Oh you don't see colour? how nice for you.
I see colour every day.
I see it in the way that people look at me,
I see it in the comments that people make.
I see it in the way it enters a room before I do.
I see it in the way it speaks my worth and place in society, before I can say a word.
I see it in the way it tells the story of my ancestors and the injustices they faced.
I see it in the bleeding, dying man, lying on cold pavement under his oppressor’s knees.
I see it in every plea for justice each broken state demands, as its requests are tear-gassed and violently hindered.
I see it in the life sentences dished out in response to disproportionate crimes,
I see it in the wrongfully convicted brothers and sisters.
I see it in the comfortable lives lived by my white friends and allies.
I see it in spaces made in the corporate world for the white girl who is just like me, but white.
I see it in the ways my mother warns my brother as he leaves the house at night,
I see it in the ways my father begs me to not move to the United States.
I see it in the eyes of George Floyd and in the limp of Ahmaud Arbery,
I see it in the sneers of white supremacists.
I see it in the declaration that "all lives matter," when only one is at stake.
I see it in the blind optimism that racist ideologies and systemic injustices are in no way as bad as what our grandparents faced
I see it when I ask God "why?"
I see colour everywhere I step my feet.
I see colour every time I look at me.
This article is part of the More Than a Moment issue, made in collaboration with the UWO Black Students' Association. Read the full issue here.