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I have been alone among many

Gordon Lee Pattison,
Los Angeles, CA.

In 1959, when I was 14 years old, I moved from Los Angeles to Honolulu. I had just started taking French as a foreign language at my junior high school in Los Angeles and wanted to continue. However, there was only one junior high school in Honolulu at that time offering French in the 9th grade, so I got permission from the Honolulu school district to enroll there even though it was not located where we lived. I don’t think we realized it at the time, but I came to find later that it was located in one of the rougher parts of the city. When I enrolled, I met with the principal who warned me that because I would be one of only two haole students at the school, I might encounter trouble from the other students because of my race. What he was telling me was to watch my back, at the same time making it clear to me that I was on my own. I was about to have an experience that every white person in America should have. I know what it is like to be subjected to the mostly curious, sometimes mocking, and occasionally hostile stares and harassment that minorities often endure. I know the feeling of isolation, vulnerability, and anxiety that comes with that. I also know as a minority member what it is like to walk into a room of people and find myself instinctively looking around the room to see if there is anyone who looks like me. I do realize, however, that my experience had one major difference from that of many other minorities in our society. I was a member of an economically dominant, privileged, albeit minority, ethnic group in Hawaii. Nonetheless, it was a very instructive experience. It shaped my life and social outlook ever afterward and gave me empathy for the minority experience in America, and for that I have always been grateful.

My neighborhood was notorious for racism.

Julie Simon
Los Angeles, CA

In 1959, members of the Collins Park community (New Castle, Delaware) firebombed the home of one of the first Black families to move into the neighborhood. On the second occasion, the house was destroyed. Historian Yohuru Williams has written about this event and it is included in the Encyclopedia of African-American History, 1896 to the present. My family of Hungarian-Jewish Holocaust survivors wondered if the world they had emigrated to was any better than the one they left behind. This event is the dominant memory of my childhood, though I did not witness it. The racist whites did not modify their speech, their hatred and their savagery. It was all out in the open and terrifying.

I didn’t think it was real!

IMG_0141Toya James,
Albuquerque, NM.

I am biracial (Black/White) and born in Cleveland in 1959. By “it” I mean race. I thought more people knew race is simply a social construct and that racism was something education erased. I have only recently realized how widespread the buy-in is in American society and that race was invented to oppress. The picture was taken in Brazil in April 2013. I am in the middle.

Geraldine, thirteen years old, incredible courage

Sue Schiller,
USA.

Rather than integrate them, our city closed the public schools in September 1958. When they reopened in January 1959, Geraldine (I know her last name, I will never forget it) was the only Black student in my school. I will never forget seeing her walk down the hall during change of classes, clutching her books to her chest. It is a picture imprinted in my brain. I could never have had the courage to do what she did.

I was born because of racism.

Chelsea Lowe
Boston, MA

In 1959, my mother was engaged to marry a man who wanted a black best man at their wedding. Even though my grandfather had made a point of drinking from “colored” fountains when the family drove south to Florida, this was–you could say–beyond the pale. “I can understand an old family retainer,” attending the affair, my grandmother had said. The families quarreled and the wedding was off. If they had gone through with it, I, of course, would never have been born.

It would be wrong to judge my family by something that happened so long ago. My mother still cries–and I do, too–remembering how she wasn’t allowed to invite a friend of color to her ninth birthday party. She always encouraged me to make friends of all races and nationalities.

The irony? We’re history’s most hated minority: Jews!

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