I’m 56 and consider myself to be liberal. I grew up watching scenes of oppression played out on TV, not just in Montgomery and Selma, but in Detroit and Los Angles as well. I personally saw black people suffer from bigotry and racism in Denver and Colordo Springs and Pueblo, and it revolted me. I grew up in rural Colorado where Mexicans were treated with condesencion (fuck the spelling, I’m trying to make a point here) at best and outright contempt at worst. All of it was repulsive and sickening.
When I was in the Army in the mid-1970s and actually had the chance to interact and work with black and Puerto Rican soldiers, I was told in no uncertain terms that, being white, I was suspect and considered an “enemy.” Oh, sure, there were a couple of black GIs who vowed to help my wife and son to safety if anything happened to me (black soldiers were more caring about the families of their peers than anyone else, in my experience) but for the most part, the thirst for Black Power meant that if they ever got a chance to oppress Whitey, they’d do it with relish.
I ignored all of that when I returned to civilian life and went to college and began my career in journalism. On the rare occasions when I had regular contact with blacks, I became overly self-conscious and even began changing the way I had talked all my life. “Attaboy!” was a good thing when I was growing up, but the first time I said it to a black colleage, I got a glare of resentment. I changed it to “Waytago!” In fact, I became acutely aware that, in the snow-white farm town I grew up in, “boy” was used frequently in a variety of expressions. I started to resent the fact that I had to filter my speech, my writing, even my thoughts – not because I ever meant to express any bigotry or racism, but because I didn’t want to even accidentally convey a hint of an appearance of racism.
Finally, a few years ago, I was promoted to manage a team of technical support agents in a call center. One of my top agents was a black man (let’s call him Gary, since that was his name.) We worked for a multi-national corporation and supported one of the giants of the digital imaging industry. Gary didn’t just help our customers, he helped the other agents and he helped me understand digital imaging. One day he came to my office to ask for time off (which he had more than earned) and opened the discussion with, “Hey, man, he’p a brothah out!” I granted the time off, of course, and as he was leaving I joked, “Y’know, Gary, I have three younger brothers and they’re all a pain in the ass. I don’t need another brother.” He laughed, then grabbed my arm and put it up next to his. “I dunno about you, but we bofe look da’ same color t’me!” he said. Then he told me, “You know, you are a good man. I’m a good man. We do good stuff together, you and me. Anybody ever tell you there’s something wrong with you just because you’re white, you tell them to go fuck themselves.”
Now, I do not deny that racism is embedded in a large number of American minds. But it is not in mine. I have been racially insulted by blacks and Hispanics (Mexican, Puerto Rican and U.S. citizens alike) so I know that racism is alive. I know personally men who have vowed that Barak Obama will never live to take the oath of office if he is elected. A man I have known and loved for 35 years – the son of immigrants who suffered awful bigotry when they came from Italy – still insists that the only thing wrong with our corner of the world is the number of Mes’kins in it. I know well the ignorance that feeds the fear that feeds the hatred.
I dislike “affirmative action” because I believe lowering expectations for one ethnic group denigrates us. I hate that America has betrayed the promise of the Great Society, but at the same time I blame Lyndon Johnson as much as anyone. I hate the fact that my beloved First Amendment protects the purveryors of racism as it protects the guardians of truth. I can rail and blame and condemn all day and it won’t change a thing. All I can do is remember Gary and be a good man. All I can ask is that others do the same.
[climbs down off soapbox, puts it away and walks out of the room.]