I am a white woman of a certain age, and I am racist. I don't want to be. But I am.
I grew up in coal country, in Appalachia. My whole community was white and poor. Some people thought our family was “rich” because we lived in a big, two-story house on a one acre lot. We weren't. I had one pair of shoes, two skirts, and two blouses to wear to school. The skirts were homemade by my mother, who wasn't much of a seamstress.
When I entered junior high school, as it was called in those days, I met my first black friend. Her name was Johnnie Mae. She was tall, with braids and long, long nails. Those nails were trimmed to points and curled under, back toward the fingertips. They were always polished. She was smart, too. And she had an extra little finger on each hand. I was fascinated. We often sat together in classes.
In high school, we were “tracked”. After the first semester I was reassigned to the highest track, and so lost the day-to-day connection to many of my childhood friends, including Johnnie Mae. She should have been in my group as well, but I didn't think much about it – I just struggled to find my feet in this new world of privilege and Pappagallo flats.
I married, as was expected in those days, after I graduated from college. My grad student husband attended the University of Florida, then The Ohio State University. I worked to support us, although the jobs I could get as a student wife were pretty basic.
My commute in Columbus, Ohio, from the north side where we lived to the east side, where the manufacturer I worked for was located, was pretty easy. The only hard part was the left turn. There was no left-turn light, so the go-to strategy was to pull into the intersection, and make a quick left as the light turned yellow, or maybe red.
Then came The Epiphany .One morning I made said left turn. Behind me appeared flashing red and blue lights. Columbus Police Department. I pulled to the side of the road, rolled down my window. An officer appeared in the window. His partner approached as well. I was issued a ticket for running a red light.
Both officers were Black. My immediate response was to think .. .”those Black bastards”.
I was immediately ashamed. I am still shamed. I live in a white-privileged world. I live in towns where Blacks are almost invisible, and Hispanics seek to stay invisible. It is now 50 years since my epiphany, and the status quo is … the status quo.
This needs change.