Racism: A Diary

Given all that has happened recently – murders of unarmed black citizens, protests, a global pandemic, and an economic recession, I felt compelled to document some of the most pivotal experience of racism that I can recall. Mainly because it helps ground me in the truth of my own experiences in the face of people repeatedly claiming that racism no longer exists in this country.

Note that this is not an exhaustive or complete list – these are simply the experiences that impacted me the most and come to mind at first thought…I’m leaving out the everyday slights of being followed through stores and treated like crap – those situations are so common that it would take me years to document every such occurence. Being from a good family, getting a good education, working hard, dressing professionally, even being “rich” – none of those things have shielded me from this long series of small, but hurtful experiences – that is what systemic racism is…we live in a system that makes it impossible for anyone to emerge unscathed by disparity.

Earliest memory of race/racism:

• Pre-school, age 3 or 4 – we were asked to do self portraits.  I reached innocently for a brown crayon and my best friend (white) at child garden in Minneapolis freaked out and said “no!!!! Not brown.  Brown is UGLY!!!” And I looked at my arm and I looked at the crayon and said “but I AM brown.”  And we both blinked at each other in the surprise revelation that apparently my skin was ugly.  This began a life long series of experiences reinforcing my “otherness” “ugliness” and “less-than” status as a black girl.

Elementary school:

We moved from Minneapolis to Memphis and I got a rude awakening

• I absorbed that the confederate flag was a symbol of hate and to fear/avoid those who displayed it.  I remember literally quaking with fear when a plumber was at our house and while playing in the street I noticed a confederate flag sticker was on his bumper.  I ran into the house and tried to discreetly warn my mother that we had a “bad man” in our midst.
• None of our neighbors, except one, spoke to us for weeks.  My teenaged brother got pulled over almost daily driving from his summer job to our our new home.  Our progressive realtor had placed us in a segregated/white enclave and it sucked.  The area is now affluent and diverse and I often joke that my family helped integrate it.
• The one neighbor who was kind – their mom taught me to swim and kinda ride a bike, the husband owned a landscaping business and his black workers weren’t allowed in his home.  I remember watching them sit outside for hours on blistering hot days while he took a cool break inside. My mom would have me bring them snacks and cool drinks. That was my first realization that even nice white people often still don’t want black people in their personal space.
• I was invited to a friend’s house and her grandmother warned me not to steal anything as she drove us to their house.  That was my first realization that other people think of black people as thieves.  I was 8.
• I went ice skating at a local mall with that same friend and a group of skin heads pushed me down and called me a nigger. I was 8.  That is my first memory of racial violence and the Nword.
• I made the honor roll but my fourth grade teacher “forgot” to include me (The only black student in the grade) on the list of students to have their names called and stand on stage during assembly.  I was sooo sad bc I’d worked really hard to make that list and couldn’t wait to stand on the stage. My mother took it up with the principal, the grades were checked, and my name was added to the list afterwards but I never got to stand on the stage with my classmates.  That was my first memory of being excluded or treated unfairly by an authority figure.
• My yankee accent got me teased constantly for “talking white”. That was my first realization that social, racial, and class cues were given by my manner of speech. I was in 3rd grade.
• I was invited to the birthday party of a boy in my class named Mitch. It was at a skating rink.  A slow song came on and he asked me to skate and held my hand.  His mother had the DJ cut the music off, turn the lights on, and then gave him a stern talking to.  That was my first realization that interracial “crushes” were a problem for parents.  There were no black boys in my grade or the school, so that also was basically the end of my romantic experiences at school.  I was in 3rd grade.

