Zora Neale claims that race did not matter to her until the age of 13. At that age, she realized she was ‘colored’. However, it is not her defining characteristic as a person, even though she is likely to have always felt that many people treated her as if race were of fundamental importance.
For her, the concept of racism is not the same as for other people, albeit very complex, in terms of how it was manifested toward her. In the end, she compares it to different-colored suitcases, all filled with roughly the same things but with distinct colors (Hurston 3). Hurston would like to be treated based on what is inside her, but those around her only notice the color of the suitcase itself.
Hurston claims she is not angry and rarely notices it, believing she is not the problem. This, she believes, is the correct approach because some are ashamed of who they were born to be, which is essentially independent of the individual (Hurston 3). In fact, it is much easier to be a child who is unconcerned about being different or standing out and enjoys life.
Therefore, while Hurston’s race may be distinctive for others, it is not for her. It makes no difference to me what color a person is; I am white, and I am not racist. We are all the same, like bags that can hold anything, and I do not comprehend how we can be different just because of the color of the bags. Rather than the color of our skin, we distinguish ourselves through our actions and how we treat one another.
The fact that some people think that the problem is a person’s skin color is completely beyond me. People would probably live much better if they stopped noticing it at all, because there are already enough problems in the world, and adding hatred based on an individual’s skin color would only add to the reasons to hate each other. Hurston thinks we add too much meaning to the color of our skin, and she does not agree that this is her main trait.
Work Cited
Hurston, Zora Neale. How It Feels to Be Colored Me. 1928.