'On Being Brown' - delivered by Indira Naidoo at the Sydney Writers Festival May 2016
In a country with one of the highest skin cancer rates in the world, where 2,000 Australians die from skin melanomas each year, where 750,000 people are treated for skin cancers annually, why is having a tan still so socially desirable? Indira Naidoo shares her experiences of growing up in Australia with a genetically-enhanced Bondi tan, and asks what our obsession with brown skin says about our ideas of beauty, health, acceptance and belonging.
We had become ‘A Sunburnt Country’ in a way Dorothy McKellar could not have imagined.
Thank you.
In a country with one of the highest skin cancer rates in the world, where 2,000 Australians die from skin melanomas each year, where 750,000 people are treated for skin cancers annually, why is having a tan still so socially desirable? Indira Naidoo shares her experiences of growing up in Australia with a genetically-enhanced Bondi tan, and asks what our obsession with brown skin says about our ideas of beauty, health, acceptance and belonging.
The portrait
of me on the stage was painted by Sydney artist and clothes designer Alicia
Hollen for the 2014 Archibald Prize.
While it wasn’t
selected as a finalist, I love
this painting because of the unusual creative technique Alicia has used. She
spent several months sorting through dozens of fashion magazines and cutting
out photographic images of skin of every colour and hue.
Alicia then glued these ‘skin squares’ onto her canvas to create a collage
effect. She then carefully painted over each intricate, individual piece of
paper for the final portrait of me.
So my skin is
actually a composite of the skin
of hundreds of others.
(And if you
were wondering, this artwork has already been snapped up by a collector who
obviously doesn’t mind having a huge painting of my head in their home.)
I thought
this painting would provide an interesting back drop for our discussion today
about skin colour.
We all know
the vital role our skin plays in our well-being – it’s the largest organ in our
body, it tightly wraps our blood vessels and muscles to our skeleton, it
regulates our heating and cooling, it protects us from infections and disease.
It is
through our skin that we interact with the outside world – and the outside
world interacts with us.
Our skin has
a vast network of sensory receptors just below its surface particularly on our
lips and on our fingertips – and in a few
other places as well.
We use our
skin to explore and probe.
It’s why we
like our skin to be touched. It’s why we like touching the skin of others.
Skin is
mesmerising; it’s alluring, it’s delicious. And it comes in the most amazing
array of tones and blushes.
Hands up
those who like the colour of their skin?
A show of
hands from those who aren’t so fond of the
colour of their skin?
And hands up
those who couldn’t give a toss what their skin colour is?
To
experience this ‘skin appeal’, can I
ask you to participate in a little exercise for me?
Please turn
to the person sitting next to you, and if they say it’s ok, touch the skin on
the back of their hand with
your fingertips. A gentle
stroke - not a grope! So what was
that like? You’ve just begun the first stage of foreplay you know!
As pleasant
as skin feels to touch, its skin’s
cosmetic value that we’re most
obsessed with.
Skin has
become a cultural marker.
We’ve
elevated its folds and wrinkles, freckles and blemishes to symbolise our health,
our wealth, our social status, our
attractiveness.
Nowhere is skin
– particularly tanned skin - more eulogised than here in our sunny antipodean
outpost where skin can take its rightful place in the Holy Trinity
alongside sun and surf.
To have
tanned skin in Australia is to be bestowed with a sun-kissed gift from the Gods.
Skin has
become our calling card. We make all sorts of judgments and assumptions about
someone based purely on a person’s skin
and most particularly their skin colour.
In Apartheid
South Africa where I was born in the 1960s, those assumptions were quite
extreme.
This dys-topic
society created a savage hierarchy built around skin colour.
Dark-skinned
African citizens sat at the bottom of this race ladder and pale-skinned
Europeans ordained themselves superior
and ruled at the top.
All other
citizens were graded according to how dark or light their skin was.
This meant
that South African-born, toffee-toned
Indians - like me and my family – were trapped on the ladder somewhere in the
middle.
In South
Africa a person’s skin colour dictated every aspect of their life. Something as
genetically random and arbitrary as your skin pigment or how much melanin you had in your skin, would
determine everything that happened to you from the cradle to the grave.
Anyone
without blanched skin tones was ruthlessly exploited and dehumanised.
There were
certain beaches, schools, suburbs, buses, park benches only pale-skinned people
could use. Shops had separate entrances; even toilets were colour-coded. Of
course only whites could vote.
As soon as
they were able to escape, my parents fled their homeland to build a new life
for their young family in Australia in the 1970s.
