A blue sky draped over the day, sunlight slipping through cracks where clouds had temporarily parted - so lovely and so normal. Promptly in the warm afternoon, I had decided to eat with my family in a Subway sandwich store. It wasn’t a rare occasion, but uncommon enough to be happy about. Glancing outside the car window, all the green, blue, white, pink, gray, and tan hues seemed to blend together from trees, streets, skies, and houses. A meaningless conversation must’ve been taking place between my sister and me to ward off boredom. Was she there? No, no, Elaine was at school or some other errand. Suppose then it was me and my lonely silence, simply looking out the window. Perhaps my parents were talking to each other as well - yes, they …show more content…
It was then, at that moment, I realized. All the stories, narratives, and memoirs suddenly became so real. The prejudice and seemingly exaggerated lies of society seemed to sink in. My childhood innocence and naivety - a simple trust in equality of every human - shattered and gave way to adult understanding. I think I might’ve always known, but never truly considered it as my own situation; in my own life. Then, it happened. Maybe there was a sound, a ring of the bell, but the silence of everyone else was louder above all else. All the customers in the store were staring at my family. At me. I could feel my yellow skin, my dark brown eyes, and my jet black hair more than ever before. Their eyes pierced us, judging us; loathing us with no justified reason at all - or, at the very least, it wasn’t humanly and morally justified. Before that moment, I always felt that I wasn’t in any category that was berated by others for something they were born as. But now, even I was displayed and was seen as less than their pale yellow hair and milky white …show more content…
Abruptly, my family and I stepped into our places at the counter, a line trailing behind us. We hastily bought our choice sandwiches, and scurried outside. The rest of the ride home was a blur - mostly my own reflection of the events. No, I wasn’t angry and not particularly dreary and depressed. No, I did not blame them in particular. Society and other aspects I couldn’t possibly understand was the root of this, not them. Their traditions and old past beliefs of their ancestors - indeed, it wasn’t their fault. The children too - or teenagers - must’ve been my age as well, and I knew that they wouldn’t know racism unless influenced by their parents. Innocence, any sort of purity of youth is quickly dirtied by adults when exposed to hatred. Hatred grows, spreads, and taints all in its path, blackening even the most compassionate and kind
All blondes are dumb. Gingers have no soul. All Jews are greedy. All Asians are bad drivers. Imagine living in a world where people are put into a category simply because of their appearance, race, or religion. It limits a person’s chance of expressing individuality through categorization. Desmond Cole’s article, “The Skin I’m In” introduces the struggles faced by black people through racial stereotypes in Canada— a country known for its diversity. Cole reveals the experiences of black people who are stereotyped as dangerous; as a result, they are victimized with prejudice, discrimination, and injustice by society.
In this article the author shares his experiences on racism throughout his life. As the author goes in to detail about his first encounter of racism from what he called a “well- taught baby racist” he presents an ugly setting. As children, we tend to imitate what we see and hear around us, evaluating the safe and unsafe places, people, and things. We determine and define our identities based on interactions with others. Dr. Jackson goes on to describe a time when he was in grade school which majority of the students were Caucasian seemed to be highly infatuated with the texture and tone of his skin as well as his hair.
Looking out across the stone-paved road, she watched the neighborhood inside the coffee colored fence. It was very similar to hers, containing multiple cookie-cutter homes and an assortment of businesses, except no one was there was her color and no one in her neighborhood was their color. All of them had chocolate skin with eyes and hair that were all equally dark. Across the road to her right, a yellow fence contained honey colored people. She enjoyed seeing all the little, squinted almond eyes, much smaller then her own, which were wide set and round. One little, sunshine colored boy with dark straight hair raised his arm and waved his hand, but before she could do the same back her father called her into the house. His lips were pressed and his body was rigid, the blue of his eyes making direct contact with her
In Brent Staples’ narrative, he asserts the fact that society has stereotypical and discriminatory views towards black males, which has caused him to experience distasteful encounters leading him to behave in a very careful and docile manner around others in public spaces. Personally I agree with Brent Staples, the misjudgment and stereotypes that are enforced on certain races has caused there to be an unnecessary disruption and uneasiness in the daily life and activities of such people. I have also found myself in situations that are similar to Brent Staples’ experiences, all of which were caused by the stigma surrounding immigrants and people of color. Author Brent Staples begins the essay by addressing an experience he had when he was younger,
From an early age it was clear to Sandy that, the lighter a person’s skin was, the higher their social status. As the only young child in his household, he was exposed to many conversations among the adults around him that revolved around race. A primary example of this was one of the conversations between his grandmother, Aunt Hager, and her friend, Sister Whiteside. Sandy and the two elder women sat at the kitchen table together to share a meal while the two women chatted. Sandy sat quietly and absorbed their talk of everything from assuming the white ancestry of a lighter-skinned child they knew, to the difficulty of keeping “colored chillens in school” (13-15).
