When I Woke Up From My Own Racism

I was in Louisiana one summer when I was a kid - it was the '60's - My cousins father owned a Western Auto Hardware store in a small town on the Mississippi River. It was hot and muggy, as it almost always is, in Louisiana in the summer. I had just entered the store and was sitting near the counter on an overturned bucket laughing and talking with my cousins - I was about 8 at the time. The fans they sold in the store were blowing and red, white and blue ribbons streamed from them. Two little black children came into the store. A little boy held tight to his big sisters hand. His mother had ironed and starched their clothes and the little girl had tight corn rows carefully braided into a pretty pattern. They wore no shoes which was typical for all of us kids who played on the edge of the bayou. They came in to buy some nails for their father. The kind gentleman, my cousins father, put the nails in a little bag and stapled it shut with the receipt and the little black children skipped out the door and down the block. That kind southern gentleman then went and got a mop and a bucket with pine sol in it and mopped the floor where those little children had walked.

I asked him why?

"Why are you mopping the floor?"

He answered, "Because them little niggers was just in here and they left their dirty germs on this here floor."

I was shocked. Did those little feet have different germs I asked? The other kids laughed at me because I was so ignorant.

That day changed me forever.

It was not until I was an adult that it really hit me hard. Just how insidious hate and racism is. For a long time I believed that lie about the germs on the floor.

A crime was committed against those little black children and also to me who was poisoned by that lie. It changed me and made me a better person.



What changed you?

never was racist so never had to change

I had racists in my family but never bought into the philosophy that we were superior

sure he thought about having to touch their dirty money.

I come from a long line of idiot bigots.

It stopped with me.

or my father, they lived and died as bigots.
My mom overcame most of her prejudices.
My aunts and uncles are a mixed bag.

or sister :hug:

She pointed out that the descriptor was really unnecessary. It gave me something to think about. Obviously, that's not a huge thing and I've certainly seen more blatant and ugly instances of racism in my life. But it's those little things, those casual comments and interactions, that add up and can make an impact on the larger issue.

Instead, it was "the one with the yellow shorts on" or something like that.

But after I moved South and was around more and more black people, I started using black and white as descriptors because that's what the black people around me did and I felt silly trying to come up with other descriptors. I still do the "yellow shorts" thing, though, when I'm with people I don't know really well.

a fairly natural thing to do. It doesn't have to be racially motivated. If it is the red headed kid over there, wouldn't you just say it?

I have a friend who happens to be black and we talk about this. We wonder about it. She says she uses the same language - if it is the one white kid in the room she will say the little blond kid or the little white boy.

:shrug:

I doubt my mom had a black friend that she could be so candid with yet she didn't want me to be prejudice and now I have black friends I can be myself with. I suppose these things just have to evolve.

that fear/hate-filled viewpoint. That must be a horrible way to live. Amazing story. :hug:

and my mother was raised by a hateful father - I would not be surprised to find that my grandfather was KKK.

Thank you.

Peace.

Growing up as the son of an Air Force colonel, I never knew black people. Then when I went to college in'68 at age 17, my dorm roommate was black. I learned alot about subconscious racism that year. We are still friends.

although my dad was enlisted...so we DID know black people. dad made us very aware that any racist words or jokes would not be tolerated. maybe it was different on the enlisted level :shrug:

I'm about the same age & also from the South. Altho my parents raised me to be liberal, they themselves never really got fully out of the conditioning to see people primarily in racial categories. That trait shows itself in little subtle comments from them. It is, of course, not latent racism in them, but there is a lingering prejudice that they made every effort not to pass on to my sister and me. It takes a few generations, I guess, to fully get that sort of paradigmatic thinking worked out of the values and mindsets of a family.

S. CA but my mother was from Louisiana - I spent my summers there.

My mother was worse than these people. I just recalled the incident throughout my life because it stuck out so obviously.

I was born in Gary, Indiana as it was transitioning from a White, blue collar, steel worker city to a majority African American city. My family tossed racial epithets around like they were nothing, there was a lot of bitterness as the neighborhoods changed.

We moved around a lot as my father was in the Military and was being sent to get his BS, MS and PhD at Indiana University, The University of North Carolina and Tulane University.

