I was hopeful that I would be back to a place of humor this week, but my heart is too heavy with the unrest and pain in our world. I thought long and hard whether adding my voice to the narrative would do any good and my hope is that it might help someone recognize things in themselves that could be improved upon. I hope that providing a very open and honest summary of my own experiences may encourage someone that knows me personally to reevaluate their world view. There are so many voices of Black Americans and other people of color that are much more relevant, eloquent, studied and intelligent and I hope that you are seeking out those voices. This is just my personal story.
For those that do not know me, my family emigrated from Colombia when I was around 2 years old. Out of my sister, brother and I, I have the darkest complexion. My earliest memories begin in St. Louis, MO, where my father was doing his residency. Racial issues in Colombia are incredibly problematic, so I was born into a specific mindset when it came to race. Color matters greatly and I was always reminded not to get too dark in the summer, or given suggestions to use special whitening creams. We attended schools where my family was the only non-white family. I remember being called, "a little black girl" in a derogatory manner several times on the playgrounds. I also remember being greatly offended by this because everyone around me reacted to it as something humiliating. Nobody ever had a conversation with me about it, they would just react by providing comfort, reinforcing the fact that I should be offended. I shared my discomfort once in grade school and I remember the teachers not really knowing how to react. What a missed opportunity to teach children an important lesson on race. Instead, we continued on our educational journeys with a harmful understanding of racial issues.
At the end of my fifth grade year, we moved to Corpus Christi, TX. The main racial tensions there were between the Latinx community and whites. I was thrust into a new, confusing situation since I was "too white" for the mostly Mexican population and to the whites, I was clearly Latinx. I spent so much of my time in middle school and high school trying to fit in and trying to prove my worth. My academic achievement and my family's socioeconomic status (thanks doctor dad) made me acceptable, for the most part, to white society. But it took constant work. I learned very early on that Latinx girls were presumed more sexual than white girls, so no matter how chaste I comported myself, my girlfriends always had more freedom to make mistakes and not have their reputations ruined. I knew that my reputation could not survive any mistakes. I also had to put up with friends making jokes at my expense, referring to me jokingly as "wetback" or "spic." And I laughed, because I felt that I needed to laugh to survive. I also laughed at jokes about Black people because I wanted to fit in. In high school, racial jokes happened easily and often, without a thought.
College was different in that I felt more easily accepted and people were, at least outwardly, less racist. However, I remained in friendship groups of mainly white friends. Racial differences were more easily blurred since most of us had similar socioeconomic statuses. That didn't mean I didn't have some awkward parent encounters or that friends didn't sometimes make "lovingly" racial jokes. I only recall one openly racist situation with a roommate after she was appalled to learn that a Colombian man she had been speaking with the night before was in fact a minority.
As an adult, I've been asked my views on immigration during a law firm interview and I always have to clarify my socioeconomic status when assumptions are made about my upbringing. I am frequently asked by older white men "where are you from, you are so exotic" and my body is constantly overly sexualized because I'm brown and I have rhythm. One of my most painful memories involves a late night game with close friends where we went around a room saying what we think our friends should actually do as careers and I was given "exotic dancer" when it was my turn. It is a fact that my white girl friends can dance in any manner at weddings and receive no negative comments, but if I so much as shake my hips, I'm viewed negatively. I once had a mother snidely remark the next morning at brunch about how much fun I had when a girlfriend sitting next to me had actually treated the center tent pole as a stripper pole.
I share all of this because this is a TINY amount of what Black people deal with every day. I share this because maybe you know me, or maybe you know of me and maybe these stories will trigger a memory of something you've done that you thought was okay. Just because the person of color smiles and nods doesn't mean that they are comfortable with your words or actions.
I also share this because my memories of my own racism toward Black people haunts me. Yes, I was a child. Yes, the adults in my life failed me. But it is still wrong. So, so wrong. Allowing for excuses allows the system to continue to perpetuate. There are no excuses. I also have a woeful number of Black friends and acquaintances. That is also racism. If all lives matters, why are we not friends with all lives?
While I've had these painful experiences, I also have so much privilege. This was starkly apparent when I was waiting for the express bus close to work in Spanish Harlem during my pregnancy with Javi. During an end-of-the-month MTA police check at the stop, the cops asked us to wait while they checked the passengers. They kept telling us not to get on, but when they finished, the driver closed his doors and left. I was pregnant, tired and furious and I immediately starting berating the cops for not holding the doors for us and making sure we got on the bus. If this had been the Upper East Side, I wouldn't have been the only one complaining. But when I was finished, I realized that nobody else had a reaction to the bus leaving and instead, my exchange with the cops made them scared and uncomfortable. The cops had immediately reacted to my privilege and started apologizing and promising me they would help us get on the next bus. They rushed to help me on and as I was riding home, I realized that I had just been a Karen.
The saddest thing about all of this is that these are things I've rarely shared, even with my closest friends. I am terrified to share these stories, because I've worked so hard to be accepted by society and I know that especially right now, this type of conversation is controversial at worst, and not for polite society at best. I know this because when I've tried to share in the past, people become very uncomfortable and find ways to shut down the conversation. They may acknowledge something has happened to me, but they think it is kinder to brush over it. This is the problem with pretending we are all color blind. As a person of color, that narrative shuts down my experiences and my voice. It also shuts down the possibility of educating the person who was in the wrong. I ask you to sit with us in the discomfort and be brave to call out the wrong. My own husband and I had to have a conversation about this early in our marriage. His excuse was that he knows I can stick up for myself. I explained that his privilege would be heard more loudly by the offending party than my own voice. He has since greatly improved.
This is my truth and I'm tired of carrying around all of this baggage. It negatively affects my physical and mental health and my ability to parent my children honestly. I truly want a world where there is equality. Even if that means that the playing field that was rigged somewhat in my favor is more competitive. Even if that means that I have to do away with my comfort in order to be fair to others. Even if that means my children won't have the same leg up that I was afforded. This requires me to be vocal when I see something wrong, and not to be afraid of disappointing the establishment. Even if that has negative consequences for me. I am prepared to live in that truth, even at a time of great financial insecurity. For me, this is the only way to live a truly Christian life.
If you are angry or uncomfortable about the protests, I implore you to think very hard about why. Several years ago, I started following a black activist on Instagram and she made me feel embarrassed, then angry, then thoughtful, then fired up to help make changes. It was very difficult work and I had to to take a break from following her because it was so hard. The truth is hard when it doesn't work in your favor. And by the way, it isn't close to a quarter of the work she does every day just trying to live as a Black woman in America. And I want you to know that for the people that have followed all of the rules of white society and are still treated in the way I've described above and way, way worse, the only feelings that come are those of anger and despair. Try to find a comparable example for yourself and imagine how you would react.
I ask you to try diversifying the voices you hear on social media. Follow people that are different from you in appearance, politics and religion. You don't have to agree with everything, but you should at least have exposure. I know that we live in a world of comfort, where you can create tiny cliques of like-minded individuals and reaffirm your world view daily. Be brave and be open to new ideas. And be okay facing the ugly in yourself. We all have it. I hope sharing some of mine will give you the courage to face yours.
