DON’T SEE MY COLOUR... SEE ME

Solomon Gwatidzo is a national award winning forensic community nurse. He talks openly to Rachel Robinson about what Black History Month means to him.

Solomon Gwatidzo recalls the day his teenage son’s teacher called with news he dreaded.

“He said, ‘Your son has experienced a racist incident from another pupil’. I was so sad. What had happened to me throughout my life was happening to my son. Then I discovered it had been reported not by him, but by his white friend. When I asked my son why he hadn’t told anyone, he said: ‘I didn’t want to make a fuss’.

“That’s one story, but there are so many others. I feel Black History Month is a time to bring these stories together in one platform so people can see, and maybe say ‘hang on, this is just not one isolated incident’.

“Sometimes we don’t tell our stories because of the repercussions. We worry about being ostracised for pointing it out and we don’t want the people around us to be walking on eggshells either – but that doesn’t mean racism’s not happening.

“We have made significant strides. Premiership footballers taking the knee because of the murder of George Floyd has brought racism into the public eye. More people are listening, feeling more comfortable about having conversations. Young people are better at calling out racism. But none of that is enough, because we’re still talking about it and it’s still happening.”

For Solomon, it’s small things that symbolise there’s still a way to go. “I get frustrated when people shorten someone’s name, or create a nickname, just because it’s difficult to pronounce.

“My youngest son asked if we could shorten his name because his teacher couldn’t pronounce his full name. I said ‘No, that’s your name, I’m not changing your name’. It might seem a minor thing, but it can feel demeaning. If sports commentators can try to say names of players, then so should we.

“Being overlooked during conversations or debates where you have expertise or knowledge can have the same impact on someone. You feel bypassed – and it happens a lot.”

NHS staff networks and peer mentoring programmes are a great support says Solomon, but only if staff are given dedicated time to be involved and concerns acted upon.

Real change, he feels, can only come from the top. “In 2020 a quarter of NHS workers were from minority backgrounds, yet the percentage of people within positions of influence, at board or corporate level, which can change perceptions, is disproportionate.”

Walking in someone’s shoes is the only way to fully appreciate the impact of racist words or actions, says Solomon. “My white counterpart can tell the tale about something that they’ve seen. I can tell it from first hand experience.”

His resilience has often seen him through tough times. He recalls during his early days, being racially abused by a patient who refused him as their named nurse because of his colour.

“My colleagues tried to protect me by asking if I wanted to stop being his named nurse, but I thought ‘The same thing could happen with someone else? Am I going to do this every time I’m racially abused’? I continued being his named nurse and after a while we really got along well together.”

His biggest wish for this year’s Black History Month?

“It’s especially important to have coaches and mentors in place for people being brought into the UK and the NHS from different backgrounds, from different countries, to a society that’s alien to them.”

“Locally, we need to go into areas where black people live, look at their perceptions of us as an employer, and help them overcome the challenges they might have in order to work for Mersey Care.”

“I wish for anyone who reads this to feel empowered to speak out against prejudice or injustice and reach out for help. At present I’ve got supportive colleagues; I feel included now. But I think I speak on behalf of many black people when I say, ‘don’t see my colour…see me.”

I came to England from Zimbabwe in 2001 to visit friends. I was in my early 20s with no ties and I wanted to see what life was like here. Lo and behold I stayed, trained as a mental health nurse, married, and had three sons!

My parents weren’t happy at my career decision. Historically in Zimbabwe, nursing was viewed as a women’s profession. But I knew mental health nursing was for me. We spend a lot of time talking to our patients –I like to talk!

I trained at Edge Hill University and came straight to work at Mersey Care, first in a hospital and then in the community.

My sons are now 10, 15 and 17. It’s hard, as a parent you still expect those family moments where you sit down and watch telly together, but more and more they’re doing their own thing.

My wife is a nurse too, in the neonatal intensive care unit at Liverpool Women’s Hospital; but none of my sons want to be nurses. My eldest wants to study music, my

second son plans to be a chef. I tell them they can do anything that they want to do, but I remind them they may have to work twice as hard to get to the same place as others.

I look to inspirational people in the world, like Barack Obama – he keeps talking about racism, keeps challenging perceptions and norms and structures. He’s not afraid to upset the apple cart. I want my sons to be able to walk into a room, a supermarket, a restaurant and not have to think that people may be looking at the colour of their skin.

To win my award was immense and quite emotional – I couldn’t stop smiling! I certainly didn’t go into nursing thinking ‘I want to be recognised for what I’m doing’, but to get that recognition as a black person is another story to be told.”

To win my award was immense and quite emotional.