I don’t have white guilt anymore. My old mantle of shame was lush enough for the Queen of England. Seeing injustice live and in person as a young voiceless witness convinced me of my utter worthlessness early on. I wonder if it’s because I was silent or just my environment. I can’t honestly believe my protests would have produced great change. Aside from stronger self esteem, perhaps. Fortunately, I manage to maintain a high opinion of myself despite years of targeted mental abuse against myself. Shedding undeserved guilt I gleaned growing up was a strong step in the right direction. At the very least it lends contrast to my actual dark elements. Beautiful shadows.

Collective guilt on the west coast comes and goes like the tide. People raised here are relatively content and unwilling to accept a rational world with different opinions. I carry a bezoar of the old ways inside of me. Raised in a shoddy facsimile of my mother’s childhood, the one mistake they made was coming to Memphis. Plopped into a city school for first grade after pre-K in St. Louis suburbs so white I’d never seen brown skin outside of a tan. In the Memphis school office where we registered for class I pointed at the black woman behind the desk and asked, “Mommy, what is wrong with her skin.” Nervous laughter and an apology, most of my early memories involve being shushed. I was only asking why she looked different and yet it came out like that.

As a very young child I had a large dark birthmark surgically removed from my lower back because it was potentially cancerous and definitely ugly. Sometimes I wonder if that affected my aberrant perception of dark skin. I only remember being told the surgery had to be done because the birthmark would “make me sick” and a vague conversation about paying extra to have the plastic surgeon minimize scarring. I spoiled the latter part by climbing a tree and ripping my stitches. Still have the scar. In hindsight, it’s possible the whole thing was as much cosmetic as the orthodontia. It’s all filed under medical decisions I had no input on. Hell, some of us were born hermaphroditic and never told about it. Some people still dock puppy ears. Humans are shitty.

In a media-driven consumer society run by a bunch of rich white people, I took notice. I don’t know what it felt like to watch that world through darker eyes but my gaze isn’t exactly light blue. For example, the shame centered around acne, wrinkles and blemishes consumes entire generations of people obsessed with unavoidable imperfections and how to control them. Don’t get me started on the tanning industry and lotion magnates. The institution of racism is built on a regrettable progression in history that people have struggled to change for decades. The institution of beauty is a fabrication and can still be dismantled if we act fast enough. Evil isn’t confined to obvious sources.

Regardless of skin color, my wool has never been lighter than soot gray no matter how much bleach I use. For a couple decades I tried to play by the rules. Living on the west coast is the best cure for that regret. Out here it’s easier to sort through which oppressions are societal versus familial. Waiting this long also yields a modicum of wisdom. I know blame is useless and everyone involved acted mostly in good faith. I accept my role and value the experiences I’ve had as much as letting them go. Facing forward, my main goal is to stop wasting time. I can’t solve all the world’s problems but I refuse to stay quiet about the things I’m certain of. Everything changes and we must get better at dealing with fear of the unknown.