Race doesn’t really exist for you because it has never been a barrier. Black folks don’t have that choice.1
(Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Americanah, 2013: 46)
I am a Black Indian man who was adopted by White British parents as an infant. I grew up, was educated and now live and work in a White-dominated British society. In my professional life I am a social worker, a systemic psychotherapist and supervisor, working in a local government children’s services department in London. For me, “race” has always existed, in the way that I think about myself, my relationships, where I can go out to eat and drink, where I holiday, where I live. For those with whom I come to be in relationship, in whatever context, my “race” constructs for them ideas about who I am, and what characteristics I might have, which profoundly inÀuences the way in which they relate to me. “Race” is an inescapable reality.