When I awoke this morning and looked at myself in the mirror, I realized that I had undergone a fundamental transformation — a Kafkaesque metamorphosis. I was no longer myself. I had become…a racist.
I didn’t do it to myself. I’ve always been sensitive to race. I don’t support racism or racists. I’ve never considered myself racist and don’t think others would consider me a racist. How could I be one now?
I never enslaved anyone, prevented them from working or voting or living in my neighborhood or joining my clubs. I don’t think there was any proof that George Zimmerman did either.
But now I know if I ever cross or injure a black person — no matter how justified my actions might be — there is a presumption that I am a racist.