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What Does It Mean To Be A White Person? What Does It Mean to Be A Black Person?

Overcoming racial barriers

We Assume we know what children want and how children think. The many of us who work within organizations that foster youth and aid in their personal development assure ourselves by assuming we can discern their thoughts, fears, motivations, and actions.

We find ourselves advocating on their behalf, concealing our biases and hopes for rescuing our younger selves and guiding them from all the directions we’ve wandered. But we never stop and ask children, what do you think? How do you feel?

We assume that because they are young, their thoughts, emotions, and motivations are irrational as if they were mimicking or mirroring something while covering up their true feelings.

It’s important to know how children think and feel; the only way to do this is by simply asking questions. While working with my kids at the local community center, I had them watch a lecture by Dr. Kunjufu regarding peer pressure. When I entered the classroom, one of my kids (I refer to them as my kids because I am maternal. Despite the roaring allegations that women do not want to nurture, I feel the connection strongly, and I’ve always known that I wanted to be a good mom. For me, the desire is innate.) asked me if I had a big house.

Kids are honest, so I was flattered, as I was currently living paycheck to paycheck in a studio, I began to dissect why she might’ve asked me that. I noticed my dress, my hair, and my cadence.

When the film was over, I had the kids complete a worksheet that asked them the following questions:

What does it mean to be a black person?

What does it mean to be a white person?

What is a friend?

What is an overachiever?

What is an underachiever?

As you can imagine, the first two questions were very telling, and I will reveal them in a few lines. But their responses have always made me question whether we should continue to advocate on behalf of grown adults.

I’ve written about how racism has held some of us back within our community because of our allyship in our victimhood. I’ll be the first to explore compassion related to such topics because there are many cases where blacks are indeed victims of racial discrimination. My short story clearly indicated that I was silently fired from my job because my manager was going on vacation. I’ve had an experience where I went out with coworkers after work hours, and I remember having locs in my hair. I knew I didn’t want to go, but I told myself I would go — embracing the idea that it was a new world and that old ways of thinking and being were subsided.

I remember feeling awkward sitting among them at the patio table, but shoving my feelings aside, attempting to engage in conversation, when I overheard my head editor just a few heads down, discussing my long hair and her disgust. I watched as the others who noticed I caught wind of what she had just said sat there quietly, sipping their beers. I excused myself shortly after. The days following were always the same, little training, engagement, and acknowledgment.

I recently had an experience that resulted in an ongoing case with an employer who discriminated against me. I was in the training room, where I asked a question in an open environment, when the trainer pulled me outside of the classroom and told me that I was disrupting her class by asking another colleague a question instead of her.

Earlier that week, she made sly references to rap music, telling the training room staff that we could listen to whatever music because she was cool with it; she then said that Tupac was her favorite rapper.

After she pulled me aside to tell me how I had bruised her ego, the days following would bear hardship for me. I had to take a call before the class started, resulting in an absence of at least five minutes; when I informed her, she told me it would count against me.

Just a day prior, a younger white girl showed up to the training two hours later and said it was due to the weather, and I watched as the trainer told her that she didn’t need to worry about it. She reasoned, and the girl was allowed to pick up where she left off.

At the time, I was waking at 5 am to take two buses to get to this job. I would wake at 5 am, catch the bus downtown, and take another hour’s route to my job. I would walk 15 minutes alongside the busy plazas to the facility.

The day following our disagreement about whether or not my five-minute phone call should result in a dock against my attendance would result in chaos at the front desk.

I was in a good mood when I arrived at work, but I realized I had left my new badge on the bus.

I remember my trainer telling me that if I ever left my badge at home, I would inform them of her name at the security desk, and she would come badge me in.

Well, because of my current means of transportation, I arrived early. I informed the security desk of my trainer’s name and patiently waited for her. She came half an hour later and nodded at me.

She and the security guards went into the office shortly after her return to the front desk. Once they finished conversing behind closed doors, she said, “I’ll see you inside!”

When I stood up, ready to be admitted into the office, the guards said, your name doesn’t match your badge.

Confused, I reminded them of my full name and that they had aided me during my initial hiring and orientation. It hadn’t been many blacks at the place of employment; I had been working there all week, greeting them each morning; surely, they recognized me.

