A co-worker gave me the book, Small Great Things written by Jodi Picoult, and said that I had to read it. I hadn’t read a good book in a while, so I was looking forward to a page turner…and it did not disappoint! I began reading and absolutely identified with the main character, Ruth. She was a hard worker, and was good at what she did. She was also raising a son that she was extremely proud of. I understood her relationship with her mom and sister even though I could’t necessarily relate, I could empathize. And she was black. Then I met Turk. Turk is white. Turk made my skin crawl. I know there are Turks in the world, but it took me to a different place to read his thoughts. Turk was not just white, he was a white supremacist and blamed Ruth for killing his newborn son. I hated hated this character. I hated his hate toward black people, but what was unnerving was that I easily empathized with his human nature regarding family. It took me 2 months to finish this book. I couldn’t bear to read this story and think about all the people who have lived a similar reality. It was riveting and painful all at the same time. I also realized that I hated this man in this story, but I could not, would not hate this person in real life.
Reading this book and watching/reading the daily news has made me realize that I am naive to the race war going on today. To my knowledge, I have not personally experienced racism. I have not been placed in a situation where the fact that I am black has put me in an un-befitting position. At least I don’t think I have…
Sad to say, but living in the United States for 31 years and not feeling discriminated against because of my race, that is something to be in awe of. Funny enough, I was shamed as a young girl for having dark skin by family, and also criticized for talking ‘too white’. The nickname given to my by the kids in my neighborhood — black kids BTW — was Oreo, dark on the outside…white inside. That never really bothered me. In fact, I always liked that I didn’t talk like the people I grew up with, I knew it made me different. It was like it propelled me in the direction of success. It also made me very self-aware and cautious. I was on high alert all the time making sure I was doing everything I could to be thought of favorably because I wasn’t like everyone else and that in spite of me being black, I was a good young lady who was smart and well spoken. In fact, my Oreo ass did my very best to get away from that cancer I call the ‘hood. I knew that wasn’t the place for me. I worked hard, graduated from high school, then college, found a career, built a family and never looked back.
I was never told as a child that I would be treated different because of the color of my skin, but I knew I was black…I was outside of what the world considered ‘normal’. I would sit in class looking at my non-black classmates desiring their pale skin and straight hair that swang in the wind. I silently wished I could experience life on the other side of the tracks. Hell, I still do sometimes. I watched a lot of TV and I loved reading books…I saw a lot of white people and their lifestyle and I desired their life. That was another driving factor for being successful…even if it was and still is a false sense of reality. I may be considered what some black folks call a ‘sell-out’. But what is that exactly? To play their game if it means that I cultivate a life opposite of how I grew up? A life I knew I wanted no part of. That what I look like does not have to dictate how far I can go in life, or the level of access I can gain? What harm is it to know my truth, but want to be the real-life definition of the fact that even though the odds are stacked against me, that I can be more than what their idea of me is? I’ve never been the type to cry, “Woe is me!” and I am not going to start. I refuse to be someone who will complain about what I deserve when I haven’t done a damn thing to earn it. How you start should not define your final destination…do not despise humble beginnings. (Zechariah 4:10)
I have always known that I could be treated unfairly because of the color of my skin, but I have never had any malice in my heart. Matthew 5:43 says to love your enemies and to bless those who curse you. That does not mean that I condone or that I am remotely okay with what white people have done to my ancestors, but what good does it do me to hate? Yes, it was absolutely horrific what we had to go through as a people and as grateful as I am for what they suffered on my behalf, I have to move forward but never forget where we have come from and their suffering was not in vain. We, black folk, have to take this opportunity and use it to our advantage! It won’t be easy for us, history has shown us that it has never been. But I do know that God won’t put more on me than I can bear and we suffered because He knew we could and would rise above. The work isn’t finished, but the thing to celebrate is that we are making progress and there is nothing that can stop us.
