“Let’s be honest: For a lot of well-meaning, open-minded white people, the sight of a young black man in a hoodie still evokes a twinge of fear. And news reports about poverty and crime and discrimination evoke sympathy, even empathy, but too rarely do they spur us to action or prompt us to question our own assumptions and privilege.” – Hillary Clinton
I came to the realism of my racism quite some time ago. I thought I’d gotten past whatever might be involved in that racism, whether it was the color of skin, the sound of an accent, whatever made “the other” different than I was. Actually, I’d never thought much about it except to be curious.
I was always more interested in what made the other “other” than in trying to find what made them the same as I. I grew up in a small northern “white bread” town, with everyone having the same color skin, the same basic hair color, and even predominant eye color. It was boring. Even now, I prefer whole grain bread to white bread.
I loved it when I went away to the city to go to college, knowing I’d finally meet people with a different upbringing, a different way of seeing the world, a different way of being. And I had no bad experiences that made me feel that being different than I was a bad thing, it was just exciting. At least for me.
The only people that caused me great pain were just like me, white skin, brownish hair, hazel/green/blue eyes. Getting divorced was the cruelest thing that ever happened to me. And yet, I didn’t blame all white people. I didn’t even blame all men.
And then one day, many, many years later, after I’d lived with my beloved SO for 30 years or so, I suddenly became aware that when I saw a group of unruly young “others” on the street, with black skin and features, it made me uneasy. Shock! I’m a racist! And this after the requisite “having black friends,” etc.
Well, it took me a while to get over the shock of that realization and actually think about it. Eventually I realized that a group of brown skinned young people speaking a different language could also make me uneasy. After 30 years with my Spanish-speaking SO, of all things. Oh, God! I was a racist!
But then an unexpected thing occurred at some point. If there were a group of white youngsters with loud radios or skateboards and behaving rowdily were to appear, I felt the same uneasiness. OK, was I a racist against my own “kind?”
Maybe I was just an ageist – in reverse, of course.
I’m working on that. It’s more difficult for me to understand teenagers of any color than it is for me to understand the sorts of things “others” are discriminated against for. (Bad sentence but you get it.)
One other thing, I’m a woman. By virtue of my genitalia I experience much the same things as others do by virtue of their skin color or accented speech. Only it’s couched much more slyly, as “protection” or some such thing. It’s still discrimination.
So now I have to figure out a lot of things. I don’t think I’m a racist basing things only on skin color and such. I’m still more interested in “others’” experience than I am frightened or turned off by any appearance or speech. Maybe I don’t understand teenagers or teenage behavior or speech because it’s been a long, long time since I’ve been one and since I never had kids I never had much experience of them.
But am I a racist?
No, you’re not a racist, you’re a normal human being with good values, aware that there are differences as well as shared characteristics among us. The way you feel when you see a bunch of rowdy teen-agers, of any color, is the way most of us older people feel, which is: vulnerable. As we mature we become aware of our vulnerabilities, and suspicious of people who seem unaware of their own. There’s a good reason it’s hard to diagnose mental illness in teen-agers, and it’s that much of what is pathology in adults is normal in teens. So it’s when a teen-ager reaches the age of twenty and still behaves recklessly and over- or under-reacts to events, and cannot function responsibly, that we might be able to diagnose a mental illness.
Racists are people who have made up their minds that ALL African Americans, Hispanics, Jews, or Whites, etc. are universally inferior and unworthy. They don’t wonder about their position, or question it as you do; they “KNOW” it!! “Blacks are bad.” “Orientals are bad.” “Jews are bad.” All of them – of any age, level of education, political affiliations, even personal and social accomplishments – are bad. “Racists” includes the people who saw Martin Luther King Jr. as a no-good unworthy person, because he was Black. There are many of those people.
I’m pretty sure that’s not you.
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Thanks, Samantha. It was a shock for me to notice that a group of black kids made me feel “different.” Note that I felt “different,” not that they were different. I hadn’t thought of that before now. As for young people and their behavior, I often have a disagreement with SO when someone as “old” as 21 or so does something stupid and I try to explain to him that brains just don’t become really “functional” until and unless they manage to become older than 21 or so. Still, he thinks he was always a thinker and was never like that, and maybe so, but maybe that’s why I become uneasy since I’m sure the kids I see think they’re thinking normally, too. Well, they are, for kids, I suppose. *G*
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I have to say that using this approach with the attempt to be humorous is really trivializing what is an important issue. Racism and the cruel expressions of prejudice that go along with it are no laughing matter and not ones to be equated with our distaste [whether we are black-white or brown] for loud/disruptive teenagers or even the lingering inequities that prevail based on our gender. To be denied the right to vote, blocked from advancing or even being considered for a job for which you qualify, seeing your father or brother hung from a tree, raped, your children taken from you and sold-are not laughing matter. There are residual memories of our racist past and in some cases, lived experiences. Marva Mcclean
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I’m so, so sorry you were offended by this post, Marva. There was truly no attempt to be humorous in any way. Indeed, I’d hoped to express my true horror at the insight that I might be racist. I was shocked to my core.
I don’t tend toward florid writing, and perhaps too much to understatement, so that might be something I need to work on. There should be a middle ground I can find.
Groups of “loud/disruptive” teenagers were a tool to point out that their behavior was not what I noticed (though it got my attention) but their skin colors. That then made me concerned about racism. Unlike in Florida, it took more than one dark skinned teenager to make me suddenly concerned about my vulnerabilities. Which, it turned out, had more to do with my age and infirmities than with any overt racism. Self examination is not a bad thing.
I would appreciate it if you would point out the specifics of this post that made you feel offense. I obviously didn’t convey my horror at my insight and clearly gave the impression that I was being, if not actually humorous, at least light hearted. I can use any input that will help me to more clearly understand how to make my point(s) without coming across as different than I mean to.
I can never understand in an experiential manner what it’s like to have any other skin than I do, as I’m sure you can never understand what it’s like to have any other skin than you do. That’s why it’s so important to communicate clearly our own experiences as best we can. Will you help me?
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