Michael Westbay
Aug 24, 2017 · 2 min read

I grew up believing that racism was over back in the 1970s and early ’80s. The reason was most likely because I believe my text books and there weren’t many black people in the area I grew up in. I had no idea I was supposed to fear black people until high school, when a guy darker than any I’d ever seen said I owed him $3 for waling along a particular path to get to my next class. (He let me go as I was clearly so confused by this concept of paying a toll to walk from class to class.) After talking with others, they explained to me that that particular part of the school was off limits to whites and Hispanics. (Huh?)

So, yes, I had a very sheltered upbringing. But it was visiting my parents in Virginia around 1993 that the reality that racism in America was still thriving really struck me.

My observation, that nobody else seemed to notice, was that blacks worked the counters at almost every fast food place we went to in the state. They were usually high school or collage age. And there was always a white guy in the background with a white manager’s uniform on. How did the white guy manage to work his way up to manager if there were none in the entry level positions? Nobody could answer that question. I don’t think anybody wanted to think about it.

Nice sit down restaurants we went to all were staffed by college aged waitresses with blond or red hair. Not a brunet in sight. And without anyone with dark hair, you can be sure that there was nobody with dark skin color. Not even at a Mexican restaurant!

That trip to Virginia snapped me out of the belief that racism was over in the U.S. It’s only become more clear as the decades have gone on since.

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    Michael Westbay

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