Black in America: This is Racism
I want to get straight to the point with this post. I’ve seen and felt so much pain over the past few weeks from my people. One of the main things that’s frustrating me besides the blatant ignorant statements.. is that some white people think this is all about police brutality. Now this is not to minimize police brutality, but to bring awareness as to how racism is instilled in America on every level.
Racism comes in the form of teachers who don’t think a black student is worth the effort, a store clerk who follows around a black person to make sure they don’t steal, a bank lender who doesn’t give a black person a loan based on their skin color, etc. I mean the example are endless. This uprising is deeper than police brutality. We’re tired of what our reality has been.
Because I know racism is very much real and I understand the trauma, pain, and anger it causes, I wanted to use my platform to amplify the voices of others who’ve experienced racism. We’ve started this conversation and we’re going to keep it going.
Here are their stories:
The first time I experienced racism and saw first hand what white privilege looked like, I was in 5th grade. A white classmate of mine bothered me everyday and it intensified over time to the point I got into a physical altercation with him. I was at the water fountain drinking water and when I looked up he threw water in my face and tried to run. I was angry and felt disrespected. I beat him down. I was yelled at by the Assistant Principal and made to feel like I had done the worse thing ever. He was only told in a soft gentle voice, “she doesn’t need her face washed”. That’s was it! My mom had to come for a conference with my teacher the next day. My teacher explained to my mother that I can’t take matters into my own hands. That I should tell the teacher or staff if there is a problem. My mom explained to my teacher what rules she set for me. That same day (day after the beat down) this particular classmate continued to bother me. We lined up to go to the library and the student bumped me with his book bag. I told the teacher what he was doing. My teacher said, “he’s not bothering you.” The student bumped me again. I told my teacher again. My teacher said to me “stop saying he’s doing something to you when he’s not” (we had an assigned line up and he should not have been near me but they didn’t matter to my teacher). The student bumped me a third time and I pushed him hard enough that he fell into the bushes. My teacher surprisingly saw my actions. He yelled at me and excluded me from participating in the activities with my class in the library. I started to realize that most of the white staff and students at my school displayed their white privilege. On the last day of school, my teacher allowed the same student to pass out the bus passes. When the student gave me mine and two of my black friends , he left a little note that read, “black scum”. I showed it to the teacher and he defended the student. My teacher protected him by allowing the student to leave the classroom before the bell rang to avoid another beat down. I still tried to catch him before getting on the bus but was unsuccessful.
-A. Sutherland
So I know it might not seem like a big deal but when I use to work at hair cuttery, I use to get racially profiled all the time. Not just me, the other African American women in there as well. We had a system of rotation to keep it fair and from time to time (more often then not), we would get women mostly who would not let us do their hair because of the color of our skin. They would just assume that we could not do their hair. They would ask first if we could do their kind of hair or ask for a stylist they never been to just because they were white. Sometimes the other white stylist would be busy, so they have no choice but to let us do their hair. The whole time they would be there with their faces balled up and not saying two words. One day, I was doing a white lady hair and she was texting and said “some black girl is doing my hair we will see how this turns out” and she ended it with this emoji 🥺. To have someone believe you can’t do something well because of the color of your skin is crazy. Even if it turns out great, they will still find a problem with it because you are black.
-J. Taylor
So boom, I used to work for an Eye Doctors office back in the day. We had this old white couple come in for their appointments. Everything was going normal for a routine eye visit. My coworker(white) took the wife back and I took the husband back to our treatment rooms. When we got to the room, the husband was noticeably non vocal. I thought maybe he was nervous because you would be surprised how many people are scared of an eye appointment. His first words were, “You’re not the Doctor are you?”. I said no then continued the pre-screening. Then out of nowhere this dude stands straight up and says “I can’t do this” and leaves. Gullible ass me just laughs to myself thinking he is really scared. So I meet up with my co worker in the hall and let her know what happened and she says she’ll let the wife know. About 5 mins later she comes to my room with this concerning look on her face. She talked to the wife and was informed that the husband has a hard time “dealing with black people”. That shit tore me up inside. My coworker apologized and hugged me and then proceeded to go off on a rant defending me. I just couldn’t speak....I went outside for a few minutes just to get my thoughts together. I was mad, hurt, angry, confused, and I wanted to, excuse my French, fuck some shit up! I always think about that situation to this day. The doctors in charge banned the couple from our practice, but I don’t know if that was enough for me...
