I firmly believe that there comes a point in the life of every “color-blind” black individual that reveals to them that they’re actually black.
See, growing up with a diverse life can kind of make you ignorant to the truth, but this summer, if I did not come to realize anything, I was taught, “Rachel, you are black.”
All of my life I have been the chameleon, not because I changed whom I was to blend in, but because my persona allowed me to navigate mostly white spaces. When I was younger, I felt complimented when I was told I was a white friend’s favorite black girl, yet there was pain when I was told I was the whitest black girl my white peers knew. Despite that, I would laugh it off. Why? Because I longed to blend in. Isn’t that strange? The chameleon wanting to blend in.
I was the person who would get irritated with my family for calling out what my school, Ole Miss, used to be. Even after the James Meredith situation, I would defend my school to the death because I was “their favorite.” I was the black girl who would sit in a class full of white people and quickly throw my race under the bus by accusing blacks of using racism as a crutch. I defended the idea of reverse racism because from a young age, I was spoiled into believing that I am no different than a white person. I genuinely believed that blacks were treated poorly because of how “they” acted. I even referred to them as “they” because in my mind, I was not part of a race; I was merely a Rachel.
This summer, however, taught me that I am indeed black, and even if I consider myself “no-race,” to the world’s eyes I am black. I realized this because the black jokes were no longer funny, and the black mockery was more of a stab at who I was. Years ago, I would have laughed it off, but with age comes knowledge. I was aware that these inconsiderate remarks should not be brushed off because I AM BLACK. I used the justification that these remarks should not offend me because I am not like the “rest of them.” I was so smart … for a black girl, of course.
No one wants to be the overly sensitive black person who screams “racism,” but as a black young lady who represents a larger group of oppressed people, I cannot allow anyone to demean who I am in the name of “fun.” This is hard for someone who has been a chameleon all of her life because it is not expected for people to call out what you thought had been blending in this whole time. It is not easy being the speck in the grain of sand when it feels like it is everyone’s duty to remind you of what you are.
So I want to apologize to my black community. I am sorry for belittling and ignoring our struggle. I am sorry for being ashamed of who I am, but most of all, I am sorry when at any point you felt as if you were less because of the pigment of your skin. You are not what these hurtful words confine you to be. You are much greater.
I am grateful for the white friends that I blindly grew up with who were unaware of my color. Because of them, I am not resentful towards the white race because of my recent encounters. I realize people are not cruel because of the quality of their skin but because of the quality of their hearts. Some of my best friends are white, and some of the people who have hurt me the most are white. It is not a skin thing; it is a heart thing.
I could be resentful, but I am not. I could still be ignorant, but I refused.
I grow. I learn. I thrive.
Rachel Granger is a junior international studies major from Pearl.
