand Canal; air pollution radically dropped; birds started to be seen and heard with increasing frequency in public spaces.

Yes, the pandemic was frightening and horrible, but we had re-organised our lives as safely and comfortably as possible, to ride it out. Of course, there was the constant nagging awareness that so many people could batten down their hatches because lots of others were not doing so. Doctors and nurses, police officers and paramedics, drivers and delivery workers, and many others, had to observe ‘the new normal’ protocols, and hope for the best, while keeping the show on the road.

Then we heard the distant thunder of tragedy. George Floyd, an unarmed black man, died at the hands of four Minnesota police officers, after being reported for trying to pass a forged twenty-dollar bill. George Floyd’s horrifying final moments were recorded by outraged citizens and, thanks to social media, beamed around the world repeatedly. This broke through the glass wall of ignorance and indifference, which on other occasions may have muffled the nauseating details for those of us relatively insulated from the harsh daily truths faced by some of our friends, neighbours, and partners.

As I reflected on my own urge to take some kind of action, I realised that I needed to do something that came naturally to me: to write something in response. But what? I was a novice in this area and knew it, so an interview with someone with expertise seemed to be advisable. The question then was: who?

Talking my seedling plan over with fellow students at Woodbrooke, one suggested that I reach out to Nim Njuguna, a veteran activist, chaplain, and consultant, as well as a speaker and writer known to many readers of the Friend. On the phone, I unveiled my acorn: an in-depth interview with Nim, who could speak with confidence about the situation around racism and racial justice in Britain today. After listening politely, Nim unveiled his oak: a project where we would interview each other about our thoughts, feelings, and responses to the current situation. After all, a conventional interview would place me safely in the wings, with Nim clearly on stage and speaking about and analysing his experiences and thoughts. On the other hand, a co-interview would allow us both space to think and speak, and to take responsibility.

Quakerism calls us to do much listening. In my experience, this generally leads to learning. This project, which would mean both participants exposing aspects of their inner lives, was a new, edgier version of this.

Nevertheless, the process was Covid-comfortable. We Zoomed each week as we worked through mutually-agreed questions. I became familiar with the painting on the wall in Nim’s Ruislip living room, just as he came to recognise the wall mirror in my Barnsley dining room. We considered a variety of topics and issues: historic guilt and allyship; cultural touchstones and inspirational figures; effective approaches to the situation; and maintaining momentum for positive change.

As we talked, we inevitably got to know each other – and ourselves – a little better. As the dialogue developed, it occurred to us that we might have the makings of a book, possibly a frame for others interested in exploring this kind of dialogue. Meeting each other’s minds, if it is to be done honestly and fully, takes time and commitment, but repays the effort with the deepening of sympathy into both sweet and sharp empathy. Listening is vital – to the other person, to yourself, and to the Inner Light. Then, within that penetrating glow, insight and understanding will come as well as words, and we can venture forward in the spirit of exciting enquiry. We also added a series of worksheets, as a further support to readers who might use this book as a jumping-off point in their own racial justice journey.

The only true direction is forwards, although forwards often will not follow a straight, obvious line. Our dialogues ranged back and forth over a wide and deep hinterland. There were moments of revelation and discomfort, but always an open-minded and open-hearted search for the essential truth.

It’s now more than two years since Nim and I first made contact. I have been struck again and again by his generosity and understanding. Nim and his wife Liz have now moved close to his roots in Nakuru, Kenya, and our book is edging towards publication.

When I felt the first wave of outrage about what had been done to George Floyd, I knew instinctively that I had to do something. As Nim and I worked together, I came to understand that this could not be a one-off action to make myself feel better. It was something that required more time, thought and effort. I also came to see more clearly how ethnicity lies like a strand in a web, connecting with so many other identities and experiences: dis/ability, sexuality, sex, gender identity, class, religion… these all intersect, creating the ground for prejudice in some cases – and opportunities and enrichment in others.

There are times when these issues can seem so complex as to be overwhelming: reparations, public monuments and systemic prejudice all cry out for attention. But ultimately they are all interconnected. You can’t support racial justice without wanting sexual and gender equality, or proper access for disabled people, and so on. No single person can fully address all of these issues, but making our own small contribution, while not losing our sensitivity to the bigger picture, is part of the beautiful challenge. We hope that Enlarging the Tent is a positive response.

Enlarging the Tent: Two Quakers in dialogue about racial justice, written with Nim Njuguna, will be published in December.

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