A cycle of reacting and retreating was then set up because I was hurting, and tended to want to hurt others. By the time I reached my early thirties, I could feel that my soul and spirit had been violated by the wounds of racism, but at the time I would not have articulated it in such a manner. I felt ugly and unworthy and afflicted. It wasn't just a 'poor fella me' feeling either. It went deeper.
Racism has a depth and intensity which afflicts the mental and spiritual.
Even today, it is very hard to explain on an intellectual basis, because you have to experience it and live it, emotionally, mentally and spiritually, before you can understand it. It's about 'walking the walk' as opposed to 'talking the talk'. So many times I just wanted to blend in, to not be singled out, and never to be stared at because I was 'different'. I sought solace, not just through others, but through political, cultural and sociological writings, particularly of 'black power' American writers who were wrestling with the same questions. As a result I didn't feel so alone.