We arrived
in a tiny country town called St Marys on the east coast of Tasmania.
The town’s
local socialite - the bus driver’s wife - organised an afternoon tea for my
mother and my sisters to meet the townsfolk.
The largely
Anglo and European immigrants in the community were unaccustomed to meeting dark-skinned
people and were fascinated by us. One little girl even asked me if she could
touch my skin to see if the colour rubbed off.
Australia’s skin
colour codes took a little adjusting too. After being surrounded by black faces
in South Africa, now in Tasmania we were surrounded by a sea of white faces.
And even more disconcertingly, many of these same white faces wanted to be brown.
It has been
a fascinating sociological dysmorphia to witness.
Many pale
Australians - we soon learnt - were prepared to go to extraordinary lengths to
achieve this colour conversion.
My Anglo
friends would spend hours after school, on weekends or during summer holidays
stretched out on their towels around the local pool or at the beach scorching
under the Australian sun.
They called
this peculiar practice ‘sun-baking’.
What I found
even more bizarre was that rather than turn the desired shade of brown, most of my friends – instead - went lobster red.
Occasionally
their skin blistered painfully - peeling away like a prawn shell.
For days
afterwards they were unable to shower, walk or sit comfortably in class. We all
laughed it off as a teenage rite of passage.
Even with my
brown skin which acted as a semi sun-shield in this harsh climate, I still wore
sunblock every day. My family has a medical background so the sun smart directive was always enforced.
I felt a
strange social exclusion from
the Anglo ‘sunburn culture’.
It was a
ritual that deeply puzzled me.
On Monday
mornings the girls would share their sunburn horrors with each other but never with
me since ‘You’re lucky - you already have
brown skin’.
During lunch
break they would show off their tan lines, and peel off papery flakes of sunburnt
skin from each other’s backs and shoulders.
I became
fascinated with what that might feel like.
Once I even painted
my entire arm with Clag glue and waited for it to dry so I could ‘peel off’ my skin in a similar fashion.
Now I know
differently. What my friends were actually putting their bodies through were second
degree burns, and, for 2 in 3 of them, those burns would lead to
skin cancer.
Australia
has one of the highest skin cancer rates in the world – second only to New
Zealand. Melanoma kills an Australian every 6 hours.
2,000
Australians die from skin melanomas each year.
750,000 are
treated for skin cancers.
Skin cancers
account for 80% of all new cancers diagnosed in Australia.
These are grisly
statistics.
I’m sure I’m
not telling anyone here anything you don’t already know.
What health
authorities are at a loss to explain
is, that, while there has been a stabilising of skin cancer rates in some
demographics, why is tanned skin still so socially-desirable?
In contrast,
smokers and their cancer sticks are treated like social pariahs,
excluded from restaurants, bars and public spaces and seen as bad parents.
But
sun-bathers are still admired – even revered.
While their
tanning addiction or tanorexia
may not be killing others, they are certainly putting themselves at
risk and putting grievous strains on our public health system at a cost of $4.5
billion a year, according to the Cancer Council.
Sun tanners
are victims trapped in an unspoken deadly cultural paradox; a deeply held
almost unshakeable belief that tanning makes us look more attractive, thinner,
and sexier.
This view is
so ubiquitous, so pervasive,
it’s hard to imagine a time when we didn’t always think this.
But up until
100 years ago pallor was popular.
Dark-skin was
associated with serfdom and toiling in the fields all day. Pale skin indicated
you were from the upper classes and led a noble life of leisure indoors.
In fact many
aristocrats accentuated their pale skin by applying whitening creams and
treatments such as powdered white chalk, and white lead mixed with egg white
and vinegar. Treatments as deadly as they sound.
The trend
for whiteness came to a halt during the industrial revolution.
As rural
workers downed their pitchforks and headed to the mines and factories, they
moved into the shadows far away from sunlight. And any leisure
time they had was spent inside
so they could escape the choking smog and soot of the streets.
The lack of
sunlight had health repercussions. Children developed rickets and other bone deformities from Vitamin D deficiencies.
UV rays in
sunlight help our bodies manufacture Vitamin D.
Most of us
only need about 5 to 15 minutes exposure to sunlight each day to produce the Vitamin
D we require. (Although - as an
interesting aside - dark-skinned people who have a stronger resistance to UV
light need a longer exposure to get their daily dosage.)
Around the
turn of the 20th century, doctors began prescribing sunbathing to
their patients for a variety of ailments including tuberculosis which was the
second leading cause of death in the US in the early 1900s.
A short stay
at a seaside health spa or bath, soon became a new sign of wealth for the leisure class.