-B.Williams
Being born and raised in the Bronx, NY I have watched men in my family be beat to a pulp by police and was told there was nothing we can do about it. I have seen men and boys in my family and community be victimized by the police under “stop and frisk” and end up with a broken nose, broken ribs and a face full of mace. Now If I see police or get stopped I immediately become anxious, get sweaty palms, begin to pray silently and ensure a loved on knows where I am an I am being stopped by the police.
I have lost family members due to unfair treatment in the healthcare system. She was only 27 and had a 10 yr old daughter already but because she was black they didn’t give her the treatment she needed or deserved. We got to watch helplessly as she died during child birth. It was almost like we made a trade for her life. We gained a beautiful baby in exchange for her mother’s beautiful life. Something as beautiful and precious as child birth became another traumatic event for us.
I have brothers, cousins, nephews, uncles, close friends, loved ones and a father who I worry about every day as they go into this toxic world.
It is enough to I’ve experienced this trauma as a growing child but to continue to experience it only makes the wound larger and deeper.
Day in and day out I have lived with the fear and trauma of injustice and racism. Because of the things I have overcome I am expected to not feel my pain. Because I am who I am and reached the level of success I have I am expected to be ok. Because we as a people have been dealing with this our entire lives I am supposed to be ok but no one truly see the pain I have endured in order to beat the statistics.
Even as a professional I have had doors slammed in my face, been called a negro by clients and was still forced to work with them, and told I dressed and looked too “ethnic” for work. I am the only black person in my entire department and often carry these burdens alone. I am expected to show up, work 10 times more and harder, be ok and put a smile on my face as if nothing is happening.
Even us strong ones need a shoulder to lean on and to be embraced with love. Where do we get to pour out when the weight of the burden becomes too heavy? Just because we beat the odds it doesn’t make the pain hurt any less! We too are still fighting just to make it to see tomorrow.
L. Hornage
There was a store near the corner of our house. We would walk there. There was a lady named Mrs. Smitty that worked there, that was the closest store to us where we could get stuff for our lunch. We (my sisters and I) would go there often. But Mrs. Smitty was very mean. She wouldn’t place money in our hands, she would throw our money on the counter. She would watch us as we walked around the store. As much as she saw us, you would think she would get use to seeing us. I felt like she was racist. She would always throw our stuff and give us a mean look. We didn’t really pay it any attention because we didn’t have a choice but to go there. We weren’t any older than 10 or 11.
-B.Spence
Back in 2016, I was a junior in college. I was leaving campus one night after an event around 12:30am. I was turning onto Virginia Beach Blvd when I noticed a police car race to get behind me from the other turn lane. Of course, my heart started pounding. Before I could even get to the next light, the officer had turned on his lights to pull me over. After I pulled over, he came up to my car as I rolled the window down. I made sure to keep both of my hands visible. I remember he was white, not very tall, and chewing gum.
"What can I do for you, Officer?" I remember saying. His response? "Is this car stolen or registered to you?" I couldn't believe that that was the first thing out of his mouth. "Actually," I replied, "It's registered to my mother." His next question was, "Have you been drinking? You were swerving." By this point, I was irritated. I laughed because in my head I thought, "Have you MET my parents? There is no way I would drink and drive." Instead I told him, "I probably swerved because you were pretty close on my bumper. Is that why you pulled me over?" I could see a flash of annoyance on his face before he told me that he had pulled me over because "it looked like [my] brights were on." Seeing as how I had JUST discovered the brights in my car the week prior, I showed him that they were indeed not on. He proceeded to ask me for my licence and registration. After running them, he came back and practically threw them into my lap before racing away in his car.