As my Dad was attending Tulane (1970-1972), we lived in Metairie - home of David Duke - and attended the John Calvin Presbyterian Church. I sang in the youth choir (I was 10) and had a nice voice and sang in key. The Choir Director asked me to sing a duet with an Iranian Girl whose family attended the Church. I refused because I did not want to sing anything with that N****R, of course, my Mom said, "She's not even black, she's Iranian." The girl (I forgot her name) cried and asked me why I hated her, I said something like, "because you're dirty." I was sent by the Choir Director to talk to the Pastor, this did no good. My friends, of course backed me up. To this day, when I'm asked about the worst thing I've done in my life, I remember her crying and I have no trouble pointing to that moment and horrible decision I made.

On another occasion, the Church's basketball team was playing the Third Baptist Church at the YMCA on St. Charles Street. Third Baptist is an African American Church. Some of us kids, cheering our Dads on, chanted the Following:

Chew Tobacco Chew Tobacco
Spit it on the Wall
Third Church Third Church
Can't play ball
Pork Chops Pork Chops
Greasy Greasy
We can beat these N*****S easy.


The pastor immediately offered to forfeit the game
Our Dads came over to us and a few of us got hit, hard
We were given the choice of either apologizing or REALLY getting beaten
We apologized, reluctantly, and the game went on.


When my Dad completed his studies, my Mother desperately wanted to stay in New Orleans, my Father wanted to move to the DC area. We moved to the DC area. It took a year or so, but through music and sports and integrated schools, I learned just how wrong I was. Peer pressure had changed the tolerant attitudes I picked up living on the IU and UNC Campuses. Peer pressure in the DC area worked to fix that problem.

I realize that I certainly could have had the same racist peer pressure in New York, Boston, Chicago or any other Northern city or suburb.

made


me


cry.


thank you for changing. :pals:

When I was very young my father was a professor at a college where there was some racial rioting going on.
When we heard or saw the news about the riots, my parents would tell us "this is what racism does" instead of blaming it on blacks or liberals, etc.

It stops with me. I don't know about my sister, she's made a comment or two, and isn't TOO fundie yet, but she's said some outrageous shit before. My brother spent 27 months of his life in Iraq with a gun. He doesn't talk about it, and I think he's too good a person to become racist against people from the middle-east, but that's a terrible situation he was in. He would have been surrounded by racists.

My grandparents were really bad about it. But I will chalk that up to living in immigrant neighborhoods that changed on them. The all Irish or all Polish section, slowly changing as that generation of immigrant moves up the payscale, and new immigrants replace them near the bottom. I think it was ignorance more than hate.

My mom is ok, but my dad still thinks he's in Philadelphia 1950-1968, so all blacks voting Obama are voting race, yet all whites voting are voting issue. So, we don't talk about that stuff because I don't like to be visibly disappointed in my dad in front of him.

I moved around so much when I was growing up that I can become friends with anybody, but I have no deep friendships at all. When you move every 3 years and so does everybody else, you generally get 1-2 years with your neighbors. So, you play with who is there, and when they move, you play with who moves in.

My early years were not in very diverse parts of the country. But I remember the first time I met a black man was in North Dakota, he was a B-52 co-pilot or navigator or something on one of my dad's crews. And I was the dumb little kid that just thought he needed to wash up. He was a very nice man, and took it in stride.

Since I didn't grow up with any prejudices against anybody, I get really upset when I hear them. If I don't like somebody, it's for what they've done, not who they are. I don't hate Bush because he's Bush, I hate him for all the thousands of things that his family has done to the planet.

immigrating to this area got rid of those beliefs or practices in less than one generation. Just about every continent is represented at our family gatherings now. :)

you a little about my family, how parts of it cling to racism and how other parts have changed for the better. As far back as I can remember, and that goes back to childhood, I was always uncomfortable with the racism of my father, all three of his brothers and my paternal grandparents. As I entered my teenage years, I began to despise it and feel deep shame that members of my family thought, spoke, and acted with such ignorance. During my teenage years I began to challenge each of them when they spoke their hate to or around me and vowed I would not be like them. My grandfather and I grew apart because of it. He took his hatred with him to the grave (as did his oldest son) and I never understood why they had it in the first place. Although not as overt as my grandfather's my father's racism is still a major issue for me and a continuing point of heated arguments between us through the years. I keep thinking I can get him to see the light and I think he catches glimpses of it, but he still clings to hatred like some type of security blanket or necessary link to his past and his father. He uses the same words, phrases, and factually incorrect talking points to spout his ignorance as my grandfather used to use. I won't give up on him, but he is an uphill battle.

