Racism.
One of my top three most hated things, right along with human trafficking and abuse.
I grew up seeing racism all around me.
The difference in the pigment of skin that makes the hearts hate.
Why is being different such a terrible thing?
I remember the first time I knew that black kids and white kids were different. It was fifth grade and sometimes the black girls weren't invited to the white girls birthday parties and when you are so little you don't really understand why but you don't dwell on it because hatred birthed from skin pigmentation is too complex to understand when you are only 10 years old.
Normal sight to my eyes. Hispanics line the fields, many living illegally, working to make a better life for their family. I hear snide comments and mean jokes about the color of their skin. It has become normal to me to hear these things.
In high school, a group of girls prank calling friends on a Friday night, and his mom answers the phone and asks if this is a white girl and then asks us never to call again because her son doesn't receive phone calls from white girls, the words spit out from hateful lips.
And so the spectrum moves and breathes, a living thing, a hateful thing. Black against white. White against black. Against Hispanic. Asian. Different.
Today I went to the market to buy bracelets for our Pulsera Partners campaign. I went to the Peruvian man that I always go to and I greeted him, good afternoon. Joy. Happiness. Excitement because these bracelets are going to raise money to stop sex trafficking in Peru. He made a phone call and wrote up the receipt. I didn't even notice that the price that he told me was different than the one he wrote down until Chris put the money back in his pocket and said wait a second. 250 soles too much. My heart sank because I knew exactly what was happening. It has been happening to us since we moved to Peru. We are on the receiving end of racism here. They see me, a white girl, and think that I have money. It is always assumed, always commented on. La Gringa. We walked away from the sale, knowing that we can find the bracelets in lots of other places, but I couldn't let it go. It has happened to me too much, I told Chris. I want to post a sign to my head that says I AM A MISSIONARY. All of the money that I have is given to me. I live off of donations. I am not some rich white girl. I am here to serve this people, this country. STOP believing things about me before you ever speak to me.
All you see is the color of my skin.
All you see
is the color of my skin.
Pigment.
I feel so sad. I want to stop them, to explain to them that I am just trying to help people.
We wave down a taxi. The first one tells us a price that is twice as much as it should be.
Three taxis later we find an honest price.
All they see is the color of our skin.
Conversations with taxi drivers. Americans? We must be here to see Machu Picchu.
No, I explain for the 8 thousandth time, we are missionaries. We love Peru. We love these people.
My heart grows hard at this culture of racism, this judgement that is so unjust.
And then I realize that racism is not new to me.
It is not something that I have never been around.
I just haven't ever been on this side of the spectrum.
Growing up in south Georgia, a white girl doesn't get judged by the pigment of her skin. In fact, my only experience receiving racist comments was that one time in high school when my friend's mom answered the phone on a Friday night.
And so here, on a different continent, I experience what so many back home have experienced. I am on the receiving end. And it hurts. It makes my cheeks burn red and my heart ache. It makes me want to shout at the top of my lungs that I am more than just a white girl. I am a human being. I am a soul. A heart. Dreams. Hopes. Goals. Ideas. Why can't you see me?
When I got saved, I went to CrossRoads Community Church in Statesboro. If you have ever been there, you have seen the flags on the wall. They fill an entire wall of the building, all different flags from all different nations, each one representing a different nationality in the Church, the family of God. CRCC was the first church I ever went to that had different ethnic groups worshiping together. It was incredible and it captivated my heart. I started my first semester at GSU a few months later and got plugged in to the most amazing groups of believers. Black. White. Asian. Hispanic. All so different, but at the same all so similar. All of my college experience was spent like this, in the middle of ethnic diversity, making best friends with people who didn't share my same exact skin pigmentation, but did share my love and passion to change the world. It was beautiful. Diversity is beautiful. Love is beautiful. People are beautiful.
I have always stood up against racism, but never so much as I do today. I am thankful for the steps that led me here, to this place of understanding, and I am thankful for this experience even though it hurts. I am thankful because I will stand up and defend my brothers and sisters, no matter what color their skin is. I am thankful because I understand how it feels to be on the receiving end of racial profiling and it gives me a special determination to stop this from happening in the world around me. I am thankful because I will always raise awareness and share love because of these experiences.
I understand that the man who tried to cheat us today is also a victim. He is a victim of his culture. He is a victim of racism. Because, you see, the people who act in hatred are also victims, being led by an emotion that eats away at the heart and causes the soul to become an empty shell. And so I realize that the man with the bracelets is not my enemy. A specific person is not the enemy. The culture of racism is the enemy.
It is our job to change the culture of racism and replace it with a culture of love.
Children are taught that we are all different. By adults. By society.
And today I am an adult, the one who teaches and sees and influences.
And so I write:
Dear Jubilee,
People are all so beautiful.
They are all worth so much.
Just look at them! The creativity in their hearts, the incredible talents, the dreams, the hopes.
I promise to teach you never to see a color, but always to see a human being, a person.
I promise to raise you to love unconditionally, and to love especially the ones who have been hurt.
The ones who came across country borders with their parents and sit next to you at school.
The ones who are afraid because they don't understand your language.
They are the ones that I want you to especially love.
My sweet girl, remember that people are beautiful.
People are the most wonderful creative expression.
Created by the Father to fill His heart.
Isn't it incredible? That we are all so different and yet so similar.
We all bleed, we all cry, we all feel.
We are all the children of God.
Love, MommyLabels: expat, missionsary life, peru