Ponds, Kenneth T. ''The Trauma of Racism: America’s Original Sin. '' Reclaiming Children & Youth 22.2 (2013): 22-24. Academic Search Premier. Web. 11 Oct. 2013.
Since its founding, racial tensions have plagued the United States. Our history is one of racism and intolerance. From legal slavery in our first hundred years to fear mongering over Chinese immigrants, “No Irish Need Apply” to a presidential nominee threatening to deport 11 million illegal Latino immigrants, racism scourges our nation. How society sees a person’s race affects how they see themselves, how they see others of their own race, how they view other races, and their experiences growing up. In Zora Neale Hurston’s piece, “How It Feels to Be Colored Me,” she explains coming to know herself as “Zora” instead of “a little colored girl;” she explains how she is Zora of Orange County and it’s only in contrast to whites that she is colored. On the other hand, Anzaldúa’s piece “How to Tame a Wild Tongue” looks at life when no one recognizes your race, including those in it. While both Hurston’s “How It Feels to Be Colored Me” and Anzaldúa’s “How to Tame a Wild Tongue” deal with the differences in race and racial tensions in the US, they detail vastly different struggles faced by minorities.
In my recording, I talked about how I grew up fairly isolated from other races. I had some exposure in elementary school, but I went to a predominately white Catholic high school, I was a member at a predominately white dance studio where I spent the majority of my time after school, my neighborhood was mostly white, my family is predominately white, my friends are predominately white, as well as my parent’s friends. Race was not something that was discussed when I was growing up and I struggled to answer the questions in the recording regarding when my first experience noticing a different race was, or when my first experience discussing race was. I was also very naïve about my own White privilege, and while at first I did feel some guilty about it, I realize now that this is the journey a lot of White people must take in order to develop their racial identity. Patti DeRosa (2001) explain this in a way that really made sense to me when she wrote, “The privileges of this status remain invisible because we are seen as the norm, we are held to be the standard, we are affirmed, and our identity and experience is reflected back to us in a myriad of ways.” (pg. 6). Becoming aware of this privilege is half the battle on the road to understanding what it means to be White in our
I looked at my cousin in dismay as she said, “Be proud that your skin is light, primo. People won’t judge you.” Despite my Hispanic family’s efforts to instill me with pride in my Hispanic culture, I often felt conflicted with a sense of identity. Here I was, standing outside the house, consuming every ray of sunlight that danced upon my skin in a desperate attempt to be darker. My Hispanic family tried their best to teach me to be proud of my heritage, but my Caucasian family always taught me that white was superior.
