Prejudice into Progress

Growing up, racism was just a word to me. Prejudice was a dark part of history. And senseless hate was practiced by a few in parts far away.

I was naive.

Both my parents were born and raised in the south during the ’60s and ’70s. Many of my extended family were and still are very religious, and southern tradition runs deep in their cores. When I was about five or six, my folks moved us across the United States to Washington. As I grew older, they explained that they wanted me to grow up far away from the negativity of our family and the prejudice of the deep south. It wouldn’t be until I was a teenager that I understood that my family and prejudice would walk hand in hand.

Spending most of my years here in Washington, I have lived in many beautiful cities, all progressive, inclusive, and diverse. I’ve had the blessing of meeting, learning, and befriending people from all kinds of backgrounds. I didn’t understand how or why people I had heard about or characters written in books could hate another person based purely on their ethnicity, sexuality, culture, background, etc.

In my early twenties, that perfect bubble would burst.

I took on a challenging job working with sexually violent predators right before my 21st birthday. The first couple of months were difficult. I got into an incident where I was alienated from many of my peers. The supervisor I had to report to made me feel stupid and that it was my fault. I would overhear her later talking with others, including another supervisor, that I was “…a stupid, young, white girl.”

I was hurt.

I wracked my brain for what was happening. I barely knew these ladies, but they already had an opinion of me. I was dismissed because I was young and because of the color of my skin. I had no control over these things. At first, I reviewed all my past few interactions with them to see if there was any reason why they would have cause to dislike me so. All of our interactions were pleasant, and I couldn’t think of anything that would motivate them.

But then it hit me:

It wasn’t the actions I had committed, but the experiences these individuals faced with people who looked like me. I had a fair grasp of the concept at the time but, as the years and experiences have taught me, we make our own opinions on people based on what we have experienced. The truth is that our culture has given us vastly different justifications for treating groups of people differently based on petty reasons. These values tend to be generational and, even when the cycle breaks, the residual effects of these practices linger in subconscious actions and words.

I tried putting myself into the shoes of these individuals. The fact is, I will never be able to understand how the world has treated them truly. I will only be able to sympathize with their experiences and do what I can to shut down prejudice when I see it.

My husband has helped me put this notion into practice.

My husband’s family comes from the Micronesian islands. Throughout our courtship, he told me stories about how he was the only ethnic family in his neighborhood, how his teachers would find ways to fail him in a class by losing his homework, and how he has been accused of every ethnicity but his own by ignorant people. Some of these stories were mere annoyances. Others, such as being invited to a KKK BBQ while stationed in Arkansas, are terrifying. But he, like many other people of color I have spoken with, share these stories as just another daily occurrence. This is just another day in their lives.

My husband and I have met some passive-aggressive comments throughout our marriage because we are a biracial couple. The least offensive has been the random elderly white couples who give us reproachful looks as he and I walk hand in hand. One that angered me the most was an old friend of my parents. Just a couple of months before our wedding, my mom reconnected with an old schoolmate. My mother was gushing about how excited she was for our upcoming nuptials and shared pictures. The friend asked my mother, “how can you let your daughter marry someone non-white?”

But the one that hurt the most was my grandmother. When she came to visit one year, I was driving her around my childhood town. I forget the conversation, but I still remember the statement that stung the most: “People should just marry people of their own race.” It became quiet in the car, and I could see her facial expression morph as she realized the hurtful statement she had made and who she had said it to. She rapidly apologized and assured me she did not mean what she said, but the damage had been done. It has tainted my view of her and the integrity of our relationship.

I will never be able to understand truly. The prejudiced experiences I have encountered have been fair and far between in comparison to the stories shared by my loved ones over the years. Because of my skin color, I am less likely to be the victim of a hate crime. I am less likely to be accosted while I am out in public. I am sick, disappointed, angry, and sad that we, as a country, have progressed so little.

So I have decided to help be the change.

I am no social justice warrior. I am not a vigilante or tirelessly working towards social and political reform. My approach is far smaller.

It’s in trying to understand what I don’t understand. I have poured over our history through research, podcasts, and civil rights writings to gauge a better understanding of the lives of our people. I’m surprised how much is left out of our educational system. It’s historical moments, such as the Tulsa Race Massacre of 1921, that have left disparaging impacts on black communities, all the while slipping through the final cuts for textbooks.

It’s in learning about new cultures and correcting false perceptions. In light of the Islamophobia that has swept our nation for several years, I have asked friends and acquaintances to educate me on their beliefs and practices. Having a better understanding has taught me to educate people who make ignorant statements about the collective. It may not stop them from continuing the propaganda, but the false information is stopped at this outlet.

It’s continuing to show support and alliance for people from various ethnicities. It can be as intimate to the one-on-one conversations to boost self-confidence and to validate their contributions to the world around them. Or more publicly known platforms such as showing solidarity for social justice.

But my favorite is in instilling diversity and inclusivity in our youth.

It started with the young men at the juvenile detention center I worked at. I enjoyed helping to educate these young men to embrace more cultures and ethnicities through cultural programs and celebrations that were open to the entire campus. It was a fantastic way to expose everyone to cultures and show how we are all interconnected. But to see rival gang members work harmoniously to bring the cultural programs to fruition and remain successful is one of the most beautiful examples of overcoming prejudice I have seen in my lifetime. Through educating and instilling inclusivity in our youth, future generations will intergrade it into every facet of life.

This is what I hope to pass on through my daughter.

At almost seven, she has been taught that people come in different appearances and celebrate life in wondrous ways. Families come in a wide variety of dynamics and are respectful of how people wish to be identified. When we don’t know the answer, we look it up and try to understand it better.

She gives me hope that she, and those in her generation, will be an essential part of dismantling hate and turn prejudice into love.