This is a story about a horse. Actually a Quarter Horse.
Not the breed. A pony. To be precise, a pony ride!
This ride occurred just about 2 years ago in October 2024. Mark and I are certified foster-parents and at the time we had a 13 year old foster-daughter, lets call her Camila. Camila had come into our life about 2 months prior. All foster children suffer from some form of trauma and it takes time & effort to develop a relationship with them. During Yom Kippur when she got her first school break, we decided to take Camila to the Hudson Valley. We rented a beautiful Airbnb nestled in the Northern Catskill Mountains. The very first evening we played badminton, made a bbq, and a fire in the firepit. Camilla was a girl who laughed much and enjoyed having fun. We had discovered she wasn’t very good at Math at all, but somehow she made tons of money when we played Monopoly later that evening & counted all her wins correctly!
We had planned a few daytime activities for Camila to enjoy – some for the very first time in her life. We went hiking around the Caterskill Falls, and took her on her first bi-plane flight at the the Old Rhinebeck Aerodrome. She loved every minute of it! While driving back to our Airbnb, my eyes spotted on Google map – HORSEBACK RIDING. Explore the great Northern Catskill on Horseback. Riding for All Experience Levels. Children and adults. Ponies available. Tuesday through Saturday 9-4. Walk-ins welcome. I showed it to Mark & he agreed.
Next morning, we arrived at the farm around 11am. Camila, realizing that she was about to get her first horse ride, was jubilant.
The three of us entered the little cabin with food and knick-knacks. I saw two women behind the counter flash Mark a welcoming smile. And then – they spotted me and their smile vanished. Instead they looked at each other and looked away from me. Not quite sure of what to make of it, I walked up to the counter and cheerfully asked them for 3 horse rides so we can ride together as family. One of the two women continued looking down & away – busying herself with – nothing. The other woman said – “there are no rides available”. She avoided making eye contact. I tried to clarify – “you mean you are sold out??” – which would be strange as there were hardly any cars in the parking lot. She repeated the exact same words & no explanation – “there are no rides available”.
The woman was lying – I knew it. And she knew that I knew it.
Now I am married to a white person, I spend my life in a fairly white community, and being not a particularly vain person, I do not spend a lot of time looking at myself in the mirror! So it takes a specific kind of experience such as the one I was having with that lady who didn’t want to serve me to make me realize – Oh right, I am brown!
The cognitive dissonance of the moment – a part of me was dead sure that I was experiencing some kind of prejudice, but the other part was like “really – in New York – in 2024?” Suddenly I heard Camilla’s voice – “lets go mommy” (she used to call me mommy) – her tone defensive & protective at once. It was like this 13 year old Hispanic girl understood far more clearly what was happening. Probably because she was much more used to racism than I am.
But – I wasn’t 13 – and it was no longer 2001 – when my first brush with racism, after September 11, had shattered my heart with a sense of not belonging. This was 2024, and a brown half-Indian woman was running for President! The farm’s invisible “For Whites Only” sign was out of touch, and out of date. I didn’t care for a horse ride, and it is not in my nature to meet hostility with more hostility, but there was no way Camila was going to be robbed by prejudice.
“Ok”, I said without a shred of defensiveness but firmly, “Then I would like to buy a pony ride for my daughter.” I saw the women exchange glances, the one at the counter buckled. “$65. One of our trainers will meet you outside”. I purchased the ride.
We stepped outside the cabin. Camila burst out “that woman was a racist!”. “Possibly”, I said “OR – she had an upset stomach!.” I chuckled and the mood instantly lightened.
A trainer appeared with a pony. She helped Camila mount and took her around the arena. We took photos of Camila who was already beaming, the ugliness forgotten. The trainer completed one lap and brought her back. “Good job!” the trainer said. “Is that it?” Mark asked. “Yep”, the trainer responded, without – making – eye contact.
We will never know for sure if the horse rides were truly not available or if the pony ride was always just a single lap. But those details don’t matter that much – what truly mattered was that Camila learnt that one doesn’t have to retreat in the face of prejudice but also that hate doesn’t have to be met by hate. And that I learnt that my sense of belonging in America was now rock solid, unshakable by some insecure person who thought America belongs to a certain skin color. They need to catch a train to the 21st century and join the rest of us.
But one thing we definitely know for sure. We had planned a full horse ride for Camilla, but what she actually got… was A Quarter Horse!
Swati Srivastava is an immigrant and a multi award-winning writer, director, and voiceover artist. A filmmaker & storyteller, Swati turns ideas into experience. She is the Co-Chair for Braver Angels Long Island and a trained facilitator for Crossing Party Lines moderating conversations that bring people together across their political divides. Swati is also an environmentalist and lives in a Net Zero Energy home with her husband. She can be reached via Linkedin and swati@TiredAndBeatup.com