In a diverse college, a group came together,
To chat about biases, whatever the weather.
We talked openly, delved into deep thought,
Seeking comfort in discomfort, lessons we sought.
“Unconscious bias,” a term we often hear,
From childhood beliefs, it’s deep-rooted, I fear.
Our views on race, religion, and bonds,
Shape our choices, where bias responds.
Images we’re fed, both good and bad,
Influence our minds, happy or sad.
Black seen as flawed, white held in light,
Psychology guides, decisions taking flight.
Microaggressions, those subtle slights,
Judgments made in everyday lights. “Colourblind” remarks, and “all lives matter” claims,
Touching hair without consent, adding to pains.
They say “micro,” but the harm’s quite clear,
For those on the receiving end, it’s severe.
Truth needs a voice, no deception in sight,
Plain aggressions hurt, let’s set them right.
Black voices muted, white ideas praised,
Bias thrives where invisible walls are raised.
“You’re a credit to your race,” they mutter,
A compliment hollow, veiled in clutter.
Have we asked to touch, judged by a curl?
Or questioned someone’s roots, in a curious whirl?
“I’m not racist,” some say in defence,
Shielded by friends, makes no sense.
“Micro” they say, but the impact is strong,
Each slight, each jab, lasts long.
Before you speak, before you act,
Check your bias, empathy intact.
Alyson Malach
4 March 2024