"The Face Of Ignorance"

During my senior year of high school, I was especially excited to drive, mainly because I had a unique schedule that let me out at 10:24 AM. I didn’t start driving right away, though—it took me about two months into the school year. By that time, I had missed out on decorating my car and paying for an assigned parking spot, but it didn’t bother me much. My friends and cousins were driving too, and it was easy for us to park side by side in the free parking area near the entrance, which was a bit farther from the school but perfect for our little hangouts before classes. We loved that spot, and it worked for us.

One day, as I walked to my car after my last class, I noticed a note tucked under my windshield wiper. I grabbed it and read it, and to my surprise, it was a vile, racist message. In less vulgar terms, the writer called me the N-word with a hard "-er" and threatened to physically harm me with sexual assault if I didn’t move out of “their” parking space. I laughed at first, thinking this had to be some sort of mistake. It felt unreal.

For context, I’m a Black woman, as were my friends and cousins. Our school was fairly mixed, but white students definitely outnumbered us. Incidents involving racial slurs weren’t unheard of, and there had been fights over situations like this before, but for some reason, I didn’t take this note seriously. My parents, however, were furious.

My mom immediately drove to the school, and we went straight to the principal’s office. He seemed concerned and walked with us out to the parking lot. Looking up at the cameras, he waved at them and said, “Great, this will help me track and review the footage to see who put this on your daughter’s car. We’ll also increase security in the parking lot.” My mom felt a bit relieved at the promise of action.

From that day on, my male cousins and friends would walk me to my car whenever I had to leave. It felt good knowing I wasn’t alone. But after some time, we hadn’t heard any updates. My mom called the principal, who told her that nothing had been caught on camera. My mom didn’t believe it—the spot where I parked was clearly in view.

For the next week, my aunt called one of her best friends, a Filipino woman, to let her know what happened. And every day that week, she waited by my car with her arms crossed, patrolling the area to see if she could catch the person responsible. Unfortunately, we never found out who did it, but throughout that time, I felt an immense amount of gratitude. My friends and family had my back in a way that went beyond the parking lot—they showed me what true support and love looks like, even in the face of ignorance.