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Carolina Torres
Race and Social Justice
Professor Marie Lo
6 June 2016
Intellectual Autobiography
Growing up, I never quite understood the meaning of race. All I knew was that I was
Mexican, and that my skin color was brown, but I never questioned it. I never questioned the fact
that we were being labeled in order to socially, and physically distinguish each other. I did know
that there were different types of people, but at the time being, all I knew was that these were all
just kids in my classes. I never thought of other by their skin color, or the term race, because
being a kid comes with innocence. Innocence of the, if you will, screwed up world we live in.
Little did I know, one day I would learn about living in a white supremacist society, where
terms such as alien are used to describe people, and where people of color continue to be
oppressed. My freshman year of college at Portland State University , year 2015 through 2016,
the Race and Social Justice course opened my eyes to the reality and hardships of being a person
of color in the United States.
The early years of my life, I lived in an area known as Barrio Logan, in San Diego,
California. This place highly populated with gangs, and there is constant violence. I grew up in a
low income apartment community, made up of only Hispanics and African American families. In
grade school, I never really had any contact with white Americans, because all of the students
who attended Logan Elementary were either black or brown. I remember speaking Spanish in
school, and it being okay, because all of my friends did, too. Even the black kids in our school
spoke some Spanish, from hanging around us Mexican kids so much. Living in a city close to the

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border, was my comfort zone. All of the Mexican people, Mexican restaurants, and streets really
made me feel like I was in Mexico. This time in my life, I was oblivious to the fact we lived in a
country with much more diversity. In 2010, my mom decided that she wanted to give me the
opportunity to live in calm, serene town. So, we moved to Hood River, Oregon where most of
my moms family lived.
Moving to Hood River, was a huge change for me. I remember never hearing of the state
of Oreegan, as I pronounced it then, and I did not want to leave my comfort zone. My home. I
started 6th grade at Hood River Middle School, were I knew absolutely no one. I was so
concerned and worried, because there were lots of kids in my new school who were so different.
I remember the middle school was so much nicer than any school I had gone to in San Diego. I
didnt understand why at the time, but today I know it is because Hood River and Barrio
Logan, are very different. While Barrio Logan, was low income and highly populated with
blacks and browns, the majority of Hood River was white and wealthy. Here is where I was
prohibited for the first time, of speaking my native language. If I tried to speak Spanish in class
with my hispanic friends, a teacher would talk to me after class, to tell me that was inappropriate
and rude , because not everyone knows Spanish. I was terrified, and I didnt want to get in
trouble, so I stopped. This really crushed me, because I missed my old home.
After being prohibited of using my native language, I really just wanted to fit in. I
remember one kid telling me, you act like a beaner. I had never heard that word before. This
was used to describe the kids who listened to Mexican music, wore rosaries around their necks,
and spoke spanish at school. I didnt want to be the girl that looked like she just came from
Mexico, anymore. So, I started to want to act, and wear clothes like the white kids, or the
white washed Mexican kids. This consisted of listening to pop music, wearing ugg boots and

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American Eagle jeans, and doing cheer. I myself, eventually, became a whitewashed kid. I
remember feeling very happy, that I had finally found a comfort zone again, even if that meant
changing who I was.
Once High School came along, I started to get over my trying to fit in stage, so I found
myself some new friends. Friends who I had the same things in common with. Friends who loved
pop music, ugg boots and American Eagle Jeans, but also liked mexican music, and dancing
merengue. These people, who are still my friends today, taught me that it was okay to speak
Spanglish in school. They helped me embrace my Mexican American identity. This is the time, I
was truly happy. I even met a boy, who happens to be white, and my boyfriend to this day. Even
Though I was happy, and felt comfortable with showing my Mexican roots, I still didnt
understand what being oppressed meant, and how secretly racist some people were. I never really
paid any attention to some of the racist remarks some white faculty at my high school made, until
one day.
One day, as I was preparing for the process of applying to college, I decided to seek some
help at the ASPIRE office, which is a program to help kids get into college. I needed help
registering for my SAT exam, and a lady, who happened to be white, was more than happy to
help me. She proceeded to help me with my registration, and then I realized something was
wrong. On the registration, it said I was a student who received free or reduced lunch at school,
which meant I got to take the SAT for only nine dollars, instead of ninety dollars. Puzzled, I let
the lady know that I needed to change that, because it was not true. She then confessed to have
assumed that I was a free or reduced lunch student, and that she was sorry. For some odd reason,
that really bothered me. I felt like it shouldnt have, but it made me very uncomfortable. Did she
assume that I was poor, because I was Mexican? Did the color of my skin determine my

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economic status? If I was white, would she have cared to ask me if I had free or reduced lunch,
instead of just assuming? Thoughts like that circled through my head, and drove me absolutely
insane. Later I decided that I was overreacting, and that I needed to let it go. I couldnt blame the
lady for assuming the obvious. After all, I thought to myself, I was Mexican, and most mexican
families are low income, right?
When registration for college courses began in the late summer, I came across the Race
and Social Justice Freshman Inquiry, which I was instantly intrigued by. I had never taken a
course about race in high school, and it seemed like it would be an easy class. I didnt think
much of the class, and I thought it would be another slavery is bad, everyone should be
equal, racism is not okay, class. Needless to say, I never expected this class to impact my life
the way it did, and how much I would apply it to my life.
I remember the beginning of the year in class, I was the quiet one. I was intimidated by
all the outspoken diversity in our class, and the passionate discussions they would have about the
different subject. Fall term, we learned about race, and what it was. Here, I was introduced to the
term white supremacy. Never before had I even heard of the term. With various readings
assigned in class, I came to understand that we live in a society where people with white skin are
superior to other races. In the prerequisite cases, the US government struggled to identify who
was American, and who wasnt. This was determined by whiteness, which led to the denial of
citizenship to many immigrants at the time. This is also the time were the word illegal alien,
started to be used by the government for naturalization purposes. I never put much thought into
the word alien before. This shocked me, because my parents are immigrants. No human being
should be referred to as alien, which is associated with something creepy, out of this world.
The fact that the term illegal alien is used to describe my parents infuriates me. In other words,

