I’ve Never Met a Black Person, and Neither Have You
A writer questions where and how we came to accept black and white as descriptions for skin color instead of, say, brown, tan, or pink
At about 9:30 a.m., I turned away from my laptop, leaned back in my swivel chair, pulled down my mask, and took a sip of the piping hot black coffee that was just delivered to my desk. I could see that everyone else in the office was doing the same.
We all spun around in our chairs and kind of wheeled ourselves into position so that we were more or less facing each other. This little impromptu meeting of colleagues happens every day. We call it Coffee Club.
At Coffee Club, we don’t talk about work. On that day, the discussion was about the recent riots in Washington, D.C. At one point in the discussion, Estelle, who is the newest member of our group and who recently emigrated from Jamaica, reflected on the Black Lives Matter protests that occurred during the summer.
She pointed this out: “If these terrorists who stormed the Capitol building were Black like me, they would have all been shot.”
As Estelle continued to speak, I took in what she said but also took in how she looked. I could see the fabric of her mask moving with every word…