That was my very first time being pulled over.
About three weeks later, I was pulled over around the same time. This time, I was on a back road through a neighborhood as a shortcut to get to Independence Blvd. This time, before the cop could get to my car, I called my mom and put her on speakerphone, letting her know that I had gotten pulled over. This cop was a bit nicer, white, and tall. I remember him almost having to crouch to talk to me through my window.
I asked him why I had been pulled over and he said "When I ran your plates, they didn't read back." I had just bought new plates so I had temp ones until they came in. While I was at it, I renewed my tags early because they were due to expire the next month anyways. I explained this to the officer and he smiled.
"I wish more of people like you would do that on time or early. Saves us a lot of trouble."
I asked him what he meant by that and why were my plates ran in the first place. He didn't answer, instead asking me for my license and registration. I repeated my question as I handed them to him. He told me to hang tight and walked back to his car. I sat waiting for twenty minutes, the officer's lights staying on the entire time. I wondered why it was taking so long. Suddenly, another police car with lights on came speeding down the street and stopped behind the first car. The officer, again, white, got out and started taking to the officer that had pulled me over, looking at my car every few seconds and keeping a hand on his holster. After a few minutes, the first officer came and gave me my documents back, telling me I was free to go. I waited until he got back in his car and then pulled off slowly. The officer that had been talked to him suddenly pulled out and followed me, lights still on. I went to pull back over, not knowing what was going on. He suddenly pulled a u-turn and turned off his lights. I could see him laughing in my rearview window.
-W. Bond
My mother and grandmother used to always tell me “That coming into this world; you already have a strike against you.” Instinctively as a African American man, I knew what they were referring to. However, as a child; I truly didn’t know the DEPTH of what they was saying because I had never been exposed to being racially profiled. I mean of course we like to think that what type of person can be so inhumane as to take a young child’s innocence for no reason; but that their skin color. Well around the age of 16, I knew first hand that its real and that it could literally be brought to your front door, in a matter of seconds.
My grandmother had purchased me my first car; a green Acura Integra. She said that I deserved it. I mean I did what I was supposed to do; go to school, honor student, working, and most importantly staying out of any serious trouble. But as a black teenager living with my grandmother in the middle class neighborhood of Riverwalk; in Chesapeake, Virginia, that makes me a threat as a black man. So this was apparent when, one night we get a knock at the door and its Chesapeake Police. Apparently a neighbor about four houses down on the opposite side of the street; said that I had hit their mailbox with my car. Now I was completely astonished cause I knew good and well that I had hit absolutely nothing with my car. However, the officer wanted me to step outside my house and talk to me. However, my grandmother didn’t allow it, and I stayed in the door and spoke with the officer. I eventually pointed out myself that there wasn’t even any damage to my vehicle to indicate I had hit anything. He stated that the neighbor witnessed this themselves. However he knew there was no proof to the lie. I never looked at my neighbors the same way after that and I literally grew up, went to school, rode the school bus, shared the same bus stop and everything with they kids for years and to blatantly point me out as a culprit was nothing less than HATE. Come to find out; the next day our neighbors, The Russells (one of literally a handful of black families on the street) , inquired on what happened. After I told Mrs. Russell, she was highly upset and enraged. She actually saw what happened and shed light that it was actually the neighbors OWN SON that damaged they property. From that day on, I personally knew what it is like walking around with a target on your head. What it really means to have one strike against you; in this “3 STRIKE” judicial system.
-M. Hunter
I vividly remember going to a store in Chesapeake with my grandma and her sister, my aunt Thelma. My grandma let me look at the lip glosses, because I was in this phase of wanting to find the best lip gloss. So I was just looking at them, reading the names, and thinking about which one I wanted to come back and purchase with my mom's approval, while my gran and aunt were shopping in the store.
