Racism is A Disease of the Heart

class="mvp-post-soc-wrap left relative">I thought I wasn’t racist. I grew up in Sudan and the humanity of my friends and neighbors was something I took for granted. Muhammadain taught me how to drive, Mrs. Bashary was a beloved teacher and the twins next-door were chatty Safiya and Summaiya, who shared my secrets and whose mother smelled heavenly. Race was an American conversation I was introduced to after coming to the United States. I counted my blessings and  thought, what if I was raised in Indo-Pakistan and if I had not been raised around people with black skin?  Would I have seen them in the same way as many South Asians do?