Growing up black, I can tell you that racism is alive and well. Racism is stratified and attacks the black identity (and people of color) in many different ways, internally and externally. Colorism, racism, prejudice.
Growing up black, I was constantly faced with the reminder that “whites” (and other non-black races) did not “care” about us, that “they” were “evil”, and have always did their best to undermine “us”. This was evident in the media, At the same time, I felt equal mistrust from my black community. Why do we as a race, mistreat our own people, for the sake of acting in accordance to a “white standard”?
To explain, I would be mistreated by black employees in “white” establishments such as high class eateries or designer stores, where the black employees payed little attention to us or they visually harassed my family by following us around. It simply didn’t make sense. Why would they assume that we would be of a lower social status, when the exact opposite was true? One time, the lady whom I asked about a Gucci satchel in downtown Chicago humorously regarded me. She took humor in me being interested in the piece of clothing, assuming that my parents could not afford it and that I was being silly.
In my “white” middle school, I was pressured to behave more “white” in order to attract the girls, something I didn’t understand at such a young age. I was also pressured to behave more “black”, by my black peers and extended family. Because of my higher social status, my cousins discriminated against me; they made me feel like I didn’t belong because the lifestyle we lived was one of “white people” in their eyes. These subtle indignities and abuses to my racial identity fostered a hate for me, and especially for whites.
I’ve always loved my blackness, my black family and friends, because that’s all I’d ever known. But I was too consumed with proving my blackness to my black peers, so that I can feel accepted, and also proving it to my white peers (and myself) so that I would never be grouped along with them, which prevented me from developing a positive identity. For me, my family has always been pro-black, but just like all people, they are flawed. The ways in which they loved and developed their sense of self-worth and love, didn’t appeal to me, so I was still in search of my own.
An equalist, in terms of social justice, is one who looks for peace acknowledging why it’s not present. This reduces the severity of discrimination by pretending existing problems will go away on their own. As a black equalist, I unknowingly minimized the black struggle by advocating that people caused their own problems. I minimized injustice, claiming it as uncommon occurrences, completely unaware of the very adversities I suffered internally.
It took time to learn, heal, and become self-confident. I went through different stages of my identity, from being a racist and a self-hater, transitioning to being an “equalist” (the worst kind of racial injustice fighter one can become), and presently, a pro-black fighter of inequality and lover of life. I have come to be proud of my racial identity, I’ve come to love and understand my blackness and become one who is proud and assertive, and understanding and loving other races for what they are -- pigment on an even more diverse world of people. The reality is, many people of color struggle daily with their identity.