My grandma came to get me because they were ready to purchase their items and leave the store. As we were leaving the store, the white store manager, ran out the store and accused me, a 9 year old of stealing. I was traumatized because I really didn't know what was happening. He was yelling at us. My grandma looked at me, and I was crying. She told the store manager, "You are lying on my grandchild..." He yelled, no, I saw her put the lip gloss in her purse, open it." My grandma said, "No, she does not have to open her purse, and she did not steal from your store. Anything she wants, we can purchase it and I will be filing a complaint." My grandma was mad, I'm not going to say she cursed at the man.... but y'all she was heated, and rightfully so.
We left the store, and I cried the whole day. My granny and mom explained everything to me, and from that day forward, I knew that I was being watched for doing things that the average child will do, like being fascinated by the thousands of lip glosses in the store just because of my skin tone, my Blackness. I will never forget it.
I'm still being watched in the stores, as an adult. When I take notice of this, I do a few things:
*Stare at the person watching me
*Put all the items back at the register, and ask to speak to a manager to file a complaint
*Let's be real, I become angry sometimes and cause a scene
Y'all... a lot has changed and nothing has changed, and I stand with my people, as we demand justice.
-A. Eason
I’ve experienced racism in different ways throughout my life. But the one that cut a little deeper than most is racism that I’ve experienced from my white friends and my best friend’s mother. On numerous occasions while visiting my friend’s home, she told me that I was too smart to be all the way black. She told me that I HAD to have white in my blood because of how I carried myself. She said it’s because I spoke so well. And out of respect for my friend, I never really spoke up how I really wanted to. I would just tell him to tell his mom to chill. But I never spoke beyond that really. She is Caucasian, and my friend’s father is black. So she felt like she could say things that other white people aren’t really allowed to say. She even called me a nigga on multiple occasions. I told her that she was making racist comments, and not to call me that. Her response was that she was allowed to say it. She would say that she’s not racist because her baby daddy was black. Once I told my friend I wouldn’t hang out with him anymore if he couldn’t see my perspective on how her comments were racist, regardless of who she’s had a child with. After I had a true heart to heart with him, he eventually saw how her actions were unacceptable. It hurt me deeply because the stereotype that I get from Caucasians is that I’m one of the “good ones” because I speak proper and I’m personable. Or I’ve had white friends think they’re helping me, but their white privilege kept them from seeing that they were hurting me instead. I had a white friend that said he would put in a word for me at his place of employment. He told me that he told his boss that I was a good worker. And that I was black BUT I was a good Christian guy and that I don’t steal or anything like that. Moments like this showed me how he truly perceived African Americans deep down to the core. That I was one of the “good ones”. I slowly drifted away from those people over the years but it still hurts thinking about it. That the people I thought were my friends didn’t have my back like I thought. That some white people are oblivious to their white privilege. I never really had a true conversation with them about how I felt because I knew they would do what most white people tend to do, make it seem like we’re overreacting or playing the victim. So yeah, those are a few things I’ve had to deal with when it comes racism and white privilege. It’s hard feeling constantly attacked. I can go into a 7-eleven that I’m the only customer, and when I walk in I can see how wide some cashiers eyes get. It’s only for a second but I can see the fear or tension in their face for that second until “I” say hello. It causes anxiety for me sometimes because I feel pressure to be decisive in what I what to buy so I can leave quickly, versus browsing around while being watched and followed. I go to work and use the restroom and I have to look at a noose drawn on the stall door or the wall. MAGA, Fuck niggers, Obama is the first monkey for president, all lives matter, hang monkeys, white power, kkk , swastikas. These are the things I see when just going into the restroom. And it’s the same in a lot restrooms. It’s deflating to know that the same coworkers that’s laughing with you could be the same ones writing such hateful things. I’m just tired.
-J. Bazemore
On 8/12/2017 I was visiting back home in Texas. My mom had wanted to get a few things from Target, so we proceeded to the Target in Selma, Texas. It was around 3-4pm . I headed inside for 2 waters, eyelashes, and nail clippers. Got my items, went to the cashier, paid in cash, and left. As I was walking outside the store, I see a police SUV turning the corner; didn’t think anything of it. I get to my moms car, and I’m halfway in the car and that’s when the police pop up like “surprise!” . One of the cops says “ Didn’t I just give you a citation for stealing?”.
