When I first realized what “race” was, I was twelve years old.
It was the summer after 9/11, and though I had spent a whole school year with other kids–and teachers–I grew up with, race was never really mentioned. Sure, I remember hearing “terrorist,” but back then, the word didn’t mean anything to me. The summer school after that year changed everything.
“My uncle lives in New York and said he saw a bunch of Muslims dancing on their cars when the planes hit.”
That bit of bigotry changed my life forever. Despite the (obvious) falsehood of her words, the message behind it rang true. Muslims–and through that, all Middle Easterns–became the enemy. In that group, my father. My father, who moved to the US to go to school and avoid the army. My father, who taught me about politics at a young age. Suddenly, I was hearing things–awful, horrible things–aimed at people like my father. And because I didn’t look Iranian–because I took after my mom–I got to hear all of what they had to say.
“They don’t belong here. This is our country.”
“All those sand ni**ers should just be sent back to where they belong and bombed.”
“All those terrorists should be rounded up.”
I remember being confused. Being angry. These people didn’t even know my father! Where did they get off saying anything about him? But it didn’t matter. My dad’s “race” became all that mattered to them.
But then time passed, and I thought, Hey, maybe no one cares about race anymore. After all, it’s just skin color, right?
Wrong.
The Trayvon Martin case shows that racial issues are still alive and kicking. Because, as much as I hate to say it, that’s really all this can be. George Zimmerman racially profiled Trayvon Martin. He saw a black teenager in a hoodie and thought, “That’s a threat.” Had it been a white teenager, I doubt the same thing would have happened, so Geraldo and O’Reily can shove their, “It’s the Hoodie” argument. It’s the same reason that people hated (and still hate) my dad. It doesn’t matter who he is, or what he does. All that matters is that he’s Iranian. All that mattered was that Trayvon was black. Because he fit a racial stereotype, Zimmerman decided Trayvon was a threat.
And this isn’t an isolated incident. Racism is alive and kicking. Have you heard about the recent controversy regarding fan reaction to The Hunger Games casting Amandla Stenberg as Rue? (There are spoilers with that link, be warned!) What about the case of the Iraqi woman who was brutally beaten and died of complications, and whose killers left a note, saying “Go back to your own country, you terrorist”? People try to sweep racism under the rug. They try to say that it doesn’t happen, not really. But that’s not true. Racism is alive, and it needs to be acknowledged and fought.
Being a victim of racism, I can tell you–It. Sucks. So next time you hear someone saying something–a joke, a derogatory term, whatever–tell them no. Tell them they’re wrong. Tell them why. And think about it.
Because thinking about it will make you realize, racism is stupid.
Because Race. Isn’t. Real.