I am like many of you. I’m white. In case you weren’t aware, we still make up the vast majority of the population. I don’t have exact numbers, but last time I checked the national census data whites made up about 75% of the total population. Blacks came in around 13% and Asian and Hispanics made up the rest of the numbers. I imagine the Hispanic population is higher these days, but, again, I don’t have exact numbers.
The point being, white people, like me, still make up the vast majority. For this reason, it’s kind of funny (not funny, actually) that white people are so worried about the ‘dangers’ of other races in America. It’s sort of like going to watch a Yankees vs. Tigers game in Yankee Stadium and Yankee’s fans being terrified and worried about the handful of Detroit fans scattered throughout the crowd.
Many white people will argue that they aren’t afraid of black people or other minorities, but unfortunately that’s just not true. I know, I know… they’ll tell you they have black friends at work or school, they may have a black neighbor or even a black doctor… after all, they do have a black president. But in most of these cases, white’s still hold the social power in these situations and their black “friends” are only their “friends” because they have assimilated into their predominately white communities. In short, they’re still in Yankees stadium surrounded by other Yankees fans; it’s just that some of those Yankees fans are black.
However, when the tables are turned and white people find themselves in an environment where they are the minority they suddenly feel uncomfortable and scared. Don’t believe me. It’s a simple experiment. Go to an all black part of town, where you are the only white person present and hang out for the day. Most of you won’t do this… Why? because you’re scared and uncomfortable with the idea. No home court advantage, you could say. Suppose you had to live there, forever. Would you buy a gun to protect yourself and your family? Would you use that gun if you or they were threatened?
What many white people fail to realize is that’s how other, minority cultures feel all the time. They never get home court advantage. Not at the grocery store, not at the bank, not at the car dealership, not in courts, and not in the criminal justice system. They are always living in an environment where they are the outsider. Yet, ironically it is they who are feared. Why so scary, one might ask? Well, I don’t have the time to explore biological development, cultural constructs, or human anthropology in a blog entry, and it’s doubtful you’d want me too because it would be a lot of facts and data. And, while facts and data certainly point towards clear and present truths, people in general are far less likely to be won over by facts and data (although they’d never admit it) than they are by their up bringing or personal experiences. So, let’s set aside the facts and data, and allow me to tell you a story… a story about my up bringing and experiences. We’ll call this story 101 Ways Not To Be A Racist.
I like most white people grew up in a largely white environment. I had predominately white friends and neighbors and they were happy, healthy, and typically financially stable. But, I didn’t live in a vacuum. This is America after all. So, I had black neighbors who were doctors and at times they’d come over and dine with my family. I had black teammates, as I played basketball in the inner-city basketball leagues in Memphis, TN. Eventually my family moved up north, and I had some black friends and even had a black roommate in graduate school. In fact, my family even ‘adopted’ a young man (if you can adopt a grown man) from Sudan, who grew up in refugee camps in Africa. He was sent to America, like many other Sudanese boys, to be protected from the civil unrest in northern Sudan. We, as good white people, were delighted to take him into our home and help him get a good start on his new life in America.
Furthermore, as an adult I took on a teaching position in Brookhaven, PA. Brookhaven is a small borough between Chester, PA and West Chester, PA. If you are at all familiar with Eastern Pennsylvania or the greater Philadelphia metropolitan area, then you know that Chester is very different from West Chester. Chester is poor and primarily black; West Chester is affluent and primarily white.
Yet, because I taught at a private, classical school anchored in between these two parts of town, we were blessed with a mixing of students from both Chester and West Chester. It was an integrated school, and, for the most part, the kids got along beautifully. It was a real testament of how young people from different races and cultural backgrounds could get along and coexist.
At no point in my life did I view myself, my family, or any of my close friends as racists… look at all the examples I just gave you… clearly we weren’t racists… I wasn’t a racist, right?
Hmmm… not exactly.
You see, the last part of this story begins with my marriage. As fate would have it I married a black woman. Technically she is Haitian American and therefore West Indian, as opposed to being Black American, but either way her skin is “black,” and when people see her they see a black woman.
You would think that going into an interracial marriage would definitely solidify the, “I’m not a racist card.” I mean after all, I married a black woman! Yet, what I have learned from this experience is quite the opposite.
You see, while I had black friends, and neighbors, and even a temporary black roommate I never had my life completely assimilated with someone black. I could always go back to my white neighborhood after my inner-city basketball games or my white friends after hanging out with the black kids, etc. Now I am unequivocally linked to “blackness” because I’m married to it. And, for the first time I’m seeing and experiencing racism in a way that I never imagined or understood. More often than not that experience is indirect as I watch the way people respond to and/or treat my wife. I noticed how their demeanor and attitude changes when they meet me and see she is married to a white man. I noticed how I’m looked at and treated differently because I’m married to a black woman. I noticed how some people are scared of my wife who is probably the least scary person I know… unless of coarse I’ve made her angry in which case then she is a little scary, but only towards me. I noticed how we get followed in stores, and how women will clutch their purses when my wife walks by them.