I replied “uhh, no I don’t live here.”. The cop replies “do you have proof of that, you look like somebody that has stolen.”
Sir, what!?!?!
At that point, I asked my mom to start recording but she was deep in her candy crush game and i honestly dont think things started clicking for her until I went on facebook live.
I go FB live because anything could have happened at that point. I handed them my VIRGINIA drivers license and a copy of my vehicle registration because that document had my correct address. As they were running my info, the cops were laughing . I found absolutely nothing funny. After they finished doing their job- they handed me back my ID and said you’re all clear. Well duhh sir! He proceeds to tell me again I look like somebody who had stolen smh.
What bothered me was why didn’t Target lost prevention approach me in the store? Do they have a picture of said person I look like? A quick glance at a photo would have avoided all this. And exactly what was I stealing? I purchased all my items. I didn’t come into the store with a wallet or a purse. My pants didn’t have pockets , so again tell me how I could steal?
After the ordeal, my mom backs out of the parking spot and asks me if I am okay. I broke down in tears. So many things could have went wrong. What if I was alone that day? What if it was dark outside? The fact that I was already in the car when the cops approached me lets me know that an employee had to physically come outside the store and point me out smh. It was very embarrassing. The car next to us asked if I was okay as well. Up until that point in my life , I had never experienced first hand discrimination like that to be accused of stealing. I make decent money, I don’t have a need to steal and especially from Target . I followed up Target by sending an email to corporate, but they never responded to me.
-B. Davis
My immigrant family still remembered seeing crosses being burned in our area from the KKK and their own blatant experiences with racism. So, they took the approach of, Brittany just take the high road, you don't want any drama or issues with white people. Unknowingly, they removed a foundation for me to speak up for myself due to their experiences with racism.
So, being a good kid, I followed the advice. This unfortunately allowed them to keep the power differential when I never fought back. And mind you, it was not always white kids, it was white teachers too! I legit felt different because of my culture and ethnicity, and they made sure to let me know from the food I had for lunch that they refused to warm up to the comments about the shape of my body and even my “ethnic” hair styles. A teacher legit STAPLED my braids because she did not like them, and "did not understand why people like me get braids". Or, even being openly humiliated by white teachers and students in class because I couldn’t pronounce certain words due to an accent. Unfortunately, I have so many more examples, all of which QUIETED my voice and my essence.
Anyway, I've released the rage I never knew I had and I'm cool now #PraiseGod! Super happy to get that out of my spirit in a healthy way, especially because I didn't even know I was holding onto it deep in my subconscious making me feel totally inferior throughout different points in my life #MindsetTrap. And - the sad thing is that I doubt any of them are aware of the impact these microaggressions had on my self-esteem or cultural identity as a child. To be honest, I don’t think I would have had this experience had it not been for the technology being used to broadcast the senseless killing of black people by police. We suppress our experiences with racism, white privilege and marginalism daily that we normalized it. BUT - IT IS NOT NORMAL. IT IS TRAUMA.
So, today, I'm making a commitment that my children will know that they are lions and lionesses, and no one rules over them but GOD. They have been divinely created thus have the green light to FULLY advocate for their worth and what they deserve. As their parent and EMPOWERED CARIBBEAN WOMAN, I will ensure that any barrier in their way will be ERADICATED because I know better and will absolutely do better.
It's a new day. It's a new generation. We will NOT stand for any discrimination. We are NO LONGER afraid.
-B. Fagan
As you can see, most of these experiences happened while these brave souls were still children, some under 21. Racism is very real. You can tell by the variety of experiences that sometimes it’s a look or a gesture and sometimes it’s downright obvious. Either way… this is why black people are hurting and upset. These are the lives we live, every day. As children, we learn that we are not liked or treated differently simply based on how we look. We don’t get to have that innocence of just knowing we’re “human beings” or “Americans”. Please stop question our emotions because you don’t understand them. We’ve been killed, treated differently, denied opportunities, terrorized, humiliated, etc. for a long time all because of the color of our skin.