OKLAHOMA CITY — A few months ago, when I was still a freshman at Oklahoma City’s Kutztown University, I was invited to speak to the faculty of the prestigious College of Communication at Oklahoma State University.
The purpose of the talk was to introduce a paper that I had written for a magazine.
The cover was simple and straightforward: a group of students in a room sharing stories about their lives, experiences and hopes for the future.
I was asked to share the content, but I was not allowed to read it.
I thought it was an odd arrangement, because, as an African-American woman, I am often the only person in the room.
I had no interest in reading the content.
I wanted to talk about how my experiences had affected the writing of my own paper.
I knew that this was not the place to reveal what I was feeling, but the next day I was confronted with the question: If I was a writer, how would I respond to an African American woman’s questions about writing a paper about the experiences of a group who was not white?
The answer, I realized, was that I would have to be a white writer, and not even pretend to be one.
But, the next time I was in a meeting, I would be writing a story about that.
I would not be allowed to share my story with the class, but instead, I could talk about it on my blog, and even share my own story about it.
And the story, which I wrote about the story would be shared on my Facebook page, which would then be shared by tens of thousands of people.
When I shared the story in April with a group that was not even in my class, the conversation turned to my own experience of racial profiling, and how it affected my writing.
And this is where my experience changed.
I started to understand the power of the story.
When you’re writing a piece about an experience, you are telling your own story, but it is not your own.
You are sharing with a friend, and that friend will not be able to see the content of your story because you are sharing it on Facebook, and Facebook is an online publication that does not require permission to publish.
So the first time I shared a story, I felt like I was doing something good for my friends and the community.
But after that, I started getting messages like: You’re telling your story to Facebook, but you don’t get permission to share it online.
You should be writing about the experience of someone else.
The more I wrote, the more I realized I was making a choice that would affect my ability to write about the people who did not share the story with me.
This is what the social media age has created: a world in which white people are able to share their experiences and experiences are seen as valuable and valuable because they are shared with other white people.
I want to speak out about my experience of the racial profiling that I have experienced because I believe that this is a very real, very dangerous problem, and I want people to understand that it is happening.
I do not know what it is that white people can do about it, but what I do know is that we are not going to be able as a community to do anything about it if we do not have a way to say, “Enough is enough.”
The next time you are confronted with a story that you feel is critical to your identity, and you have to write it down, think about how you are contributing to the racial injustice that is happening in the United States.
Because if you do not say, enough is enough, you will never be able, even if you write the story yourself, to make a difference.
When my story went viral on the web, I received hundreds of messages from people asking if they could share the article, and most of them were very supportive.
One person even offered to pay for my flight home, because I had made it clear that I was willing to do so.
When white people in America read my story, they often think I am not telling the truth about racial profiling.
I did not know it at the time, but there is a whole class of people who are so used to seeing their experiences in a white person’s eyes, that they have completely forgotten that they are being treated in a different way.
They are not seeing the same humanity, and they are not being treated equally.
And that is where the real power lies.
I can’t write this story about how the experience affected my own life, because that would be a lie.
But what if I was white, and my experience was a part of a larger story about the racial inequities that exist in the US?
I could see what I am talking about, and it would not matter to my white friends who would think that I am just making fun of their white privilege.
It would not even matter to them that I could share