Race is a Social Construct, so why do we even talk about it?
It seems that ever since Freshmen year of college, the issue of racism, discrimination, and prejudice has come up at least three times in a week.
After a heated debate with a fellow Christian about the validity of Affirmative Action, I decided to write this person a letter. It is my honest opinion, so feel free to disagree.
Dear ---------------------,
I have
contemplated for quite some time whether or not it would be appropriate to
write this letter. I wondered if doing so would be seen as a “cop out” or a way
to hide behind the computer screen. However, I see this letter as a preliminary
step in a long process of reconciliation. I am sending this to you with a lot
of prayer and humility in the hopes that the Lord is able to speak.
The truth
is—you are somewhat intimidating. Now, please do not be put off by this! Coming
from me, this is a serious compliment. In fact, I would consider each of my
parents intimidating in their own way. My father has three Bachelor’s degrees,
a Master’s, and is finishing up his dissertation. My mother is a streetwise
woman who worked in Banking for thirty years. My interaction with you has shown
me that you are the best of both worlds. You are very intelligent, you have
extensive experience, and you are a genuine person.
Despite
the fact that we come from very different ideologies, we are still able to work
together due to our love of Christ. Unfortunately, I feel as though we have collided
on various occasions. We recently had a mini-debate over the administration of
scholarships for minorities. I just want to be transparent with you about my
story, so that you may have a sense of where I am coming from. I believe that
sometimes a personal story can be useful for understanding a different
perspective.
First of
all, my mother is from the projects of Kansas City, Missouri, while my father
came to the United States in his 30s as an immigrant from Nigeria. I spent the early
years of my life in the inner city before my parents decided to move to the
suburbs in order to give me a better life. One of my earliest memories of race
was when I asked my mom at the age of five if we liked black people. I noticed
that we were surrounded by people who looked nothing like me (in both school
and church). My asking this question caused my mother to take drastic actions.
She sent me to an all black daycare (owned by her best friend) every summer and
began to buy dolls that looked like me. My mother told me, “Ariel, these dolls
are brown and beautiful. Just like you.”
When I got to junior high, I
remember HATING social studies and language arts. In social studies, the only
time we talked about Black History was when we had the slave unit. I vividly
remember watching the movie Roots in eighth
grade. Every day after class the boys would joke about the movie. They would mock
the slaves’ grammar as though that segment in history was merely fiction. They
would say things like, “What yo’ name boy?” and make sounds of the whip. In
ninth grade, I hated reading books like Their Eyes Were Watching God. In
my English class, the teacher said it was okay to say the n-word. There was a student named Cameron, and
he would look at me whenever he read the word. High School was not much better.
I was told by my classmates that I did not count as black because I “speak
English properly”.
After centuries of slavery and
decades of segregation, no scholarship amount could ever make up for the pain
and hurt countless minorities have experienced and continue to experience daily. Although
my involvement and GPA were high, my standardized test score was average. Did you
know that a disproportionate number of students of color suffer from test
anxiety? I had to pay my entire way through undergraduate and now graduate
school because I grew up in the suburbs. Somehow, I do not fit the mold for “financial
need”. In order to make it, I had to hold three jobs for all of my
undergraduate education. Despite being at a university, I encountered various
people who were not aware of their own privilege. On one hand, people would
tell me racism was over. On the other hand, I was living next door to a girl
who bragged about her “great-grandpappy” being the founder of their local KKK. I
have spent my whole life feeling as though my grades have to be twice as high
as my classmates. My writing and verbal skills have to be twice as good. And I
have to make twice the effort to be as tactful as possible so that I am not
seen as a mad black woman.
And you
know what? I used to be angry. I used to get so angry that my brother was
denied taking girls to the prom that were white because their parents believed
black people should “stick with their own”. I used to get so upset seeing my mother
have to do her manager’s job and see manager after manager get fired without
ever being offered the position. I wanted to cry when I found out that my dad never
taught me his language because people treat him as less when they hear his
accent.
I am
done being angry. Despite all that I have seen, all the slurs that I have
heard, and all the assumptions that have been made—I am done. The truth is, my
identity is not what people tell me it is. It took me a long time, but my
identity is in Christ. The fact that I am a Nigerian American woman comes
secondary.
Do not get me wrong; I believe that
being white and male can be difficult as well. Being anything that is different
from someone else is bound to cause strife. It must be acknowledged, however,
that white males carry privilege, not only in the US, but globally. They hold
the highest positions in the private and public sectors. That being
said, I believe that as a Christian, it is important to address the fact that
we are called to “Defend the weak and the fatherless; uphold the cause of the
poor and the oppressed” (Psalm 82:3). Due to this, it is important for me to not
only remember that there is power and inequality, but also do what I can to
advocate in Jesus’ name.
All in all, I would like to thank
you for taking the time to hear my story. You and I are as different as can be,
but I am so encouraged. I know that the strengthening of our relationship will
be a testimony in the Body of Christ. My hope is that you will pray over this
letter, and consider joining me for coffee next week. Until we can understand
the perspective of our brothers and sisters that are different than us, we will
never really be able to “bear with one another in love” (Ephesians 4:2).
Your Sister in Christ,
Ariel Anib
