I used to be a racist; I think I still am in some ways. Racism to me is a form of injustice afflicted upon someone due to the color of their skin. As my heart seeks to heal my ego from the past it opens me up to see [that I was a racist] my own struggles with racism.
Early in my youth, I was bitter towards those from Mexico. I grew up in Texas, in a conservative family that told themselves that they “worked hard” for their money only to have the “Mexicans” take work away from them!
I now understand that the work that migrant workers take from any “hard working Texan” is not reality. Migrants from the south do jobs that any “hard working Texan” would probably never do. However, my young ears heard all about how immigrants crossed the border and were taking people’s jobs and livelihoods away.
I had a number of friends with family from Mexico, and I never thought that these classmates and friends were the hispanic group of people that my family was talking about. That was until my father had me removed from a class project because he didn’t want his daughter working with a “Dirty Mexican!” I felt awful that my father would talk that way about a friend whose family was from Guatemala; it was utterly unfair. I was humiliated and although I was told to stay away from him, he and I were always true friends.
Many years later I found myself in the midst of financial ruin, unemployed and homeless. When I asked for government assistance I only qualified for $10 because I did not have any children to support. I was baffled and angry, and found it easy to blame “the Mexicans and their children” for my downfall. This was my mindset and looking back I am ashamed of my words.
I can’t say when I started to change, but I’ve pushed myself to set boundaries with racist people and people who seek to harm others because they are different. I still have boundaries to set and work to do with myself as I open up to love all around me, regardless of where people come from or the color of their skin.
~Candice C Carver
Thank you, Candice, for this brave, vulnerable, true, and thoughtful sharing! The voices we hear–as children, but also right up to NOW!–can have so much power; it makes so much sense to me that in your own grief and fear when you were at one of the hardest moments in your life and your own survival was at stake, those old words, so deeply implanted, would come back up as a “reason” things were so hard. I’m so sorry all of that happened to you.
And I’m so sorry that these harmful, dehumanizing, false messages have been and continue to be put out there into our society, into our families, into our workplaces, and into some religious institutions, about people in any “target” group. Sometimes my work around anti-oppression is fueled by grief, sometimes by rage–but most of all, it’s sustained by Love, a muscular tangible Love that works alongside people who are guiding the movements for liberation for all.
Thank you, Candace, for your honesty about your past. It is hard to admit my past, also. I was taught that black people would steal from you, and were not to be trusted. I was also told by my father that black people were not really human. The hatred he exhibited towards them was harsh, and hard for me to understand. It took leaving home for college to realize that all I had been told and taught about people of color was not true. I made friends in college who were black, and learned they were trustworthy, and loyal friends. I am still learning about so many ways I have enjoyed white privilege in my life, and hope to continue learning how to be an advocate for those who are still marginalized and discriminated against in our world.