When race dominates public discourse, it’s often triggered by egregious racist incidents – the viral videos of prejudiced actions, the shocking displays of ignorance. We see the news erupt when a student of color is unjustly targeted, when hateful symbols resurface, or when blatant acts of discrimination are exposed. While these incidents rightfully spark outrage and condemnation, an over-reliance on these headline-grabbing moments can obscure the subtle, persistent role race plays in the everyday lives of people of color. Beyond the trending hashtags and the sensational news cycles, race is woven into the fabric of daily existence, shaping the experiences and challenges faced by people of color, particularly Black individuals, worldwide. This constant undercurrent of racial awareness is a race in itself – a race to navigate, to overcome, and to simply exist within a world that is not always equitable. This unseen race is particularly felt in communities like Rochester, where, despite progress, racial disparities persist across various sectors, demanding a continuous effort to serve and uplift all its residents, regardless of their background.
For a Black person, navigating the world means constantly being aware of their skin color. I recall a conversation with my roommate, a Black man who had always consciously tried to ignore racial undertones in his life. One evening, he returned to our room visibly shaken, questioning if he had just experienced racism firsthand. He recounted stepping into an elevator, where the doors opened to reveal a white woman waiting outside. Upon making eye contact, she hesitated, then chose not to enter, remaining outside as the doors closed again. While myriad reasons could explain her decision, in that moment, my friend felt a stark reminder: his race was the first thing perceived, a filter through which others viewed him. This seemingly minor elevator encounter became a poignant example of the daily race to be seen beyond skin color, a race that plays out in countless subtle interactions.
More profoundly, the burden of race can escalate to a fight for fundamental rights and even survival. This reality is reflected in the mental preparations – the rehearsed responses, the silent prayers – that become routine when people of color are stopped by law enforcement. It’s symbolized in the desperate hope for a better future, metaphorically force-feeding legal knowledge as if it were essential sustenance from infancy. It’s the heartbreaking necessity of instructing a child, barely past toddlerhood, that the innocent act of pointing a toy can be misconstrued, potentially leading to fatal consequences in interactions with certain authority figures. This is the stark reality of a race against injustice, a race where the stakes are life and death.
Race imposes a perpetual demand to justify one’s presence, to explain one’s very being within society. It’s the invisible tax on mental energy, constantly having to reaffirm one’s belonging, particularly in predominantly white spaces like university campuses. It’s the relentless pressure to overachieve, to disprove any notion that admission to a prestigious institution was based on anything other than merit, dismantling any whisper of tokenism or lowered expectations. This is the exhausting race against prejudice, a race to prove worth and capability in a world quick to assume otherwise.
The defining aspect of being Black is its constancy. It’s not a switch that can be turned off; it’s an inherent part of identity, meaning the challenges linked to race are also constant, a daily serving from society. The empathy of well-meaning white allies, while appreciated, often comes from a place of privilege. They can participate in movements for racial justice, vocally condemn discrimination, and advocate for equality. Yet, at the end of the day, they possess the privilege to step back, to disengage from the relentless pressures of race, returning to a life where skin color does not dictate daily experiences. This inherent difference highlights the chasm between allyship and lived experience, a gap that underscores the unique and ongoing race faced by people of color.
Consequently, for a Black person, race creates an involuntary connection, a global kinship with every other Black individual. It transcends skin color, forging a bond through shared, unchosen battles. It manifests in subtle acknowledgements – the knowing nods exchanged between Black strangers, a silent reassurance of mutual visibility in a world that often renders them invisible. This shared experience is part of the collective race for recognition, a race run together, even in solitude.
Navigating race also means constantly confronting and combating ingrained stereotypes, both conscious and unconscious. It’s the practiced indifference to the reflexive clutch of purses by white women upon approach, the learned blindness to being shadowed in retail stores. It’s the calculated hesitation before pulling up a hood in public, the deliberate effort to project non-threatening demeanor, to actively dispel preconceived notions of anger or menace. This is the tiring race against stereotypes, a race to dismantle harmful narratives and reclaim individual identity from societal projections.
Ijeoma Oluo, in her powerful book “So You Want to Talk About Race,” encapsulates the weight of this daily struggle, stating, “if I stopped to feel, really feel, the pain of the racism I encountered, I would start screaming and I would never ever stop.” This profound statement underscores why self-love within the Black community is not merely self-care, but a radical act of resistance. Labels like “Black is Beautiful” and “Black Girl Magic” are not just affirmations; they are declarations of defiance, celebrating survival and resilience in a world that often devalues Black lives. To claim to “not see color” is not only to invalidate this lived experience but to erase the very essence of identity shaped by race. To not see color is, ultimately, to not see me, to not acknowledge the unique race I am constantly running.