Here, in
Australia, the sun-bathing trend was initially frowned upon.
This is an
entry from the Sydney Morning Herald in 1901 head-lined;-
‘Disgrace
at Coogee Beach’
‘ A correspondent made
strong comment regarding the behaviour of some sun bathers who visit Coogee,
stating certain persons acted in such a manner as to call for the strongest
protest from the public and demanded action from the authorities. About 400 men
and women ‘indulged in an unrestrained sun bath. Many poses were disgusting
to anyone with a true sense of propriety’.
Tanning is
believed to have only become truly chic
in 1903 when French fashion icon Coco Chanel returned from a
Mediterranean holiday with a tan after accidentally getting sunburnt.
Her bronzed
limbs set a new beauty precedent.
Many wanted
to replicate her look.
But holidays
were still aspirational for most people - especially during the war years.
So some
women took to dousing their legs with Bovril
to create the illusion of a tanned leg that didn’t need stockings - and
they had a delicious beef-flavoured afternoon snack at the same time.
By the 1960s
Hollywood and jet travel had made sunbathing both glamorous and accessible.
Cary Grant’s
permanent radioactive glow was on every screen and billboard, and even the British
working classes could afford holiday packages to Spain or Greece to copy his
look.
By 2000 a survey
of Britons revealed that 50% of people said that returning with a tan was the single
most important reason for actually going on holiday.
Of course
Australians are lucky in that respect. We don’t need to go anywhere. With our
warm weather, long coastline and endless sandy beaches, tanning is accessible
and easy. Deadly easy.
Here in
Australia, sunburn became a glamorous symbol of the active outdoor lifestyle we
all aspired to. Basted in various greases, creams and potions, pallid sun
worshippers would lay prostrate, sardined into oily rows on the sand as their
skin slowly cooked.
We had become ‘A Sunburnt Country’ in a way Dorothy McKellar could not have imagined.
But in the
1980s things began to change.
Health
campaigns such as ‘Slip, slop, slap’
warned of the dangers of sunburn as
sun-lovers started to become cancer statistics.
The sun was
now sinister.
Sun-sinners
learnt some awful truths.
Getting painful sunburn, just once every 2 years, could triple your risk of
melanoma skin cancer.
Sunburn doesn’t have to be raw, peeling or blistering. If your skin has
gone pink or red in the sun, it’s sunburnt.
Sunburn is caused by UV from the sun. You can’t feel UV rays –this
is why people can still burn on cool days.
And tanning beds and solariums were no safer.
Sun-tan salons were banned across Australia two years ago after they were
found to increase the risks of most types of skin cancer.
Sun-tan beds for private use, however, are still legal and black-market ‘backyard’
operations are flourishing.
The social site Gumtree is filled with ads from people desperate to
book a session in a tanning bed as a winter pick-me-up.
Teenage boys
and girls are still particularly susceptible to the bronzed myth.
23 per cent
of teenagers admit to getting sunburnt on weekends compared to only 5 per cent
of adults.
So, why are
so many Australians still addicted to this high-risk behaviour?
Quite simply
studies consistently show we all think tanned people are sexier.
We think we
look healthier and more attractive when we have that ‘holiday glow’.
The media
and advertising industries reinforce this belief.
And it seems
no matter what your skin colour -light or
dark - everyone wants to be 50 shades of brown.
In her study
‘Shades of Beauty’ Examining the Relationship of Skin Colour to
Perceptions of Physical Attractiveness’, University of Missouri-Columbia
researcher Dr Cynthia Frisby, found that people perceive a light brown skin
tone, on white people as well as black people, to be more physically
attractive than a pale or dark skin tone.
She says she
is not surprised coffee-coloured actors and singers such as Halle
Berry, Beyonce and Kim Kardashian
currently define our 21st century notion of beauty.
Dr Frisby
says we can’t fix this bias until we are made aware of it.
Matthew
Harrison a doctoral student at the University of Georgia says ‘colourism’ is alive and well.
‘Colourism’ was a term coined by American writer Alice Walker in 1982 to
describe prejudice and discrimination based on skin pigment – or the lack of
it.
And of
course in many parts of the world this colourism works in reverse to the suntan
myth.
The skin whitening
industry is a multi-billion dollar global juggernaut. It pushes cosmetic
lightening creams and products – many with unsafe mercury levels – at people
with dark
skin.
Consumers in
Asian and African countries are often assaulted with ads depicting dark-skinned
people as unhappy or disadvantaged.
