by Cypress Riel

Created on: December 27, 2008

A man was yelling " Get off the street you black bitch!" he was visabily upset and I turned around to see who he was yelling at. No one, not one person was on the street except for me. I almost started to laugh. He couldn't be meaning to yell at me? Then, he made eye contact and I knew for sure that he was indeed, yelling at me.

Fear gripped me so hard that I began to shake and almost broke out into a run. Get me off this street, out of this man's way please!

I had come up against racism many times in my life but this was the first time someone had spoken to me with so much hatred.

I am not black, I am Metis. Metis means literally, mixed blood. I am Cree Indian and French on my father's side and Norweigian on my mother's side. Many people often say I look Egyptian, so maybe this is why the man was degrading me based on the color of my skin, which is brown. Either way, I was 40 something and like a strike from lightening, the meaning of racism bolted like electricity throughout my system.

All of a sudden many years of haterd, harsh words and actions that were directed towards me became crystal clear in their meaning. In some ways I was relieved because I had thought that I was bad, and this was why people said cruel things to me. Never for one moment did I think I was the target for someone else's hatred against their fellow human being.

As a child I experienced moments of racism, but because I was so young I really didn't have any understanding or comprehension of what kids and even some teachers said to me. I remember when I was in grade 5 some girls were calling me squaw. " I am not a squaw!" I cried out " I am French Canadian"" but this did not appease the girls and they continued until I started crying. I ran to a teacher and said to her " The girls are teasing me and are calling me squaw. Please make them stop" The teacher looked at me and said " Well, you are a squaw. Why should I tell them to stop when it is the truth?" She said this in front of the same girls who had caused me to cry, and the looks on their faces spoke a victory. The year was 1968.

After school that day I was telling my mother what had happened to me and she told me to not pay any attention to them because I am French Canadian and that is all there is too it. My mom told my dad and he lost it, railing against the students and teacher that had offended me. He too, told me to pay no attention to it because I am white NOT Indian.

I was always asked if I am Native and I would relpy no because

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