The Houses on Our Block: A Reflection on Racism, Privilege, and Patriarchy
How Systems of Inequality Keep Us Divided and the Courage It Takes to Stand Against Them
There were eight houses on our block.
It was the early 70s—a time when diversity was still a fragile concept being tested in our growing town.
The houses on our street reflected a mixed spectrum of identities. A Black family lived next door to a white supremacist family. A few doors down were the “hippies.” Then came the Mormon family. Our home was the Jewish family, and down two more houses was a multi-racial family. We were all part of this expanding tract of homes pushing into the cow pastures of what had once been a valley of dairies.
The air always carried the heavy scent of cow manure.
Dwayne was my age, six years old. He was the youngest of seven siblings. His older sister, Marjorie, babysat my little brother and me. Diana was my best friend. Her dad was Italian, and her mom was Japanese.
We used to play together all the time. Once, we even played “wedding,” and I married Dwayne. We laughed as Diana pronounced us “man and wife” and told him to “kiss the bride.” At six years old, that was our grand ceremony—afterward, we went off to play in the dirt and round up some caterpillars.
I bring up race and religion because even as a child, I saw prejudice—its ugliness, its pain.
I saw it in the white supremacist father who chased one of Dwayne’s siblings down the street with a broken bottle. I saw it when they left black widow spiders and threatening messages on our doorstep—a clear, sinister threat to everyone who was different.
The police were on our street a lot back then.
I didn’t fully understand it at the time, not the way I do now. Patriarchal systems thrive on distraction—on convincing us that the "other" is the problem, rather than the systems themselves.
As a child, I only knew that my family was treated differently. We were one of maybe four Jewish families in the city. People at times, did terrorize us, whether it was our first home or the second one, next to the drunken sheriff, who always wore his gun holster with his gun in it—he and his wife threatening to kill us —because we were different.
But I could hide my differences if needed. My father, born illegitimately in 1937, grew up with a history most would never know. His mother left for Brussels to find work, living with an artist, and left my father with her parents. He was a concentration camp survivor, rescued at the age of three or four. He remembers being carried on the handlebars of a bike to France. He didn’t meet his mother until he was nearly ten. She spoke only German; he spoke only French.
Thankfully she had met a man who spoke five languages, so he could interpret for them.
His story is one for another day.
But what about those who cannot hide? The reality of racism hasn’t changed for people who cannot conceal the color of their skin.
It doesn’t matter if you’re highly educated or sweeping floors; being a person of color can mean it’s unsafe to exist. Even mundane acts, like trying to enter your own home, can become a battleground. A middle-aged white woman blocked a keypad to stop a Black man from entering the gated community where he lived.
Imagine if he was standing there blocking the keypad. IMAGINE.
What if he had blocked her from entering her home? There would have been no conversation. He would have been arrested—or dead.
This woman like other racists, need to feel superior, because her fear in reality becomes a projection of her nothingness. Like all racists, their deepest fear is being found out that the worthlessness they feel is confirmed and real. We treat people as we treat ourselves.
My friend was recently on a jury over the Christmas holiday for a crime that was not committed. A Hispanic man who “appeared threatening” falsely accused of stealing a book, from a major bookseller, had already paid for his books and food before sitting down to eat.
The bookstore manager, a white woman, claimed she “felt” he had stolen something. Her evidence? Nothing really. A grainy video that showed no crime and her fear, rooted in his shaved head and mere presence.
The evidence was a “feeling” she had and a grainy video which showed nothing. The feeling she had was because he had a shaved head, and his “presence” scared her, he must be a criminal.
Thankfully the jury, yes it was a jury for a stolen book; they decided he was not guilty.
But think about it: a college graduate, a business owner, a husband and father—dragged into a legal nightmare being falsely accused, because of a baseless feeling. Would the manager have watched a white man so closely after he paid? No. And let’s say she accused him, would it have led to a jury trial? Probably not.
This is the ongoing reality of living in a patriarchal society that thrives on division. It’s not just a U.S. issue—it’s global. Every country has prejudice, even amongst people of the same race, values and religion. But here, in the land of so-called freedom and opportunity, white privilege allows everyday acts of prejudice to go unchecked.
When you hear white people yelling at the police, demanding they “do their job” or even berating them to pick up their trash, do you think a person of color would risk doing the same—even if they had every right to?
The next time you walk down the street, shop, eat, or sleep, imagine how different it is for someone who doesn’t have white skin. The lack of safety is real.
And that’s just one layer. Being the "other" sex in a patriarchal society? I’ll save that for another post.
The point is this: on a broad scale, little has changed. Racism and prejudice persist, upheld by systems designed to maintain inequality.
For people of color—anyone with nonwhite skin—living in this reality means facing suspicion, discrimination, and even violence simply for existing. These experiences are not isolated to one group but affect all who are deemed "other" in a society that thrives on division.
The larger patriarchal structures have long held these dynamics of systemic racism in place.
If you have privilege, use it—not as a savior, but as an ally. LISTEN to those who are different than you, stand up where it matters against injustice, not just in obvious moments but in the everyday micro-aggressions and systemic policies.
Appreciate the courage of those who challenge these structures directly, often risking safety and well-being in ways you might never have to.
These systems are designed to pit people against each other, making "others" the enemy so the focus remains on them rather than the true source of inequality.
Do not forget it is a system. Patriarchy, with its deeply entrenched hierarchies, perpetuates this division, keeping power concentrated in the hands of a few while scapegoating “different,” or those who challenge the status quo.
Understand that dismantling these systems requires more than action; it requires awareness. To rebuild a society where equity and humanity are prioritized over power and fear.