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someone who is not white, or not white enough, can be identified as an alien. A person who
might have immigrated to the United States for a better future, to seek political asylum, or to
escape poverty, is referred to as a monster, something creepy, and something not-human. To top
it off, the US government has made it a legal term. The government is allowing people to refer to
others in a nasty manner. It is almost as if theyre feeding the oppression of colored people in the
United States. So, I think to myself, who is really acting like inhumane, and is like an alien in
this situation?
As winter term came around, we started to learn about racism, and the various forms it
presents itself as. I learned that the lighter the color of your skin, the better you were treated. We
also learned about different communities of color, and the way theyre oppressed in society.
Police brutality and incarceration rates, of people of color is what left me in awe. The fact that
African American males are four times more likely to be incarcerated than white Americans for
the same offence, made me realize how inconsistent the police department is. My father, who is a
dark brown Mexican man, has been stopped by a cop multiple times in Hood River for no
reason. Once, he was told that he was pulled over, because he looked suspicious in his trashy,
old, 1996 Toyota pickup. Due to the various times he has been pulled over, my father, now
refuses to drive around town past ten oclock at night. He is worried that he will be asked for his
documentation one day, and be deported. He has been cornered to live in the shadows, frightened
of deportation.
This brings me a question we were asked plenty of times in Race and Social
Justice:Who gets to be asked for documentation? It is obvious that people who possess
hispanic/latino characteristics are more likely to be questioned about their documentation, in
contrast of people who are caucasian, and have a lighter complexion. It infuriates me that the

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color of someones skin can make vulnerable. The racial hierarchy we live in, that we continue to
feed, oppresses the people at the very bottom of the hierarchy, which are people of color. This
made me look back, to when I was trying to act like the white kids in middle school. I was
trying to resemble these people who live a privileged life that I am deprived of. I could not be
myself, without being singled out for being different. Why do they get to decided what the
normal is? They were judging me for being too mexican, when they didnt know anything
about my culture. I, myself, was sucked into the system. I became whitewashed to be accepted,
and I let someone tell me who I could or couldnt be. This symbolizes me idolizing the white
American identity.
Lastly, as spring term came around, we started to learn about activism, and different
activists. I learned about the misrepresentation of Malcolm X, and glorification of Martin Luther
King Jr. in K-12 education throughout my life. At this point, I felt like everything I had learned
in school had all been a lie. The school system manipulated everyone into believing something
that was not true. As we read the autobiography of Malcolm X, I learned to understand his
different conversions and the motives behind his aggressive manner. Although we are always
told that violence is wrong, we are never taught that it is okay to be angry at times. Malcolm X
was angry at the fact that white Americans had robbed him of his identity. Although he made
mistakes, he was human. Humans make mistakes, and he was the perfect representation of a real
human activist. Being taught about Malcolm X from a different perspective, really opened my
mind to new ideas. I started to question everything I had learned in High School.
To conclude my ideas, I need to share one last experience. During my last term of Race
and Social Justice, I started to notice things I had never noticed before. Having background
information, I started to pick up on things that were racially discriminatory. I started to become

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annoyed with comments made by certain people, specifically, white people. A week ago, I was at
a local baseball game, where I was approached by an older caucasian individual, who is part of a
scholarship committee that I received last year. She asked me if I could send her a selfie of
myself, to be used in a brochure for previous scholarship recipients. I was flattered, and I
immediately agreed to send her the picture. The fact that a board member wanted a picture of me,
boosted my self-esteem. After I sent her the picture, she proceeded to say, while laughing, I
need more brown kids in the brochure. At this point, I felt humiliated. I could not believe
someone had the nerve to say something like that. It was as if I didnt have an identity. I wasnt
Carolina, the excellent student, or Carolina, the good kid, I was Carolina, the brown kid.
The color of my skin, made my identity disappear. Not only was it insulting, but she has had a
huge smile on her face. She thought it was funny to dehumanize someone in front of others. I
was crushed. If someone had said something like that to me before I had taken the Race and
Social Justice course, I wouldnt have put much thought into the comment she had made. Feeling
brave, and almost in tears, I asked her not refer to me as a brown kid, and I did not give her
permission to use my picture in the brochure.
I think that my beliefs today on race and social justice, and what is right and wrong are
definitely fueled from my race and social justice course. It was inspired me to embrace my
ethnicity and culture. It showed me that you need to let people know that racial comments, and
stereotypes are not okay. I also learned that living in a color blind society is just a myth. Color
will always exist. Once people learn to appreciate the diversity of the human race, and respect
the fact that people are different, then we will crush the white supremacist society to the ground.
Like everything, I have learned that it is a very slow process, and patience is necessary. Today,
all I can do is educate others about my culture, so they can understand who I am. My identity.

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Because, I, like any other human being deserve to have an identity ,other than the color of my
skin.