What Racism Does to the Young

There are things that are painful to know about myself. Reminders of who I once was flash in my mind.

The shooting of Michael Brown and our reactions to Ferguson have brought my life to the forefront.

Some say that the goal for a society is to be color blind. I love the different colors that we are and the gift of cultural difference that we bring into each others' lives. I don't want to not see your brown, yellow, bronze, beige, coffee, and all the tones in between.

When I read of this abomination of hate toward people because of the color they are, it takes me back to when I was a child. I don't like remembering myself at that time. When I would let people say things to me and allow them to ask me questions that were personal and rude, and how I said nothing. By not saying no, I was letting them do the very thing that we are allowing people to do now. To dismiss those that are not white.

This week, I am broken, unable to do much more than think of times in my life of when I was silent. I was seven years old when my school began serving tacos for lunch. The kids would throw them on my tray, laughing, “You must love today! It's your kind of food!” I would say nothing, my face burning red that I could feel the sweat prickle on my scalp. But I never spoke on my behalf and that of others. I was learning that to not be like them, was deserving of ridicule.

I am different. I am less than.

When my high school boyfriend's parents told him he couldn't date me anymore because his father's advice, “Stick to your own kind, Chris,” was more of a command.

I am something less than what a parent wanted for their child.
 

Driving with my brothers when we were teenagers, we were used to being pulled over for no reason. I would want to ask what we did wrong, not understanding yet that what we did wrong was ride 3 and 4-deep.

I am powerless at the hand of the law.

I remember these stories, and I am ashamed of my silence. A lifetime of being treated as lesser, and accepting it.

By not saying anything, I was saying it was acceptable.

I have learned to be complacent, invisible. Even to myself.

Racism over a lifetime will do that to the young.

It makes you question yourself, because you're told You're too sensitive. We were just kidding. You imagined it. Stop making a big deal.

I had been taught to not even be right about my own feelings.

But with Ferguson and the ensuing dialogue I'm seeing the truth. Stories aligning with mine, like being teased about my name growing up. About clerks at stores asking me for an I.D. when I use a credit card after I've just seen three white women in front of me use theirs without being asked for the same thing. When I would go to a walk-in clinic, and the receptionist handed me a card for a Spanish interpreter assuming I didn't speak English.

The racial injustice in our country is not a delusion of people of color. Neither is prejudice and bigotry. Talking about race in our country right now is the most highly charged I've seen this nation in years. We are finding courage and validation in the sharing of our stories. This year has become the defining year for many of us, the line is drawn, on what we will and won't take any longer in how we are treated and spoken to.

These times are ugly, and they are beautiful. I see the grand actions of ours, of coming together, and I feel how it all begins with a decision.

For too long, I learned to feel ashamed of who I was because I was desperate to be accepted by the world I lived in.

It's not happening any more. I'm no longer the scared, sad, seven-year-old girl, that racism taught me to be. And today, I speak for her. The one who wanted nothing more that to find love and acceptance from those around her.

One of the worst things about racism is what it does to young people.

~Alvin Ailey

 

* * *