I reminded them of the policy that if I lost my badge, my trainer could badge me in; they told me that my trainer had told them that I had been causing disruptions in the classroom.

I stood there appalled.

They would later bring their operating officer down to the front desk to verify my name and then tell me that they couldn’t let me in because my preferred name was different than my legal name, which, is my full name, present on my social and birth certificate. I handed them my drivers license.

They hounded me, and as I was trying to gain an understanding, the security guard walked out of the office and told me that if I didn’t leave the premises, I would be escorted off the premises and that they would call the police. I began to rebuttal the trainer’s allegations towards me, and they told me I was aggressively threatening them.

I walked away, humiliated, as it felt like a movie, something you see online and have a jarring reaction, but nothing that you can fathom until it happens to you.

I later waited for my Lyft, confused and unsure whether I would have a job in the morning. Mad at God, as I was doing everything right and not giving them a reason. I was disgusted by their behavior as they all rallied together in whiteship and discriminated against me.

My first Lyft was canceled. I waited inside Target, uneasy, seeing no blacks inside the store. I think when you’re wrongfully discriminated against, the first thing you want to do is be around people who look like you. Black skin didn’t always mean kinship, but it undoubtedly afforded a sense of comfort.

When my second Lyft showed up, it was a man named Ron. He was a black man. I told him the truth about my day and what I felt when he asked what I was doing. I shared how I had been wrongfully sent home from work and possibly terminated.

He told me that he had a similar experience in the past. He turned up the radio, and I noticed the gospel music playing. He told me that the whites fired him for conducting bible studies during his lunch break with coworkers. I later found out that he used to be a pastor.

He told me that, eventually, the company failed and encouraged me in my faith and God’s vengeance. He shared the gospel with me and spoke words of life over this year of my life. He told me he was getting married this year and encouraged me not to let negative influences deter me and God’s plans for me.

I got out of the car feeling renewed. I felt like God had seen me and was with me. His words of encouragement were timely; it was like an angel had swept me up from my distress at that moment. It felt surreal.

These are just a few racist encounters I’ve had with whites. I could share many more, but we would need an entire novel.

Despite all the racial discrimination, I never allowed whites to have my joy. I feel blessed to be sane with a clear conscious. I never looked to them to solve my problems cause it became clear to me early on in my life that I wasn’t answering them. It became evident early on in my life that somebody was watching over me.

Recently, I’ve been working to overcome my racial prejudices. And it feels good. Rappers always want to take the video cameras to the hood to showcase some glorification, never coming to terms with the realization of what specific environments breed. It makes me feel like most of them never had to live that way outside the TV screens.

When I asked my kids what it meant to be black, they had no problem telling me what it meant. They wrote that to be black is to live in the ghetto, drive raggedy cars, have cookouts, and be around fights and shootings. They wrote that to be black is to be dumb and lazy. They said that to be black is to be not good in school and to be good in sports.

When I asked them what it means to be white, they said to drive fancy cars, live in nice houses, and eat good food.

Earlier, I posed the question, should we be advocating on behalf of grown adults?

The answer lies in connecting the dots between adults who grow up in systemic deprivation and become a byproduct of their environment.

Children grow up to become adults, and without a proper understanding of racial and systemic barriers, it will be hard for black youth and adults to overcome their dependency and negative beliefs about themselves. The entire community needs education.

Overcoming racial barriers is a work that is intentionally driven; it’s a work that needs to start within our communities, and it is a battle that we cannot fight alone. Because injustice is the spirit that carries America, it can only be won with the alliance of a power greater than ourselves.

Black kids will eventually grow up to be black adults, and if they don’t have positive images of themselves, paradigms about whites being better will keep them from trying.

When you can walk into a room and believe that you are the best and acknowledge that you are good and that there is a God on your side fighting for you, you will know freedom.

I’ve since decided to start a second business. Things are going well, I am currently supervised by a black woman and it has been brought to me, that the racist trainer is no longer with the company.

It is not enough, but I have peace that God is bringing me better. Whites, are not better, and they are not your savior. It is my hope that you work to overcome your racial barriers, trusting that you are the best, and always confiding in Gods best for you.

Reach beyond the stars.

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