IDENTIDADES 1 ENGLISH IDENTIDADES 7 ENGLISH | Page 68

had to be buried, deflated, muffled, and
was not allowed to come to the light. We
white children learned that we didn't
have to think critically about race when
we thought about history, and that anything to do with racial justice was just
that, just history. We were instructed not
to inquire, not to investigate, not to dialogue, and, crucially, not to feel. What
for? To not disturb our relative comfort?
As an adult, I began looking into this
new and strange concept I'd heard about
in around 2010, the term "anti racism."
What did that mean? It sounded plain
enough. I wasn't racist, right? Being a
so called liberal student in "progressive"
America, one of the worst things I could
think of was to be considered, even
worse, called, "racist." It was something
to be desperately avoided. How best to
do that? Well, up to that point in my life,
as I had been trained, mostly by avoiding
the mere mention of race and a variety of
other terms and topics that could lead to
conversations about race. Up to then I
was doing what I learned, which was to
avoid confronting painful truths, which
led to discomfort. Well I now take the
moment to sincerely thank whatever
higher universal power for my chance at
encountering antiracism. I feel horrified
at imagining being alive without my
being able to choose antiracism at this
time “on the clock of the world” (a
phrase from the dear recently-turned-100
Grace Lee Boggs, philosopher activist
and community leader in Detroit). I personally encounter a lot of white people
with ambiguous intentions who bring up
issues around race with me. There is a

lot of coded language, words like "urban," "thug," "criminal," "inner-city,"
"welfare mother," "bad-element," “the
wrong kind of people,” and much worse.
These are adjectives and nouns my parents, other relatives, former friends and
colleagues, medical and service providers, and people who I meet otherwise
begin to use when they want to start talking about anything from public education to violence to health care to the
presidential candidacy. I am taking time
now to tell a piece of my story of how I
got to be where I am now. I thank you
respectfully for letting me share it with
you. As a 25 year old young woman, I
was randomly attacked and assaulted by
an unknown assailant, outside of a music
venue late one Frid ay night in Pittsburgh, PA. The police responded to what
was likely an attempted mugging, but
which somehow disintegrated into chaos
when one of the masked youths began
pistol whipping me, beating me in the
head dozens of times with his gun. I was
dazed and stunned, almost paralyzed it
seemed, but managed to run around a
corner to catch my breath. Instead, the
attacker followed me down the street to
the corner and hit me several more
times. I felt this person, this young man,
and his anger, his rage, as I stood
shocked and unable to fully respond.
The police and ambulance were called
and a crowd from inside the club poured
onto the sidewalk to see me, leaning
against the wall, staring down at the
ground, watching blood drip down,
while I tried to comprehend what had
just taken place. That - comprehension -

68