By: Shecondria Duncan
My Most Recent Experience with Racism
It has been 400 years, and the African American experience in America has made little progress with racism. As the elders would say, this is a crime and a shame! If you can show me a black person who has never experienced racism, I will show you one that has never laid roots in these United States of America. And although I am no stranger to it, my most recent experience left my spirit a little broken. I recently relocated to the downtown area of my hometown. It has become a hip and bustling area packed with restaurants, cafes, and bars. Being a lover of those things, I was excited to move into this area. Besides that, everything is within walking distance, including my office space. So, it was a win-win! Two weeks into exploring my new neighborhood, racism reared its ugly head.
What I thought would be a night of self-care quickly turned into a moment of rage and fury. I made plans to try an Italian restaurant that was new to the area. There was a vegan dish on the menu that I could not wait to try. From looking at the pictures online, the atmosphere seemed elegant and intimate, perfect for an evening of self-care. I was sadly mistaken! When I arrived, I quickly noticed that I was the only African American in the room. That is not abnormal for this area, so I brushed it off. I asked to be seated at the bar, and when the hostess escorted me over, the evening went downhill.
Everyone seated in that area grabbed their personal belongings and pulled them closer as if a plague had appeared. To make matters worse, I sat for 15 minutes while the bartender ignored my presence. I noticed a couple staring at me from the other end of the bar. Their eyes held their thoughts, “What are you doing here? You don’t belong here.” And then it happened. I watched as the bartender approached the couple, asking them had they been served. The male, still staring down at me, said as he pointed in my direction, “that black girl down there hasn’t.” Not that young lady, or that woman, or the lady in the blue shirt, but that black girl!
Somewhere between shock and rage, I watched as the bartender pretended to look around for me. And as if he did not see the only African American in the room, he uttered, “who?” It was unbelievable! I was the only African American in the entire restaurant. Yet, he refused to see me. And the one person who did was offended by my presence. I just sat there, deciding if they would feel the wrath of my rage or if I would turn a blind eye like African Americans often do to avoid untimely death. I will stop here and say that I chose a response somewhere in the middle. Why? It is taxing to my mental health to ignore being hated simply for the color of my skin.
I Often Wonder
Do they see me? Like, see ME. Not by looking at the flesh that covers my body, but through my eyes, the window into my soul. Do they care enough to look that deep? Or do they feel better deciding who I am on the color of my skin alone? I often watch them cringe as I approach them. The emotional blow of that never seems to soften. Why do they fear me? Or is it even fear at all? Perhaps this idea of “fear” makes them feel more comfortable living out loud in their prejudice. Sometimes I politely speak to see their reaction. Giving the benefit of the doubt that perhaps, in some way, they believe I am fearful or prejudice, and subsequently, that idea causes them to keep their distance; for fear of being hashtagged as the new Karen or Keith. On the other hand, it has been 400 years too long to sell myself on this theory, and I am left to believe that I am staring in the face of what hate looks like in America.
Lessons from My Soul
Underneath the flesh, there lies a spirit. The spirit is of no race; it is only of love and light. While some choose to dim theirs darker, I prefer mine to shine bright! That is its purpose, right, to be a beacon for others to guide them towards the light. I make no distinction between the spirit and the soul. In my view, it is one and the same. Both are unseen manifestations of God’s gift to the world. He put us here together to live in harmony and love one another unconditionally, just as he has chosen to love us. It is disheartening that after all this time, we still live in discord with one another. In this instance because we choose to see only the vessel and not the soul. If we looked deeper, we could find beautiful manifestations of God’s love, made in his image and birth to serve his purpose. To speak for my soul, it is loving, selfless, and thoughtful. It is worthy of being more than that black girl. Because underneath that black girl is a little spirit who loves passionately and unconditionally. Moreover, it is understanding and forgiving. So, even when my flesh wants to hold the grudge of being a victim of racism, my soul forces me to love mankind unconditionally, even when referred to as that black girl.
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