REFLECTION

REFLECTION: A TALE OF BIAS PERCEPTIONS

Written By Ebony Long

Upon my arrival could they have seen the hatred I wore on my face? See it smoldering hot inside of my eyes? They should have as it was an accurate reflection of themselves of their hate. A reflection. Did they notice how I skipped some steps as I climbed up the concrete stairs leading to the trains? When I saw their white faces. A group of white people gathered to socialize among themselves, how free they didn’t realize they could be. Blacks would be looked upon as a “gang” or a “pack”. Even told to “break it up” by the train security. That’s how my people were treated when gathered to socialize. I smacked my lips and quickly shifted my stare onto something, anything else, something dark. My hands. I would not look them in the eye, no way I would give one of them the pleasure of bidding me a friendly nod. Nausea gripped my belly, creating a bad taste inside of my mouth. My ancestors had to speak a greeting, they were ordered to pay respects to the white man, however I did not. I could clutch my bag and shrink away, I could cross the avenue just because they were populating it. I could pass by without as much scrutiny as my blackness would allow. I kept feeding my hatred. It was constantly hungry. That was how they fed me, large delectables of repression, bias and ridicule. For me to not even acknowledge a white person’s presence was somehow a personal victory, I knew not all whites were so hateful, so hurtful but I didn’t care. I was reflecting unto them the exact way they constantly judged us. Two wrongs don’t make a right. But two rights keep getting me wronged. I’d never shouted “honky” out my car window while passing a couple of white kids, just for them doing right, only hustling back to class. I had a white friend once or twice and not a moment went by where I couldn’t be convinced that she wouldn’t bring up my blackness, so those friendships never lasted too long. I was deeply saddened to be so contemptible, why’d I have to be? It would cause wrinkles in my smooth coco face or shorten the span of my life I’m sure. I wanted to be open and celebrate our differences. My hate was wearing me down. How could they not notice the unbalanced way we blacks were treated for being the color of the earth? How could they not take any notice that our pursuit of happiness was taken away? We were barely able to strive. Scarcely thrive. I wished I could let my hatred go. It doesn’t do any good for anyone. But I’m only just reflecting what they do. They should see the image I’ve had to view. My Grandpa used to tell me the only 2 sure things in life were that I’d stay black and die, but I say to myself that, while I’m alive since they gonna hate us anyway. Fine. I’ll do my best to reflect my hate back onto you. You know what I mean group, stereotype you all, can’t blame me, I learned it best from watching ya’ll.

Reflect.