Photo above by Janine C. Photo below is Public Domain Courtesy of the National Archives.
The first experience with racism was when I was five or six… but it was not as you might think. I accused a black child of drinking my beverage when I wasn’t looking. My so-called proof was the swirling of my own saliva in my cup. I believed, at that time, that what I was looking at was his ‘blackness’ that had come off from his skin. When I told an adult, I felt the squirming warmth of revenge uncoil in my heart and was satisfied that justice had been done.
Later, when my mother had pointed out that it was my own saliva I was looking at, I felt guilty and foolish. However, for a brief moment hatred had taken seed in me. Now, it would be easy to dismiss this childhood memory as a simple misunderstanding. You shouldn’t. That is how any form of bigotry takes root - from the inability or the unwillingness to understand one another.
And to be completely honest, that isn’t the last time I have had to struggle with my own innate racism, or the racism of others. I cannot begin to tell you how many times I’ve heard disparaging remarks about African Americans and did nothing. My own cowardice is proceeded only by my arrogance in thinking that I am not racist. No matter how many times I say I am color blind, I still see black and white. No matter how friendly I am towards those who are different than me, there is a part of me that is trying to prove something. And the more sensitive I am about another person’s race or ethnicity, the more I avoid trying to understand them.
February is Black History Month, a month long reminder of the great accomplishments and contributions that African Americans have made despite their struggle against racism in the States. If you haven’t guessed by now, I have a lot of mixed feeling about Black History Month. The fact that we have to attribute a full month to one racial minority is a tribute to how little we understand each other as human beings. That so many other minorities, such as the American Indians, do not have the same distinction also makes my heart uneasy. But it is our history as a species, blighted by so many atrocities, that worries me the most. I’m not entirely sure that we are making progress.
It isn’t enough for individuals to hide their misunderstandings of each other under thin veils of politeness. Race deserves open and honest discourse through which we can come to understand each other. We need to each admit to ourselves our own blind spots and try to broaden our vision. Without that, we are merely ignoring the problem.
Of course none of this is easy. If it were, my parent’s generation would have eliminated racism long before my conception. Its specter still looms over American history, threatening to taint our future and darken our doorstep. I don’t believe that this is a lost cause, but I still have trouble taking anyone who says they are color-blind seriously.
With this in mind, I humbly pray for mutual understanding among all people. God, we are your children; Please make us see!
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