I’ve now been back from Mississippi for one week.

So many memories stand out in my mind. There are the faces of people who couldn’t believe that we were there to help in any way that we could (even if what needed to be done was messy and potentially impossible).  There are their tears, when they saw what we had accomplished. The houses that stand abandoned – or lay collapsed – since Hurricane Katrina, with no funding to repair or raze them. The excitement of kids for whom MacDonald’s is a rare treat. And the town that is slowly fading away, its businesses closed for 40 years because they didn’t want to integrate. 

Before the trip, I had wondered how all this would change my outlook. Clearly it would have an impact, but I was intensely curious about what form that impact would take. Indeed, in Mendenhall, I saw more poverty and racism than I had ever seen first-hand before. So what does one do with that knowledge, after the fact?

As it turns out, the experience has already led me to deeper, more open discussions about race issues. Whether it is my new outlook, or increased trust from those around me, I have had some great converstations with African-American friends and acquaintances. We’ve talked about the differences between north and south, “then” and now, rich and poor.

I feel blessed that my friend Joanne shared a glimpse of her life’s experience with me. How she feels treated by co-workers, strangers and authority figures. How, in family’s time of need, she feels ignored by the police whose salaries are paid by her taxes. And how this treatment – at least on its face – has changed since she was a child.

Teresa told me of her family’s vacation, from her home in the north to her mother’s family in the south, when she was 12 years old. She was treated in ways she had never experienced before. And, when faced with blatant racism, she watched her mother revert to a survival tactic: a position of submissiveness. It was so distressing for Teresa that she vowed never to return. That was 22 years ago, and true to her word, she has never gone back. And now, she talks of the racism she faces today – not “in your face” racism, but there nonetheless.

Before my trip, I’m embarrassed to admit that I considered myself fairly knowledgeable about issues of race. After all, I had led my high school’s tributes to Martin Luther King Jr,, lobbying for more action on the national holiday in his honor. My best friend in hgh school, and several past boyfriends, were black. I’d been to step shows and AKA parties. And, I did spend a few years living in Detroit.

Looking back, it’s easy to see that I had approached all of these interactions as though being “colorblind” was the goal.  My objective was to move past race as though it were a non-issue. Even when my college boyfriend told me how often he was pulled over by police on the way to and from his parent’s home, I sympathized with him. But didn’t engage in more dialogue.

Now, after my recent trip, I’m intensely aware that I can never fully understand the experiences of others. But I also know that we can talk about these issues now. Where before I didn’t know how to start – or even continue – the conversation, I now feel that I can engage. I can listen. I can ask questions. And I can feel more comfortable being in this place.

My goal is no longer to move past race. My goal now is to continue learning from those around me. I have so much to learn. And when enough of us learn together, the world changes.