If this year has taught us anything, it is to expect the unexpected. When we rang in the New Year, most of us were worrying more about resolutions and future vacations than face masks and social distancing. Yet, here we are, facing a global pandemic that has threatened our way of life. However, for Black people, this isn’t the first epidemic we have faced.
Growing up, I was taught more that I descended from sharecroppers and slaves than the royal blood that flowed within my veins. My mother made sure to educate me from a young age about my future hardships and struggles.
“You’ll have to work twice as hard and be twice as smart as everyone else. They’re going to treat you differently regardless of what you do. It’s up to you to prove them wrong,” she said.
Now at 20, I understand what she was referring to. Being a Black woman means that I will be expected to keep a brave face, no matter what. I’m expected to be my strongest when I am really at my lowest point. I’m supposed to preserve no matter what comes my way because I have to. Looking back, I never understood what we had to prove to them, until this year.
Breonna Taylor. Ahmaud Abuery. George Floyd. According to CBS News, there have been 164 confirmed Black lives taken by police in just this year. Yet, no one understands the silent “too” underneath our chants of “Black Lives Matter.” In a time where we need more than ever to pull together, we are all silently watching it crumble in the fist of civil injustice and economic downfall.
It was not until I was 12 that I had my first real experience with racism. Before we moved to Florida, my family lived about an hour outside of Atlanta. My mother was a single mom working full time for UPS. While I did not get to see her much, she made sure that my brother and I had everything we needed. My grandmother lived with us and took care of us while she was at work. Before high school, most of the schools I attended were predominantly White. Not only was I Black, but I was also plus-size at that time, which often made me a target for bullying. One day, during recess, my regular bullies decided to talk less about my appearance and instead about my family life.
“I bet you don’t have a dad, do you? I’m not surprised. Who would want you, anyway? My parents said, ‘Black kids don’t have fathers,’”
They were relentless in the way they tore down my family.
While kids will be kids, the hate starts somewhere. Kids are similar to sponges. They learn and absorb the things they are exposed to. If we are teaching prejudice to kids from a young age, we can not be surprised when it grows into something worse as they grow up.
For us, it’s more than just name-calling or proving that we look good on a resume. We have to prove we have the right to walk down a sidewalk without being suspicious. We have to prove that we deserve just and fair treatment and not to be suffocated to death in public. For us, we are guilty until proven innocent. While slavery ended 400 years ago, the chains that bonded our ancestors continue to weigh us down and hold us back from true equality.