We moved back to Minneapolis…

• We lived in an urban, walkable area downtown – my dear friend’s father, who lived close, denied our request to walk to a nearby convenience store and told us that he couldn’t allow “a little white girl” to walk alone in that area. I asked him “so it is safe for me but not for her?”  He didn’t reply. That was the first time  I realized that my little brown body wasn’t deemed as vulnerable, precious, or worthy of protection as a little white girl’s body. I was 12.
• I went skiing with my school and was on a black diamond hill – some jerks from the chair lift yelled down “look! A black nigger on the black diamond!” My friends and other white people on the chairlift jumped to my defense and a screaming match ensued – that day I learned the power of vocal allies.
• Freshman year of high school – a group of senior boys decided to wear T-shirts with confederate flags that said “the south will rise again” I shook with fear every time I had to walk down a senior hallway.  These same boys threw oranges at my in the cafeteria once and a couple of them were on student council with me.  I petitioned the principal and wrote articles in the school paper until the confederate flag was banned on campus.  I learned then the power of speaking up.
• Senior year Econ class.  A popular athlete shares that his grandmother said if any more black people move into his neighborhood, she is moving because black people lower property values.  Everyone nodded as if this was fact and I was devastated because my BEST (still my best friend today) friend was in the class and it crushed me that all, including the teacher, seemed to agree that people like me were bad for a neighborhood.  I was the only black student in the class.  I excused myself and went to the bathroom and wept uncontrollably.  That was when I learned the painful betrayal of white silence.  The silence of my friends that day hurt more than all of the other incidents combined.

College/NYC:

• Columbia University – where to start?  I loved Columbia at first but that bubble quickly deflated.  In my time there I was accused unfairly of cheating in front of an entire class, almost given failing grades incorrectly TWICE because professors couldn’t tell me apart from another black student and accidentally switched our grades, and had professors refuse to call on me/de-value my contributions to class.  By my senior year I no longer raised my hand or attempted to participate and focused on large lecture classes where I’d be judged by the merit of my work, not my race/gender.  I got my first and only A+ On my transcript in a large lecture where the professor never heard my voice or knew my name.  I learned then that my best shot at fair judgement of my work were situations when it wasn’t associated with me but judged blindly. I graduated with a 3.6 but It took me years to regain my voice and confidence after my crushing Columbia experience. 
• Denied my first apartment – after being approved on paper, we went to pick up the keys and the landlord realized my roommate and I were black.  He refused to rent to us. We had to split up and rent rooms separately because we, two Columbia University graduates couldn’t find anyone willing to rent to us.  That was when I realized that racial discrimination in housing happens in the north too.  I moved to Harlem.  I was 21.

Corporate America:

• First job out of college – Time Inc.  First client event: boss offers to hail a cab for me in front of the whole team because “we all know cabs don’t stop for black people!” His statement was true but still hurt because it pointed out my “otherness” as the only black person on the team and my second class status in my adopted city.
• Moved back to Minneapolis after grad school, a few blocks from the bldg where I grew up.  My patio was egged repeatedly and security was called on me every time I had guests on my patio.  My landlord decided not to renew my lease despite me paying early every month.  I moved 3 times in the 3 years I lived in Minneapolis.  I realized that I wasn’t welcome or wanted in most spaces within my “home” town.  I moved to Atlanta which is the only place I’ve lived that i don’t constantly feel like a second class citizen.  
• First director level job, moved to Atlanta and the COO (named Jefferson after the president of the confederacy) asked me to bring him my resume because he didn’t initially believe I could have possibly qualified for the job.
• At the same job, whenever being asked to participate in a new client pitch, cynically realizing over 3 years that I was only pulled in when there was a black client on the decision team.  Eye roll.
• Same job that I loved overall, being told in a performance review that junior staff members found me intimidating and unapproachable.  I’m like 5ft tall so I’m still unclear how anything other than my skin color could intimidate anyone.
• Transitioned to a sales role – LOVE it and was quickly a top performer on the team – 233% to quota in 2019.  CEO asks to accompany me to a client meeting in NYC.  My boss tells me that the CEO feels I don’t look like his idea of a salesman (yes, salesMAN) and don’t look “professional” but can’t give me anything concrete to change.  
• Despite my stellar numbers and being the top performer on my team, I’m among the first furloughed in March 2020.  
• No reason is given and I still have yet to hear from my team lead or VP about the situation. There are no longer any black employees on the account team at that company.