Now my grandmother on the other hand, 88 years old and extremely frail and ill, has changed dramatically following close to a year in the hospital and a few assisted living/rehab centers following her stroke, quadruple bypass and broken hip. It seems the best (and her favorite) caregivers during the ordeal were all a different color than her. She was extremely humbled by the fact that they kept her alive and nursed her back to a state of health that allowed her to see her youngest grandchild (my sister)get married last fall. She told me through a face full of tears how sorry she was for ever hating anyone because of their race. I could see the genuine look of enlightenment in her eyes, as she explained how good everyone was to her and how they comforted her and encouraged her to get well. She cried harder as she explained the shame she first felt at having to have nurses change her like a baby and how one nurse helped her get over that shame and helped restore her dignity by telling her about how she goes home after every shift and does the same thing for her elderly sick mother who is dying at home. The story touched my grandmother deeply and whether the nurse knew it or not (I think she did), changed eight decades of incorrect thinking. She helped her grow as a human being and unload the burden of 80+ years of hate and ignorance.

That nurse and my grandmother became good friends and she came to visit my grandmother (who now lives with my uncle - the youngest of the brothers)shortly after my sister's wedding. It was the first time an African American (or any minority) ever stepped foot in my uncle's home and he welcomed her with a hug. She brought a picture frame for my grandmother to use on one of the wedding photos but my grandmother uses it for the photo of herself and the nurse taken in the hospital on my grandmother's birthday. They still speak on the phone from time to time and my uncle will even jump in to say hi. My grandmother, my family and I are forever indebted to this nurse and all the men and women who turned her life around in so many ways. I only wish my father would let go of his burdens like his brother.

Sorry for the long reply, but it reaffirms my hope for humanity and our ability to grow and change when I tell this story and I do so whenever anyone seems to want to hear it.

Thank you for a sweet story.:hug:

Racism is such an ugly concept but someone getting through it and growing beyond it is one of the most beautiful things in the world...even if (and maybe even to some extent, especially if) it happens at 88 years old.

and heavy yoke to wear.

I like being racist free much better. I cringe whenever I run into it now. :pals:

Not as much as she was - I've had a lot of influence on her. :) Plus she's never been really hateful or anything - more like she just bought into some cultural programming and repeats it occasionally without really really believing it.

I'm going up to her house Sunday for a Memorial Day cookout and I'm going to give her My Bondage and My Freedom, by Frederick Douglass. I've been giving her or letting her borrow books lately like Peter Singer's Writings on an Ethical Life and Joe Bageant's Deer Hunting with Jesus and she really enjoys them, which makes me think that maybe I shouldn't hate humans so much. She doesn't even have net access at the moment and only has access to the state propaganda of TV and radio and local newspapers - I can tell that it's dulled her mind since I lived with her. So I give her books and they make her think and she loves it. So maybe it's not so much that humans are ignorant and prejudiced on purpose - maybe it's that they really just don't know any better. I seem to have been born knowing better so it's hard for me to understand. Kind of like how it's hard for a person born into material wealth to understand poverty, I guess. Which that simile makes me hate elitist rich people a little less too, so hey - less hate is always good.

I don't know how I came to be like I am - my first memory of racism is reading Agatha Christie's And Then There Were None in second grade and being upset and offended by the racism in it. Then the next year I read all the books in the local library about the Holocaust, which deeply impressed upon me the human capacity for hate and cruelty and evil.

Like Frederick Douglass and Carl Sagan and probably countless others have observed - reading is the path from slavery to freedom.

have a lovely Memorial Day get together and get that mom hooked up to the internets!