Installment 3: Black lives matter

But I know now

I remember being young & racist. I didn't know better; I was a product of my community & my grandfather’s son’s daughter. I distinctly remember one of my mom’s close friends, who was white, was married to a black man. Their children were mixed. I don’t think I ever said it out loud, but I always assumed she loved her children less because they were black. I don’t know how or where I learned that way of thinking, but I did.

I grew up with white, blonde Barbie doll ornaments & kids who thought Obama & Hillary couldn’t be president because he was black & she was a woman. Though we had many family friends, only one family was Colombian & we never seemed to have any of our Asian family friends over for dinner. There was one Latina in my girl scout troop, but she was very shy & had a hard time fitting in, which ended up feeding into the stereotypes I knew of & shaped my perceptions. I didn’t know better. I was friends with the two black kids at my elementary school, but I avoided all topics about ethnicity, race, & anything remotely similar when I was with them.

I first learned the term racist in 7th grade, when it was cool to scream it at anyone who said black, white, or yellow, even when talking about the Minute Maid Lemonade logo. I grew up with an understanding equality had existed since slavery was abolished, so learning that it does not exist at all was shocking to me. My eventual understanding of “racists” were people who hated others based on the color of their skin. That being said, I knew I wasn’t racist. I didn’t hate anyone.

I spent a majority of my middle school & high school experiences correcting people if they were being blatantly or unintentionally racist, but I never knew that even my corrections were not always accurate. If someone said “black”, I would say “African-American”. If my dad joked around in a horrific Asian accent, I would tell him I was uncomfortable & not much else. When my friend Sarah told me her dad did not want me to come to the house as often because I was not Chinese like her, I told my other friends he was racist. I didn’t know better.

I bleed privilege. I am a white, able-bodied Christian from an upper-middle-class, white-collar background. My race is overrepresented in the media, I was taught that people of my color made the world what it is. When I wear second-hand clothes, it’s a fashion statement; poverty is never an assumption. My idea of the crayon now called “peach” was “skin-colored” growing up. I benefit greatly from systems our society is built upon—even my name is so basic it serves me in positive ways.

I remember being young & racist, but I am anti-racist now. I took courses in diversity, read books about race, & continuously engage in media that helps me be a better ally. It’s not my fault that racism exists, but it’s my responsibility to interrupt this cycle & continue to educate myself. Racism is not just hatred of others based on their skin color, it’s a system of advantage based on race & our entire world is built on these ideas. Racism is not just a prejudice. It’s the systems of oppression that continue to function in our society. I didn’t know better growing up, but I know better now.