Now for the first time in my life I’m re-seeing and re-hearing what people say. My eyes and ears have been re-opened. Peoples say racist things all the time and don’t even realize it. Often they think they are being complementary and are shocked when their comments are not met with smiles and approving nods. I myself have been guilty of this… even though I was sure I wasn’t a racist.
You see, as I’ve been writing this fun (not so fun) little blog, I’ve been being a racist. No, I haven’t shot any black men, or hung them from trees. I haven’t burned down any houses, or called them dirty names. But, I have qualified them as different from myself… different from my white neighbors, different from my white teammates, different from my white students, and different from my white roommates or family members. You see, even though I accepted them in my life, on my teams, in my neighborhood, and even into my family I viewed them as different because they were black. In short, I can accept the Tigers fans in Yankee stadium. I can be polite, not curse at them, or dump my beer on their heads, but at the end of the day… they’re still Tigers fans, not Yankees fans and therefore… from a baseball stand point, we can’t relate. (for the record I’m a Tigers fan & I hate the Yankees… we all have our prejudices). The difference in this little metaphor is of course the fact that baseball is a game. Games come and go. A person’s race is not a game. It’s not a choice. It does not come and go. It is for life, and because of this it affects every aspect of a person’s life.
If you still don’t believe me, or think I’m making a mountain out of a mole hill. Let me give you some common examples of things I hear white people tell my wife nearly every day:
“Wow. You are a beautiful black girl.”
“You are one of the most beautiful black girls I’ve ever seen.”
“I have a friend who is black.”
“One of my best friends is black.”
“You’re not even really black.”
“I’m blacker than you are”
“Oh, your husband is white? That makes sense. I’m not surprised”
… and the list goes on
In all of these types of statements a few key issues are at play. Firstly, the qualification of ‘blackness’ as different from ‘whiteness.’ Notice that they don’t say, “You are one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met.” Ask yourself this. When you see a beautiful white woman do you say, “Wow. You are one of the most beautiful white women I’ve ever met.” No, because ‘white’ does not require qualification. When you meet a new white person do you say, “Oh, I have a friend who is white,” or, “One of my best friends is white!” ,When you go to see a movie with an all white cast do you say, “We’re going to see that new movie about white people,or that new white comedy, etc.” Are you beginning to see how absurd this is?
The second major issue is the assumption that in order for a black person to affirm and support their own race, they must also affirm and support your stereotypes of their race. How about this one, “What, you don’t eat sauerkraut? You aren’t even really white, are you?” Or, what would a white man have to do to get this response from a black man, “Oh, you’re dating a black girl. I’m not surprised.” You see, things sound a little funny when they’re flipped around. But, unfortunately it’s not funny at all. You might think these subtle forms of racism are menial, but to think that misses the point because most people don’t value things as highly if they are deemed as different. It’s true.
Sticking with our baseball analogy, a Yankees fan is likely to obsess on a bad call on the Yanks, but celebrate or, at the least, gloss over a bad call on the Tigers. It’s human nature, but that doesn’t make it right. Yankees fans value the Yankees, so every call is important… especially the bad ones. But Yankees fans don’t value the Tigers, so calls against the Tigers aren’t important, unless of coarse they benefit the Yankees. You see where I’m going with this?
This week, our country is in a racial tizzy over the events in Ferguson, Missouri. Yet the responses from many white people are like those of Yankees fans who’ve just witnessed a bad call on the Tigers. You can celebrate it, ignore it, chalk it up as part of the game, or simply rationalize it. It is however unlikely that Yankees fans would respond the same way if the same call was made on the same play but it went against the Yanks instead of the Tigers.
What if a upper-middle class white kid from a local private school decided to steal a pack of cigarettes from the local Wawa, but instead of apprehending him, or simply giving him a stern warning and making him return his stolen goods, the police shot him, multiple times, to death. Wouldn’t that seem odd to you. What if it was your son, your brother, your cousin, or even just that kid next door? Yet, that is similar to what happened and continues to happen in America. The only difference is the lives being taken or black, not white.
Because I married a black woman I know that if we ever have a son he will be a black man. The fact that he would truthfully by half white is ignored by society because if you aren’t all white you’re black. What do you think that says in and of itself? What if when Michael Brown’s father stepped out of his home in Ferguson to find his son dead in the street… instead of it being a black man… a black father… it was a white man… a white father?
I have to now ask myself questions I never would have asked before because my sons will be black sons. And there lies the problem. I should have been asking myself these questions all along, regardless of what color my sons would be. And that’s why I’m a racist. And, that’s why you might be a racist too.
