A student-operated publication at Santa Rosa Junior College.

The Oak Leaf

A student-operated publication at Santa Rosa Junior College.

The Oak Leaf

A student-operated publication at Santa Rosa Junior College.

The Oak Leaf

In My Black Bubble

Racism is very much alive in America, and I dare say in Santa Rosa. In modern day form, it’s dressed in a nicely-fitted suit called subtlety with an ignorant tie to match its puzzling layers of absurdity.

Last weekend reminded me just how absurd racism is. I was directly involved in a situation where my skin color was of great significance. I am Kenyan, and from what I can tell my skin color is black, whatever black means. Regardless, I walked into an affluent neighborhood in town with a friend, who’s white, to get some food. Throughout the whole situation that unfolded, one thing remained clear- I was immediately put in my own predetermined bubble. The looks on people’s faces reminded me I was black and I was to remain in my own stereotypical black bubble.

The atmosphere changed once I walked inside the store, which I will omit naming. It’s as if an alien from a distant galaxy had parked its spaceship outside and walked in a store full of unwelcoming humans. In this case, I was the alien and the humans were particularly keen on every move I made and every distinct word I said. The fear and prejudice in their eyes were unbearable as their gazes bore through me.

The situation spoke volumes as to how far behind we truly are as people. Assumptions were made about me without a proper inquiry into my value system, life history, character, philosophy, I.Q. and everything else that counts as a way to understand another person.

As this went on, my friend remained unaware of what was happening. He was ecstatic about the food while I was in the midst of a psychological, social and cultural war that has raged since before my existence.

Racism, in this case, was subtle because nothing was said directly to me. However, everything was implied by the facial expressions and the suspicious attitude towards the bubble I was in. I was among the countless young black males constantly thrown in the dark, painful and abysmal bubble on a daily basis by a cruel society. The only way to describe the bubble is by calling it by its real name: fear in its most vicious form. Those within are sometimes aware of the animosity, while those outside sometimes perpetuate the prejudice, ignorance and irrationality of the bubble itself.

All a person can do is hope for people who are prejudice and absurd to find a deep inner peace from understanding those who are thrown in the painful stereotypic black bubble, and vice versa.

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About the Contributor
Peter Njoroge, Staff Writer, Spring 2014

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