People looked at me and only saw grief and sadness. They started watching what they said around me because they just saw me as a grieving teen who had just lost her mother and didn’t want to say anything to make it worse. When I came back to school a few weeks after she died, I knew in the back of my head things would be different for a while. My cousin Bryce went back to school before I did so I knew of him being looked at as the boy who recently lost his aunt that I too would be looked at differently. I had people that I had never talked to in my entire life coming up to me, all because my label had changed to Abby, the girl who’s mom died in high school. I hate the fact that people change the way they are around me because my identity to them has changed. I should not be treated differently because of how other people look at me, I should be able to be identified how I wish. Every human being is labeled in some way, some are labeled how they want, but most are given a label that they can’t get rid of. After being one of the unlucky people to be labeled something that they don’t want to be labeled as I have a different way of looking at people. In our English 110 class we read a story that I felt like I could sympathize with. In the story Black Men In Public Space there was a young black man who was labeled as dangerous because of his color and appearance. “It was also made clear that I was indistinguishable from the muggers that occasionally seeped into the area from the surrounding ghetto” (Staples page 135). He doesn’t want people to be scared of him, he did anything in his power to come off as harmless. Not because he wasn’t harmless, but because he was being perceived and identified as something that he wasn 't, and didn’t want to be. As a society we should be ashamed of ourselves for how quick we are to judge people. We should let people show us what they
During this time, I washed and straightened my curly hair on a daily bases, and I tried wear clothes that everyone else bought (Juicy Couture), and I tried to speak more “white,” although my speech already reflected a more scholarly and proper prose, based on the environment I was placed. According to theorists, racial identity is something many adolescents, especially minority’s face, and in doing so many teen either immerse themselves in there racial group or reject it (Broderick & Blewitt, The Life Span p. 354). No doubt, I immersed myself into my white identity and rejected other parts such as my Black or Hispanic
It was almost like I was stuck in this box with no way out. I was afraid I was going to obtain a title because of where I was coming from. My first day of school was the worst day of my life. I came in through the doors and I could see people immediately whispering. My skin color, my accent and my personality attached me to being the Brazilian girl. Not that it isn’t true, but why can’t I just be described as me. I couldn’t understand that judgement coming from everyone around me. But somehow I knew that by going to a class with all American kids would be this way. In that same day, we had a group discussion. We were expected to introduce ourselves and say one interesting fact about our lives. I felt devastated about what to say or how I would control my facial expressions. Fortunately, everything went well and I could breathe smoother. Suddenly, a girl in the back asked me how it was like to come from a country where you couldn’t go outside because you would be robbed. I looked at her and said: “I don’t know; why don’t you tell me.” I was afraid to say anything else thinking about her response. Indeed, she started saying how she didn’t expect me to be able to have nice clothes, even proper manners, because I lived in a small rural city. Eventually, I explained to her that life isn't based on just misleading assumptions. Defining someone isn’t based on what you
“Out!” a furious teacher demands, blocking the doorway. A young African American girl, devastated, looked down at the ground as she walks away, surrounded by a sea of white children, all laughing. “It isn’t fair!” she thought. Why do they get to go to the nicer school? She’s tired of having to listen to white people all the time. Wouldn’t you be tired if someone told you to do something all the time? I definitely would be. To be honest with you, just because you may have a different skin color than someone else doesn’t mean that you should treat them divergently. After all, they are human too. Think about it. What if you had a different colored skin from someone else and because of that, you had to do whatever they demanded from you?
Paragraph1, The Battle: The issue that many people of color face daily is stereotypes. Dark skinned African Americans are looked at as lower class citizens in society. This is labeled as complexion discrimination. Complexion discrimination is a form of homogeneous group privilege, in which people from the same race use factors such as skin tone to set a social status (Harvard Article, page 1, 2009). Though there are many forms of discrimination and profiling, complexion discrimination is not often discussed, yet occurs just as frequently. In a recent interview with my mentor, I learned how cruel people with the same ethnicity can be even as children. “I would get called names like ‘tar baby’, ‘blacky’, ‘charcoal’ and many other names. Back then, boys wouldn't talk to me because of the color of my skin so they only saw me good enough to be their friend” (Teranesha Newton, 2011). This is an example of the continuing of a cycle of ignorance and inequality. Racial slurs and degrading is something many have suffered quotidian. The comments and remarks that blacks label themselves can be simply harsh, cruel, and extremely offensive. African Americans with darker skin have been said to be less intelligent, lazy, and less attractive compared to those with lighter skin (Harvard Article, page 2, 2009). Dark skinned blacks face this daily in the workplace, in schools, and everyday life in general. Stereotypes have not only a negative effect on adults and children of today, but the ignorance of others is poisoning the minds from generation to generation. In a world full of very diverse people, discrimination is increasing from generation to generation. The skin tones of African-Americans have a strong effect on self-esteem, workplace positio...
The air was frigid; my nose, a shade of dull scarlet, could have chilled bones to the slightest touch. The grass was covered in a light mist that glistened off the cool morning haze. The sky painted my vision with the colors of orange and pink; they seemed to be dancing together. My eyes were squinted; the bright sun inched itself up to meet me. I found my arms clutched close to myself, the small jacket around me provided only minimal warmth. As I entered the car, I felt instant relief from the crisp air. I gently wiped off the fresh drops of dew from my black flats. My mind flashed to one idea. Today could change everything.