Last spring I subbed in the high school. We were delving into material that addresses racial issues... To Kill a Mockingbird, and Raisin in the Sun. If anyone had asked me if I was aware of the prejudice that still exists sixty years after Harper Lee held the first edition in her hands I would have assured them that it has been largely resolved. 

How blind. 

The girls in that class who are wrapped in brown skin tried to convey their experience of being minimized in society, but they spoke on a wavelength I did not hear. I wondered why they kept bringing it up. 

Then came one more black murder. The end of the term broke open with the floodgates of fury over malice that has flowed unabated since the time a fictional lawyer named Atticus tried to acquit an innocent black man. It seems that reading  stories about bigotry does not automatically cure it.

People across the country could no longer bear the enormous pain, and their anger traveled into wavelengths I began to tune to. Movies, books, conversations, carved down my ignorance until the collective anguish wouldn't be ignored. 

I will no longer answer that hypothetical question so foolishly. 

This week a person of power was asked if he condemns white supremacy. In the absence of that denouncement came the signal to "Stand back and stand by." The ears perched for such a directive were intently listening and their response has been chillingly instantaneous. 

I am truly ashamed that it has taken me sixty years to tear back the protective covering that my skin affords me. But I will be damned by my own insulation if I allow it to last another day.