What is racism?
When I was 2,
I didn’t know the word—
but I felt the pause
when strangers looked at me.
When I was 4,
I asked my mother:
What is racism?
Why do I look different from the other children in my school program?
She paused,
then told me I was beautiful—
but didn’t answer the question.
When I was 6,
I asked again:
Why won’t they play with me?
Why do they make monkey noises when I come in?
She held me tight
and we both stayed quiet.
When I was 11,
I asked my teacher:
Why are you using your powers over me?
I’m just a little boy.
And later, I asked my mother:
Can you measure racism?
Is it in the air, the eyes, the silence?
When I was 14,
I asked her:
Can I go out with my friends?
She said,
Not tonight. It’s not safe for you.
And I began to wonder—
what “safe” meant
for someone like me.
When I was 18,
I asked my mother:
When does it stop?
Will I ever be free to just be me?
She didn’t have an answer.
Only tears.
When I was 20,
Driving home late one night,
I got stopped by the police.
I asked them:
Why?
They didn’t answer—
just searched, stared,
and let me go
without apology.
But something stayed behind.
A feeling I couldn’t name—
but never forgot.
When I was 24,
I asked you—
my colleague, my friend—
Do you see it?
Do you see me?
You shifted in your seat.
When I was 30,
I asked my wife:
Will our children inherit this too?
Will they ask us the same questions we once asked our parents?
And what will we tell them?
She looked at me,
and we both knew—
the answer might still be forming.
When I was 40,
I asked myself:
What is racism?
Not just the word—
but the system.
The weight.
The echo that lingers in a room
long after you’ve left.
When I was 50,
I stopped asking.
I started naming.
Teaching.
Resisting.
When I was 60,
I stopped wondering
why people treat others the way they do.
I understood.
And that understanding didn’t bring peace—
but it brought purpose.
And at 60,
my friend asked me:
“Have you ever experienced racism?
Why do you feel the need to write that book?”
She said:
“When I met you, you were almost fully formed—
so why now?”
I think she was really asking
if I believed she was racist.
If everyone was.
And I realised—
even at 60,
the question still follows me.
Not to seek my truth,
but to protect their own.
https://www.sixstagesframework.com/ncl7
My Encounters with Racism- The Poem
What is Racism
Encounters with racism over a lifetime
