I don’t usually share details of the experiences of aggression toward me due to my race for several reasons:
I don’t always know if the treatment is because of my race or if the person is just being an asshole in general.
Many of my white friends (and light-skinned black friends who pass for white) don’t want to believe that what I experienced was racially motivated when I try to explain my encounter. It’s a subtle art, discrimination, and if someone doesn’t want to believe that it is happening, I’ve found there is very little I can say to convince them.
Because I don’t want to peg myself as a victim. I am in control of my life and how I respond to my experiences. I know who I am, and I know my value. I do not need to call attention to the misdeeds of others because it is only the love that transpires in an interaction that is real and tangible. All else slips away like wisps of smoke on the wind and is meaningless. There’s a quote from the Bible that goes “If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.” 1 Corinthians 13:1. So my goal has been only to speak openly of the love that transpired between myself and anyone that I have encountered. …