I've Experienced Racism My Whole Life
Words and image by Christina Sims
Think about some of the most famous women in the world, past and present, that were considered timeless beauties or bombshells.
My guess is that the names Marilyn Monroe, Gisele Bundchen, Cindy Crawford, Elizabeth Taylor, Grace Kelly, and Audrey Hepburn easily come to mind - and for great reason.
But how often would you hear names such as Josephine Baker, Dorothy Dandrige, Naomi Campbell, Tyra Banks, and Iman?
Now I want you to close your eyes for a moment.
What do you see? Nothing, right?
You see, if we never opened our eyes, inevitably, we all would appear to look the same. The inability to distinguish between color would prevent the ability to classify, categorize, or criticize based on appearance.
Instead, we live in a world where the concept of color has placed Black people in a distorted light. The foundation of that distortion began from the moment our ancestors were brought to this nation as cargo. We didn’t come here as people. We came as property.
To be treated as equal, we first have to be seen as equal.
The pride of being Black comes with the scars that lie beneath from living as a Black person. I’ve been Black for 32 years. That’s 11,680 days.
I’ve experienced racism my whole life; in social, educational, and work settings. And despite my years of training to be tough as Teflon and better than best, it still doesn’t change the fact that there will always be those who see my skin over my skill.
I remember my parents preparing me for school. They taught me the usual things you needed to know prior to registration, like how to write my name and basic letters, but they also instilled in me to be the best and to have thick skin. While most parents at this time prepared their children for the foundation of education, my parents had to prepare me for the foundation of life as a child of color.
Little did we know, my training would be put to test quite so soon. In my first years of school, I was beat up by a sixth grader whose family taught him Blacks were inferior; I encountered a teacher who snapped my brown and black crayons in front of me and called it ugly; and was called the ‘n’ word by a classmate who stated she was not allowed to be friends with people like me.
I didn’t understand why my parents never allowed me to attend sleepovers or host any of my own. I also didn’t understand why I didn’t see many children that looked like me. The closer I looked into the world around me - from classrooms, to dolls, and even in Disney Channel movies - I saw my likeness did not fit the standards of beauty or worth.
It wasn’t until the day my family and I were chased off a mountain by men who yelled racial slurs and death threats at us that it truly sunk in that the color of my skin could cost me my life.
As I grew into my teenage years, a time of self awareness and social acceptance, I hid the sadness that lied within. I wasn’t known as one of the popular girls. I was not asked out on dates. Being in a predominately white school, most were not allowed to date outside of their race. I figured if I couldn’t be pretty, then I would then be smart. I channeled my emotion into my studies only to stare at history books where the most mention of Black history you would find was Martin Luther King, Jr. and Rosa Parks. Out of frustration, I would write reports on Black historical figures to show my people were more than just slaves.
I dreaded February in school. I didn’t feel celebrated. I felt targeted. Every year I knew I was going to be asked by a teacher to sprinkle some Black History dust to the class or sit uncomfortably and hear students read excerpts aloud from the unedited version of the book “The Color Purple.”
In my final years of high school, I sat in a history class where a classmate’s poster on the KKK was allowed to be on display because it was considered “history”, and at graduation bore witness to a parade of Confederate flags as my classmates drove off.
After graduation, my scenery changed from school to the workplace, but the narrative remained the same. Although my name passed the ethnic test in resume screens, I knew the challenges that awaited me when it was time to interview despite possessing an MBA. Often during my employment I would be viewed as a “token hire” despite my extensive resume or had to be conscious of if my hair was deemed professional.
Some days it is simply just exhausting to be on your guard... 24/7, 365 days a week, in virtually all aspects of your life. My world requires me to research before I can travel and contemplate before selecting a name that will give my son the best chances of being employed. My world forces me to face denial regardless of my qualifications simply because of the color of my skin.
Despite the adversity, I’ve grown to appreciate my journey. It’s motivated me to push myself beyond measure. I am now the Chief Operations and Marketing Officer of a digital agency. I am a loving wife and proud mother of a beautiful biracial boy who has taught me to love without limits. And most importantly, I'm inspired to finally love and embrace myself in the beautiful brown skin I’m in. And I hope by sharing my story, it helps you embrace yours.
We are our ancestors' wildest dreams.
About the Author:
Christina teaches mompreneurs how to brand and promote online to build a money-making business that creates a life on their own terms.