In 1992 it wasn’t uncommon for me to be the only black girl in the group. I had friends who were black like me, but most of them were outside of my race. It didn’t matter that my skin was darker — if anything my friends and I found our differences interesting. Back then I was a six-year-old girl who judged people by the quality of snacks they traded at lunch, not by the color of their skin. Early on I learned the lesson at home that everyone is equal and our various shades exist to make us unique. This mentality lingered throughout my adolescence, but I became more aware of the fact that not…
In 1992 it wasn’t uncommon for me to be the only black girl in the group. I had friends who were black like me, but most of them were outside of my race. It didn’t matter that my skin was darker — if anything my friends and I found our differences interesting.
Back then I was a six-year-old girl who judged people by the quality of snacks they traded at lunch, not by the color of their skin. Early on I learned the lesson at home that everyone is equal and our various shades exist to make us unique. This mentality lingered throughout my adolescence, but I became more aware of the fact that not everyone shared my outlook, and slowly I was introduced to the reality of racial tension as I matured.
To me, racial tension was something that for the most part had been annihilated in the 1960’s with the progression of the civil rights movement. Call it youth, inexperience, or naivety, but I couldn’t wrap my head around such cruelty and stupidity existing in our society today. I never experienced racism directly growing up so I experienced a bit of a learning curve on the subject. It wasn’t a part of my world and the only sign of its presence was within the pages of my history books. Don’t get me wrong — I have always been aware that there are still people in the world who continue to hate with unparalleled ambition, but I always believed that racial tension could never carry the volume it once did in the days of beaten flesh swinging from trees, and freedom marches in Selma, Alabama. But now as an adult in the year 2015, I am not so sure anymore.
Over the last two years I’ve watched our country’s simmering racial tension come to a slow boil after the recent deaths of several African-Americans who were killed at the hands of men outside of their race. The circumstances surrounding this violence has ignited public outrage and increased speculation that these killings were racially motivated. These incidents have birthed nationwide protests across the country that have at times erupted into even more violence. People are angry and emotions are raw, Our nation has been divided by our individual perception of what we view as right and wrong–this isn’t new, but the space between the divide has increased and the atmosphere is filled with an unsettling undertone. And as a result, racial tension is no longer lurking faintly in the dark. It’s out, live, and in color.
Before recent events, for the most part, racial tension was void of robust media presence. It wasn’t breaking news on cable television every hour and racist comments didn’t significantly populate the comment sections of articles and online blogs.
With racial tension now at the forefront it seems that individuals with something to say have shed their inhibitions and are no longer afraid to share their hateful opinions–especially on social media. It’s opened my eyes to a harsh reality that a part of me still doesn’t want to believe: Could we could be a fault line away from history repeating itself?
All of this has changed me and I don’t like it. I see the world shifting back into a shape that it once was. It’s still round, but the texture is harsher with a breeze containing the potential to destroy positive race relations in this country.
Racial tension was the furthest thing from my mind two years ago. Now I think about it each day. It’s on my mind when I think about the glorious moment that I bring a child of my own into this world. It’s on my mind when I think of the possibility of finding love with a man outside of my race and experiencing hate because of it. And it’s on my mind when I contemplate my male teenage cousins and wonder if anyone could view them as “thugs” or “hoodlums.”
I sincerely hope that the tension I see in the world doesn’t fully stick. That somehow those who hate will stop fearing those who are different from them and cease their destruction. It may seem far-fetched, but without hope what else do we have?
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