When my dad first came to the US he was in high school and lived under the care of an American family in a very “white” neighborhood. He would get stares everywhere he went and at first, didn’t understand. It was a little boy who approached him when he was sitting on a bench and asked “sir, are you sick?” My dad shook his head no and the little boy asked “then why do you look like that?”
When he decided to join the basketball team, and needed a jersey, the coach told him he couldn’t wear the same one as everyone else. The coach pointed to the back of the locker room to a pile of old smelly laundry that had been there a year or so. “Go find yourself something in there.” My dad was so disgusted that he walked away and never went back to the school gym again. Which was a shame because I think he would have been a really good player.
His white family was well off and would take him to visit their friends in Manhattan. Wherever he went people stared (his Afro didn’t help). When he walked into a Tiffanys, they called the police to escort him out (not so nicely).
I want you to know that more than not, the people my dad met in the US were loving and cared for him. The ones that were special, I am still friends with (the picture is from his last time in the US). But since the day he came to this country, the system was structured to let him know an African like him was not welcome. Places of power pushed him away either explicitly or implicitly. It was as if they were saying “you can be free, and have some rights - but know your place and stay where we want you.” That’s what systemic racism means to me.
When he went to college he began protesting and supporting the Black Panther Party. He spoke out shamelessly and risked his life in a place that was majority white. When he was asked to give a speech as class valedictorian, he spoke against racism so daringly that the college and their donors convinced the dean to ban him from his own graduation.
I personally will never understand my father's struggles. I was born and raised in a country where my skin color never made me unsafe. The fights of people like my father have changed things so that when I came to the U.S, I was welcomed by everyone I met and the college I went to treated me and my views with the same respect as everyone else’s. But systemic racism still exists and the fight is nowhere near over. It pains me that people still live like how my dad had to. I’m writing this now because racism has been an injustice on my mind before the events of this year and it will continue to be so. I’m sorry that it took the death of so many to finally unite us but I am grateful we are making our way to justice. For those of you who have felt frustrated and saddened, I want to remind you that progress takes time and what’s important is that we are moving in the right direction. If you are someone who hasn’t been directly affected or don’t know if it’s your fight to fight, I promise you it is. It’s all of ours because we are all fighting for the one and the only human race.
There are different ways to fight injustice. If posting stuff on social media is not your thing, that’s cool. Find how you can make a difference- and if you don’t know how, ask God for guidance. Ask Him to show you racism where you didn’t see it before. There’s a guide on how to pray on my blog.
Sign the petitions, call your state representatives if you are in the US. Educate those in your circle you know won’t do it. Educate yourself. Most of all, be loving of all those who need it. You never know when your small acts of kindness could be saving someone’s life. And like I said, don’t let fear win by paralyzing you. Wherever you are we need you to make your corner of the world a better place.
Stay strong,
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