My (white) father was in the Air Force and stationed in Alaska. He had the good fortune to be invited to go whale hunting with the Inupiaq in Kotzebue. As they came back to shore, my father saw my beautiful mother standing by the water and fell in love. They married and traveled around the world thanks to dad's job in the Air Force. My family finally settled in Maine.
We still moved throughout Maine in my younger years, making it difficult to make connections. At one school I was called a "n*gger" by a fellow student and went home to ask my sister what it meant. At another school, I had no friends and usually spent recess sitting by myself. I was always aware that I was different. In addition to being half Inupiaq, I was also coming to terms with being gay. Eventually, we moved to a tourist town where we stayed until my high school graduation. I was one of maybe ten people of color in my school. Lovingly, my friends would call me "Lil' Eskimo." I felt like my friends were celebrating the thing that made me feel different, and I embraced it. The spotlight was on me, but I didn't quite understand the play.
Years later, I grew into this adult. This adult that read and heard stories from fellow POC about their encounters with racism, whether aggressive or microaggressive. I began to see how people of color and members of the LGBTQ+ community were being treated beyond my own experiences. I looked inwards with every story that I read and heard. I began to realize why I felt so different. I realized that not everyone was being followed in stores, I realized I had never had a role model that looked like me. I realized that I was being pulled over for more time than seemed effective, as my work badge was called into my place of employment to verify that I did indeed work at the place I said I did. I also realized that even the term that made me feel proud, Lil Eskimo, was also doing damage.
Having learned this, I used my voice to bring attention to racism, even in its subtlety. One night on a local town Facebook page I used my voice to simply say "I really wish people truly understood what it feels like to be a person of color in this town, let alone this country." The amount of passive racism I was engaged with was something beyond what I was prepared for. I did my best not to be rude in this engagement, and to keep my head on straight. The conversation didn't really get anywhere on that thread that night, aside from showing me a lot more of the town folks' opinions. Days after that many other townsfolk reached out to me, apologizing for the way I was spoken to, and saying how sad it was that my own lived experience wasn't believed.
I am a part of Equity Buckfield because I want other people that are different to see that I hear you. I want you to know I am an ally. And this ally wants you to have every opportunity that other people that don't look like you have. I want you to know you aren't alone. We will get there, one day. I know this because I am surrounded by the people of Equity Buckfield that are working on this world for the better, starting in this town of Buckfield.
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