I have no choice but to wear this skin — and some people hate me for it

This piece was originally published on July 30, 2020.

I've always tried to be a good person: a good father, a good husband, a good employee. I smile at strangers and hold doors for people. I prefer not to use curse words. I drive respectfully (for the most part). 

One of the few things I can't control is the colour of my skin.

I do so many things right, and still there is so much hate for people who look like me. It doesn't matter to some that I have a family, that I have talents and interests that make me a unique individual; I'm simply Black.

I spent so much of my life hating that I'm Black because I've seen how much society is set up to be prejudiced against people like me. I used to think that if I could only change this one thing about myself, I could be seen simply as a person.

I was called the N-word for the first time when I was eight years old. I'd never heard the word before and I didn't know what it meant. I laughed it off. That was clearly not the intended reaction. I was unprepared for this moment and I had no roadmap for how to react.

Nearly 20 years later, I was leaving a dance club in the town of Orangeville, Ont., with some friends after last call. I had forgotten my jacket inside, so I went back alone to get it. A group of seven white guys confronted me as I was leaving. They discussed loudly among themselves how they'd been having such a good time "until these monkey men showed up." It was neither the first nor the last time I was called that. My fate was in the hands of a group of strangers to whom I had done no wrong. I wasn't looking for any trouble, but trouble in the form of disdain for the colour of my skin was blocking my safe exit. I was lucky they decided to back away. 

I was shocked when this happened in 2000. I thought we were supposed to be making progress. 

All of these years later, my fear of something like that happening again is stronger than ever. Dark images from the past — a lifeless Black man hanging from a tree while 150 spectators pose for photographs like they're at the grand opening of a world without people like me — are entering my present. And it's happening close to home.

"In the short period of time since I had Scarlett, she has experienced racism," my wife, who is white, said of our daughter who was a year and a half at the time. 

Once, a dog barked at the two of them. The owner said the dog is racist "probably to the Black baby."

"Obviously, Scarlett doesn't know it because she is too young to understand why someone would hate her over her skin colour," my wife, Chantal, said. "But I, as a white parent, had no idea how to handle it or if I was just being crazy. Were they being racist? It was so subtle and almost sounded like they meant no harm."

My wife and I come from completely different worlds. She grew up on a farm near Regina, where we now live. I was born in Toronto. She didn't meet many Black people as a child. I feel guilty for what I've brought into her life. My dark skin means that my wife now has to face hateful things that she didn't believe could be true.

After the first Black Lives Matter rally in Regina, Chantal wanted to put signs in the window of our home in support of the movement. I immediately said, "No." My dark skin already makes me feel like a target; we didn't need to invite hatred to our home.

I don't know how afraid I'm supposed to be. While some people have the luxury of pretending that racism isn't a problem, I alter my life to maximize my safety. While some people get sick of hearing that my life matters, I watch videos of attempted lynchings. How do I ignore that kids are being shot while they play? My kids played today, too. They survived it.

The scariest thing about the current situation is that there is no uniform for a racist. I have no choice but to wear my skin at all times while racists often surprise you with their hatred at the most unexpected moments. 

I don't want to have to be the #BlackLivesMatter guy. It actually makes me mad to have to defend the existence of my race or to worry that someone with a weapon might want to drag me off into the night when I least expect it. I am completely gobsmacked by the fact that in this age of endless information, we are still so unable to see each other. 

As people are now speaking out all over the world, I'd hoped we would be making strides toward ending racism and learning about one another. Instead, it seems like there is now a heightened sense of "us versus them" that I didn't feel six months ago. Many racists are digging in their heels instead of learning about the people around them. 

There is a dense weight in the core of my chest. I wish we would all figure out that everyone is in this world together. We all feel. We all love. We all cry. We all laugh. Hate is such a colossal waste of our time as a species.

This story is part of a CBC project entitled Being Black in Canada, which highlights the stories and experiences of Black Canadians, from anti-Black racism to success stories Black communities can be proud of. You can read more stories here.

This column is part of CBC's Opinion section. For more information about this section, please read this editor's blog and our FAQ.

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