Several days ago, seemingly out of nowhere, my mother asked me if I had been the victim of racial discrimination.
I blinked at her, ignoring the question and continuing to go about my business without saying so much as a word. When she persisted in asking, however, I finally replied, "What a ridiculous question."
She said, "So, yes?"
"Of course." I was disgusted.
But I didn't quite mean it in the way one would generally take the remark. Yes, I have been accused of all manner of terrible crimes on multiple occasions -- and while I don't think that the situations were entirely racially motivated, I do think that many of these situations might have been different if my skin were a different hue. I was detained a number of times during my undergraduate career so that campus police could verify that I was a student at the school. I understand that they were doing their job, and the police were generally friendly and even apologetic. Still, during those cold evenings in late autumn when I stood shivering outside the Morse gate while the cops read my student ID number into their walkie talkies and my fellow classmates passed through without incident, I was well aware that, if not for certain physical attributes, I might have been turning on reruns of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" on the FX Channel in the comfort of my warm dorm room at the same moment in time.
On the whole, though, my experiences in this capacity haven't been nearly as overtly negative or memorable as the ones that have taken place in my own house. (more...)
