Written in June 2020

I am the proud daughter of a white woman.

For most people that comes as a surprise.

Because as you look at me you see a black woman.

And for that I am proud.

I am half black, half white, raised by a white mother.

My dad died when I was seven and all I have known is the love of a white woman.

But to everyone else I am black.

And that’s ok.

But when I look at what is happening in the US, I cry.

I am overwhelmed by sadness that just because these people are black they are targets.

I’ve cried, I’ve questioned and I’ve felt utterly useless.

Because it isn’t just in America that we are targets. In the UK to be black is to be different, to be other, to be a suspect. 

Are you an angry black? 

Are you going to play the race card? 

Or will you let society dictate the character you play? 

The nice black. The exception to the rule.

We make you feel comfortable because you are scared of us. 

But why are you scared? 

I’ve been brought up the same way as you, I’ve gone to the same schools as you, I work alongside you.

But that’s not enough.

I worry about my surname sounding too ethnic when I apply for a job.

I don’t go into some places because I know I won’t be welcomed because of the colour of my skin.

I worry about the children I might bring into the world and what challenges they will face.

Why…because white people are scared.

I was raised by a white mother, to be a proud black woman. I shouldn’t be scared.

I shouldn’t cry because people are dying just because they are black.

Something needs to change.

And I can’t change my skin.

So maybe it’s time for the rest of the world to change?