The First Time I Experienced Racism

I grew up in a ethnically diverse town where “clicks” in High School were shaped by extracurricular activity choices more than skin color. I don’t remember giving race much thought.

When I was 17 I left for college, heading a few hundred miles west. If we zoom out to look at a map of the world, my hometown and my college town were one in the same: same region of the same country. I wanted to go somewhere new for college but somehow got it in my head I would like to be able to drive home for breaks (instead of flying), which means I unknowingly limited myself to a radius of sameness, or at least that’s how it seemed at first.

Week one of Freshman year I was getting settled into my dorm. Anxiety was palpable in the halls — everywhere I looked I saw kids trying to look “cool” while energetically scrambling for a friend. I was wishing I could skip this part, maybe fast forward to sophomore year (and underneath I too wanted to make friends).

As I carried my last few belongings to my room, I caught a smile by someone passing by me in the hall. “Hey, you should come to room 1212, we’re all going to hang out in there.” I sensed genuine inclusivity from this new neighbor. After spending a little extra time unpacking (probably unconsciously trying to be fashionably late), I head down the hall to said rendezvous point.

With me there were about 20 of us packed into a tiny room, most people sitting on the floor, some standing. I was in sitting in the center the sea of strangers. We engaged in series of surface-level conversations that was mostly awkward. “Who has a joke to tell?” (Definitely NOT me!) There were many volunteers. One at a time people shared their best joke from knock-knock to more of the stand-up variety. We started finding a groove — genuine shared laughter. I could feel the room start to settle into a more comfortable vibe.

The next joke came:

“What do you call 100,000 black people at the bottom of the sea?”

This didn’t seem the start to any joke that could possibly be funny. I looked around. How had I not noticed there were only white people in this room? Was there really no one of color in this room? I looked again. Nope.

“A good start.”

My heart dropped into the floor. I was flush with shock, terror and deep sadness. There was a few strained laughs expressing more ‘I am so uncomfortable right now’ than anything acknowledgement of humor. I looked around and no one was saying anything. I was absolutely stunned. I didn’t know what to say. I stood up and held back screams and tears, keeping a semi-straight face. I got out of the room as quickly as I could, stepping on only a few people as I made my b-line for the door.

My departure was my way of taking a stand. Looking back, I wish I would have said something. I have played out that scene hundreds of times. I don’t know what the right answer was of how to respond in the moment.

Hearing that joke changed my life. It woke me up from my naive world where I thought humans shared respect among all races. As a result of that wake up I made different decisions: choosing open-minded friends, changing schools, studying abroad (in Spain where white American was the minority and people reminded me of it daily).

I have a fire for taking a stand for acceptance and equality. I’m not sure I’ve ever found a way to channel this in a way that truly ignited positive change. I have come a long way in understanding what leads to racism and I dream of a world in which we’ve overcome the deep roots of criticism.

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