Thank you, Ahavati!
Bravo for the sincere embracing of Black skin, Black experience, Black liberation.
You, as well, humble me by taking my challenge seriously and assuming a role alien to your personal experience.
I will return here to give you more robust feedback later.
I suggested she submit it under one of the prose options; I was that convinced I was reading someone else!
Ahavati's experience of writing from different personalities paves the road to the point that she can turn on the cruise control for just about any challenge of this nature.
When I get a moment's peace from yardwork, comp judging, and editing my poems ( about 200 remaining out of 1000 something ) - I promise to rise like Maya Angelou to your challenge, Cabby.
500 word essay from the perspective of being a black woman per requested:
I've watched it all my life; starting with my g'ma breastfeed'n them white babies who growed up to be their master, and was mean as ever. Lawd. I seen it firsthand; white privilege means you got to use the front door while we used the back; it meant available water fountains when ours was scarce, if any at all; it mean sit'n in them restaurants where we wasn't allowed. I used colored-entrances to the movies round back that led to their own section inside away from white folk, and back-seating in the buses. I seen it all.
See, privilege means "a special right, advantage, or immunity granted or available only to a particular person or group". So if you was white, you was privileged and got to do the things we couldn't. It don't take rocket scientist to concede that fact. The question is, does it still exist? Perhaps not in the literal sense whereas we get to walk in through the front door and sit wherever we choose on the bus. We gets to eat in any restaurant and water fountains are there for the tak'n. But you can't see a person's thoughts; only the emotion in their eyes, and even then, jes sometimes. I tell you now, it still exists in the minds of some just like it did when they was rules. I seen it.
Someone once said to me, "I don't see color". I called them a liar 'cause we all see color. We see it in the art we view; the clothes we wear, the sunburns on fair-skinned and the deep tans on olive-skinned. We see the leaves in the fall; the colors of Christmas lights, and decorate our own homes accord'n to our favorite color. We also see the color of each other's skin; I see your white skin and I know you see my black skin. They ain't nothing wrong with that; our heritage is something we should all be proud to know.
I want you to see my color and know I am a survivor. I want you to see my color, my blackness, but also the love in my eyes for your white, Latino, Hispanic, Asian, or Native American skin. I want to be who I am: a proud black woman standing among you; and I want you to see that, and be as proud of the heritage and color you are as I want to be. I want us to stand tall, celebrate our differences and grow. I don't want us to stop seeing color; I want us to see beyond the color to the human part inside.
I don't want no reparations; I don't want you to walk in my shoes one day. I simply want every race, color, and nation to be privileged too: Asian, Black, Hispanic, Latino, Native American, White, and so forth. When we're all privileged, we're all equal without losing a thing, but gaining everything: humanity.
I'll Love You, regardless of what you see.