By Meredith Kammerer, 17, attends Marshall HS

“I was a racist. I wasn’t a member of the KKK but I was prone to tasteless jokes and slamming those who didn’t look like me. (I never really considered that my best friend was not white at all. She was half-Chinese and half-Mexican.)
I grew up in Palmdale, a primarily white suburban town outside L.A. Racial problems were for those who lived in L.A. We didn’t have any race riots, everyone pretty much stayed in their own clique and was happy. Prop. 187, the anti-immigrant proposition, wasn’t a big deal to me and my white friends. The Republican majority of the community made the Prop. 187 protestors seem like lawless criminals.
We figured that we weren’t illegal aliens so we didn’t have to understand. The proposition was good, wasn’t it? It would cut off money to those lazy bums on welfare and those illegal aliens who were plugging up the school system with ignorant non-English students that dragged the rest of us down. Why were those disruptive protestors rioting and causing mayhem? That was the way I felt in my sheltered environment.
Then I moved to L.A., the land of “Beverly Hills 90210” and “Saved by the Bell.” I thought I would be able to meet those who were like me—white.
The first day of Marshall High School was like nothing I had ever experienced in my life. Walking into the cathedral-like main building was pretty exhilarating, but, as I looked around I saw that I was amidst a sea of dark hair and skin. What was going on? Where were the cute Luke Perrys?
As I walked around, feeling like I was trapped in an episode of “Dangerous Minds,” I encountered a few fair-haired ladies like myself. They gave me icy stares. Hey sisters, I thought that we should stick together since there were so few of us.

How could I talk to those ‘other’ people?
I didn’t talk to anybody because I didn’t know what to say. How could I carry on a coversation with those “other” people? Then finally, one of “them” said something to me. “You’re new here, aren’t you?” Suddenly I was looking at a bright smile. What was I supposed to say? She was black. I didn’t know what to do. So I answered politely and found that I was thrust into a very chatty conversation. Soon I didn’t worry about the color of her skin, we were just lost in the topic. When she asked me where I lived, I replied Echo Park. Then another unfamiliar face popped in, “Hey! I live in Echo Park!” Another face and another smile. What was going on? These people were a different race than I was. They were nice to me while those other “white girls” were just full of evil stares. It seemed the whites were the ones who cared about looks. Just like me. What an epiphany.
As the year progressed, I found myself hanging out with people who had the same kind of interests as I did, people of all races. When I talk to people from where I used to live, they are amazed that I have friends who aren’t white. In fact, none of my friends are white.
Living in L.A. has really taught me some interesting life lessons. You don’t know if all people who speak Spanish are from Mexico, and really when you get down to it, race is just a waste of time.
Those people who I once thought were reckless and destructive for rioting against some silly law, were just fighting for what they believed in. Some of the most intelligent people that I have met have been of a different race than myself. They don’t necessarily have the same privileges that I had growing up, but that doesn’t mean that they are worthless or stupid. A lot of my new friends don’t live in Bel Air, but they are still good people.
Now I’m the receiver of dirty looks from people who judge me for hanging out with all those “ethnic” people. I just figure that it’s their loss. I’m starting to enjoy being the only “pale face” in the crowd.”