There are many colours.
Red, green, blue, yellow, pink, orange, purple, grey, black, white.
For some unbeknownst reason, colours are the only thing some people choose to see. Something is very wrong with that. If I was green, would people still look at me as if I’m a thug when I wear a hoodie in the street? If I was pink, would people still expect me to naturally speak a certain way or say certain phrases? If I was blue, would that kid in primary school have still said, ‘No way! I’m not sitting next to a blue person!’ Would that other kid have still shouted, ‘You can’t play this game because you’re blue!’
I am not green, pink or blue. I am black. And it breaks my heart to learn that because of the colour of my skin, that is reason enough for someone to think of me as worthless. I’m left confused and worried at the idea of racism in this world. How can people develop such a hateful passion towards someone of a different race so easily? In one look, I am classed different. In one look, I am classed dirty. In one look, my whole twenty-two years of life lose all meaning and I become insignificant. I don’t understand. My mind can’t fathom it.
I’m worried for my future.
Let’s say I finally pluck up the courage to ask a girl out and we get married and have kids. I don’t want this world for my children. I want them to grow up in a welcoming, non-judgemental society. But with every day, it feels like we’re getting further away from that. I read of unarmed black youths getting shot dead in America. I see white supremacists proudly stating how much they loathe anyone who is not white – even (mis)quoting the Bible to defend themselves. I hear racial slurs cast around as often as a ‘hey’.
I don’t think this is what was intended by our Creator.
Or, another future scenario is this: the girl I end up marrying is white. I don’t want to be going out on dates receiving heated glances from people who don’t understand the meaning of love. I don’t want there to be unnecessary pressure on our relationship because we decided to embrace something the world can’t handle.
I don’t want these things. But I’m in a position where I can do very little to change people’s mindsets. At least I can resolve my own mind around the fact that I was made black for a reason. No-one can do anything to make me regret who I am.
Even so, it’s difficult to find a place or enter a state of mind where you can convince yourself that everything will be okay.
Sometimes, I find it more comfortable to believe that these issues simply don’t exist. It’s so much easier to pretend that everybody loves everybody. But recently my Dad offered a painful reminder when we were discussing what happened in Charlottesville recently.
“This is real!” He said. “This is our world!”
It doesn’t have to be. The call to action is so simple.