Kelly Cirigliano
Orange, CA
I am ostensibly white. In the secrecy of my heart, I am embarrassed of my race. Often I feel the urge to shout, “I am not like them! I am not defined by my ancestry!” But still, I am ashamed. I am ashamed that the color of my skin is associated with violence, hatred, and oppression. I am ashamed that American Anglo-Saxon history makes it impossible for whites to have white-pride. I want to be proud of my skin color, but I feel as though the privileges I enjoy daily are stolen privileges. They are privileges marred by memories of the Jim Crow South, the murder of Martin Luther King, Jr, or the scars on Frederick Douglass’s back.
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