My journey through Racism and Prejudice (in short)

As African-Americans as a whole, some of us have always struggled with identity in the sense of heritage; a connection beyond what your parents have given you ie eye color hair color etc. This is in short; my journey, my need for self understanding and a connection to something greater than a country where I am seen as inferior, but people who look like me are the reason many inventions exist.

I was raised in Chicago, the youngest of five from parents raised in the south. A south they never discussed the horrors of, other than my paternal grandfather having a strong conversation with a white man regarding his sons bothering his daughters. I recall my father telling the story with pride, my pride in the story was a little different. My pride was because my grandfather encountered an uncomfortable situation with a white man and still lived to be 74/75 years old in a time where 15-year-olds was killed for less. In first grade I was bused up north to Mary Lyon school school where most of my teachers were white. My first grade, teacher a jolly white lady, (Ms Sykawitz), my second grade teacher  (Ms May) an  older white lady who really didn’t have a connection to us nor showed us any affection but at least she wasn’t mean. My third-grade teacher Miss Biggawits an evil white woman who pulled the hair of the little black girls in the classroom until one of my classmates mother, wrote her a letter threatening her against it. She was mean and often referred to the black boys as little monkeys or our behavior as being that of little monkeys. Being in a school 80 to 85% white saying the pledge of allegiance, singing the "Star-Spangled Banner" or "America" on a daily basis, knowing  the words verbatim and because I love to sing, I would sing it with pride. That is until I started to understand that the words to the songs did not really refer to me. The awakening was gradual it started with that 2nd grade teacher who was often loving and affectionate toward the non-children of color and in 3rd grade the mean evil teacher.  But then somewhere around 4th grade one of my classmates who I considered to be a good friend, who came from a Greek family gave me her phone number. I called her one day and her father asked me who was I gave my name and then my friend got on the phone saying, "my dad doesn’t allow blacks to call our house we can play at school and stuff but that’s it". This stung and bothered me. I started to get used to adults acting a certain way but my peers?  After this she and I were no longer friends I remember another of my Caucasian friends asking why do I wear my hair the way I do, why is my skin so dark and I talk different. I’d never felt insecure until all these questions. 

I can recall the only thing we read about ourselves was that Native Americans had their land taken away, Dr. King was a civil rights leader and that we were slaves. In six grade, something struck a nerve and as we went for a daily routine of standing saying the pledge and singing the Star-Spangled Banner, I couldn’t do it anymore. It didn’t feel right to me, it felt wrong. My teacher an African-Americans was so angry by my actions that she made myself and the class write out the words to the song because once I stopped singing it others did. I could see the anger in her face when she went over my words and saw that I knew every single word of the song and when she called me out and had me sing it in front of the class she stopped me halfway through even more irritated because I can actually sing a little bit, this resulted in a call  home. I discovered 2 things about this situation; one, my dad has always been my backup (told her it was my prerogative if I sung it or not) and two, I have leadership qualities (caused whites and other blacks to follow me without saying a word). 

In high school I got introduced to white people who weren’t necessarily mean to me but at this point the damage had been done, I didn’t trust white people and some blacks neither. I also got introduced to Malcolm X, Nikki Giovanni, Frederick Douglass, Sojourner truth ,other black heroes and the black panther party. In detention one day while others slept or complained as we were forced to watch 8 hours of "Eye on the prize", I watched with more attention than I had ever given any class. I discovered while watching this, it was something my soul needed to see. I saw the horror and cruelty of whites without remorse. How can you kill a child, how can you spit on people, how can you hang someone from a tree as your children are looking,  how can you use a horse whip on human flesh? This made me very angry and to this day I feel a certain kind away around white men. I’ve met some nice ones, some great ones. There are some that I can truly say I love, but when I go deep down, I still don’t trust them. 

I went to an HBC U (Historically Black College or University) in Jackson Ms,  within walking distance of where Medgar Evers was gunned down. I marched with my fellow HBCU school members regarding the Ayers case. The man who killed Medgar Evers had finally been put in jail and was waiting for his trial. An article came out that I can recall clear as day stating, "should the government go after murderers from the civil rights movement or people who committed hate crimes" during this time.  During this time Emmitt Till's mother was trying to get justice for his murder. I thought the concept of not going after them was dumb considering people died and no one was held accountable. I also went on a trip with my department (Criminal Justice) where we went to the actual jail where this scum of the earth who killed Medgar Evers was actually incarcerated waiting for a new trial.  I asked my teacher are we going to see him and he just looked at me with a puzzled look and said "that is a very very sick old man". I would mumble under my breathe brother Evers never got to get old. 

After college I dated and interacted with a variety of Africans most of which were positive experiences but the one thing that I recall from those experiences was being seen as a black American or their black American brothers and sisters.  I’ve had encounters with other races where I question my mistrust of them but then something happens whether in my presence or globally that makes me go back to my feelings.  I could trust, but my experience with racism started very early on in life, my looking for a connection to people places and things started early on in my life.  I see myself now as an African-American female whose ancestors are from Africa, although I have no formal connection to the continent such as language, tribal names or faith practice.  Not any direct connection to any of the 54 countries located on the continent, and yet talking about it feels like home.