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The other racists. Part 2
What I didn’t know
There was never meant to be a part 2. I sat down and wrote “The other racists” thinking I would hear nothing more. The occasional clap if I was lucky, maybe a fan or two. But I got a lot more than that.
People started commenting on the article. They said it moved them and it took them on a journey. I was flattered. Knowing that people actually read my work felt great.
Then I started hearing their stories. Things they’d never mentioned before. Just like I’d never really spoken about the things that happened to me. I always operated on the basis that racists were too insignificant to occupy my mental space. But suddenly I am unable to keep certain events on mute.
The happy feeling of achievement I got from people commenting on my work was replaced by a nebulous anger. Before today, I’d never thought for long about the racism I’d encountered; it was just part of life. Like bad weather. But what I’ve heard since yesterday has opened something up. It has flicked an auto-play switch in my head. I can’t turn it off. A series of recollections; things that happened to me and things I saw happening to others. And there are the things that I never saw, but have now been told about.
‘I grew up in the 70’s with a lot of very low level racism. You know, people coming across the…
