Then, it hit me. “Ally,” I stated as my turn came. I felt proud claiming the identifier “ally,” and I felt like I deserved to claim it. At least, to my Black and Mexican-American friends and to my gay sister, I was an ally, right?
Don’t get me wrong; I am still passionate about pro-choice politics. I worry that Roe v. Wade will be overturned, and Planned Parenthood defunded with a conservative majority in the Supreme Court. The difference between 2020 me and 2016 me is that I will vote with every marginalized group in mind, not just the narrow one I belong to.
I remember aching to be white for the first time in sixth grade. I walked through the hallway, clutching my English teacher’s hall pass on the way to the bathroom, when I noticed the long, straight brown hair of the girl walking in front of me.