Racial experience as a child - "Just as worse"

June 20 - Class writing Prompt

A racial experience as a child I proactively contributed to at the age of 11 or 12 occurred in Queens, New York. I didn’t experience racism so much since my community was black; I attended a black school, black church, and my friends were black. We didn’t see whites until we went to school, left our Queens neighborhood, mostly in Manhattan, or went to Virginia for the summertime. Whites made me circumspect when I was in their presence then, similar to how some whites feel about blacks in their presence.

As a black youth, we were taught how to code switch early. We didn’t behave the same way around our white school teacher as we did around our own folks. Although the neighborhood was black, we were not void of prejudices and discrimination. Discrimination divided us by country origin. We cared about if you were born in America or another country. As an American, my family would look down upon those who were not black Americans because we thought they looked down upon us.

My racial experience is about our newly moved-in neighbors; they were Haitian. I didn’t think I ever met someone that was Haitian before until that time. I was told stereotypes of Haitian people before by adults in my life. They were supposed to be stupid, acquired lots of jobs, and were bad dressers. I wasn’t concerned about the jobs and intelligence of my neighbors. However, what I could make fun of them was their dressing style. I continued those adult prejudices by judging my neighbor youth’s clothes and behavior. I thought they wore lots of mismatched colors that were considered “loud colors” in my family.
Now I realize they were wearing clothes unconcerned about the colors. Maybe in their country, money was hard to come by and they were happy to wear clothes not ragtag. We, my siblings and black friends, judged them based on our standards of dress, which was pure stupidity. We were not that far behind from being fashion misfits ourselves. I judged and criticized my Haitian neighbors because they were black and I was very proud of being black. In my immature thinking, I wanted my neighbors to fit in and not have others judge them negatively based upon their dress and later their skin color. It was all connected in my mind. Now, I realize how superficial I behaved. Who cares about the colors you wear? Often, I leave the house with whatever I throw on and don’t care what people think. I tell myself constantly that the way I dress doesn’t represent the salary I earn. I always think I’ll start dressing a little better in my 30s. I’m knocking on that age, but doubt I will care that much about clothes then either. I love shoes and purses more than clothes. Forgive my ignorance my neighbors, wherever you are