Rolled out of bed, into sweats, and out the door to go shopping for clothes and makeup. I tell myself looking frizzy doesn’t matter because my money’s still green, right? But that’s really not the whole story, is it? I’ll be treated with respect anywhere in the mall because I’m a white lady. Today, on the 75th anniversary of the Japanese internment order, it just feels important to share this small reflection on how much race still matters here.

***EDIT 2/20/17***

It’s bothering me that I glossed over a couple of important things in this post yesterday. First, I called it “the Japanese internment,” which muddies the truth that we actually incarcerated 80,000 American citizens for the “crime” of being of Japanese heritage. Second, I called myself a “white lady” and I’ve never felt more conscious of being what I think of as “white by courtesy.” My family is Jewish, which used to not count as white in this country, within living memory (still doesn’t, to some people). Yup, today I blend in and I get all the nice comfy privileges of white-ladyhood. But because of who I come from, I can’t assume that’s the right and natural order of things. A system that says I’m worth more than others is just as wrong as a system that says others are worth more than me.