The ‘Fair and Lovely’ cosmetic
whitening range, which is popular in Asia, recently got itself into hot water
when it launched a Facebook App that enabled users to lighten
the skin tone of their profile pictures.
It seems
many cultures struggle with skin colour and social acceptance.
When my
family first came to Australia from South Africa little did we know that
Australia had long-controlled its
indigenous citizens with its own version of race segregation laws.
Most of
these discriminatory laws have now largely been removed from the statute books
– but how deeply do the ghosts of the
White Australia Policy still haunt our subconscious?
Indigenous
Australians are 15 times more likely to be jailed than non-indigenous
Australians. Indigenous women make up 34% of the prison population. There’s a
greater likelihood that indigenous children will be jailed than complete their
Year 12 schooling.
A quarter of
the inmates in our prisons and most of those in refugee detention centres have brown skin.
A co-incidence
or part of a skin-colour racial bias?
It could be
argued that Australia’s ‘bronzed
life-saver’ ethos seems to celebrate white people with brown skin
but remains a little ambivalent towards brown people with brown skin?
There have
been a number of occasions where my sisters - who have slightly darker skin
than I do - have experienced the daily casual racism that most pale-skinned
Australians are oblivious to… taxis not stopping for them, not being served in
a country pub, or a policeman once pulling my sister over while she was going
for jog, after a resident reported a ‘suspicious’
character in their neighbourhood.
As a young brown-skinned
girl growing up in largely-white Australia, I often came across a skin-colour majority
bias when shopping.
Lingerie and
undergarments were often labelled - and still today in some cases - as ‘skin-tone’
or ‘flesh-coloured’
or ‘nude’.
But whose
skin-tones were these garments replicating? Certainly not mine.
The
universally used Band Aid, for instance, was initially only manufactured in one
colour – soft pink. The advertising
described it as ‘neat, flesh-coloured, and almost invisible. But
of course on my skin, pink Band-Aids stand out like a sore thumb.
18 years ago a New York entrepreneur, Michael Panayiotis, saw a yawning
consumer hole in the Band-Aid market – particularly amongst African Americans.
He created Ebon-Aid. ‘The bandage
exclusively designed for people of color’. It came in shades called black
licorice, coffee brown, cinnamon, and honey beige. Sadly his Band-Aid
range wasn’t displayed in stores prominently enough and his Band-Aid revolution
never quite took off.
It’s not
surprising minorities in majority monocultures can grow up feeling they have
the ‘wrong’ colour skin.
When I began
presenting the news on ABC TV in the 1990s there weren’t any TV make-up foundations
or powders available in Australia for my skin tone. Every brand catered for the
pale skin market.
There just
weren’t many non-Anglos on Australian television at that time. Actually there
still aren’t.
Singer
Marcia Hines was so horrified at the strange colours the makeup artists mixed
and applied to my face to mimic my skin tone, that she personally brought me
back some dark-skin makeup from the US during one of her trips!
Fortunately
the ‘MAC’ brand and ‘Bobbi Brown’ makeup brands for
dark-skin are now widely available in Australia but it does make me wonder what
brown-skinned Australians used before.
Reworking a
line from a famous frog – ‘being brown hasn’t always been easy’.
So, will
there be a time in Australia where sun-tanning - like smoking – is seen as an
anachronism of the 20th century? A pursuit that simply went out of
fashion?
I don’t
know.
As with the anti-smoking
campaigns, scaring the public with the threat of death and disease just
won’t work.
Instead, the
social
desirability of the behaviour has to be modified.
This requires
not only clever health campaigns but the support of the media and advertising agencies
not to keep promoting the suntan ‘look’ or the suntan ‘culture’.
A concerning
finding from a recent survey I came across showed that when you remind people
that tanning puts them at a higher risk to cancer, they actually want to tan
more!
This is apparently
because tanning boosts self-confidence and patients will unconsciously seek
comfort in precisely the behaviour that puts them at risk.
I hope this
doesn’t mean you’ll all be rushing off to the beach after this talk!
But I hope
it does
mean that you’ll leave here thinking more about how you
can love the
skin you’re in – and the skin that everyone else is in.
I personally
love my skin. And even if I didn’t have a genetically-enhanced Bondi tan I hope
I would still love my skin whatever colour it was.
While I
can’t always control how other people
interact with my skin, after researching and writing this paper I have a new
appreciation of how miraculous skin truly is.
I’m blessed
with skin that is healthy and keeps me healthy. Shouldn’t that be where the conversation begins and ends?
Thank you
for coming along today - and for bringing your skin with you.
Thank you.