Racism and Me

I still remember the first time I was taught racial tolerance. I was in preschool, in a class with no minorities that I can remember, and at a point in my life during which I don't think I even had an acquaintance of color. As the teachers expounded on us the importance of not judging or treating people differently based on their skin color I remember thinking, "well why would I ever do that?" I mean I certainly knew that other races existed, I watched Sesame Street and I could see them around town, and if I was a little older I think I might have taken the lesson almost as an offense that they would think I would even consider discriminating. It was almost like they had planted the seed in my head, as if, had they never told me to not treat minorities differently I would have never even come up with the notion that I, or anyone, could treat them differently. I've always been curious though, had I not specifically been told to not discriminate before I ever had the chance, how would I have reacted the first time I really met and engaged a minority, would I have developed racist notions on my own, pure ignorant thing that I was unaware of slavery and civil rights? Obviously I'd like to think not, but in a way I feel like Karen, Linda, and Francis (my teachers) robbed me of this knowledge, even though it certainly seems like stamping out the problem before it has a chance to start is probably the best way to deal with the issue. The other beef I have with this though, is that from then on for several years this lesson actually made me begin looking at minorities with greater distinction from myself than I had before; I was mentally profiling all of them as people to treat differently, even if only by being extra cautious when dealing with because I wouldn't want to offend them.

If I'm being honest though, I have to say my outlook for being discrimination free on my own looked bleak if one incident is any indication. This anecdote will sound like one of the most stereotyped racist things you'll ever hear but I promise it is true and was completely borne in the innocence of my youth. I think I was only four or so, and I was sitting in church next to my mom, antsy as usual. Just then the choir came out from the hallway and took their place at the head of the congregation. Taking up the rear was a sight that startled me because I simply didn't understand what it was. An extremely dark skinned man with a full face of facial hair entered. He was dressed in a choir robe just like everyone else, but I wasn't sure why, because, you see, I thought he was a gorilla, and why would they let a primate sing in the choir? I wasn't really scared, just sort of in awe. I remember simply gazing at him for the longest time, thinking "there's no way he's a human, his skin is just so dark. Even black people don't look that dark." After the service I saw him walking down the hall, mercifully out of earshot. I tugged at my mom's pant leg and asked "Mommy! Mommy! is that man a gorilla?" I remember her expression being a mix of utter disbelief and outright horror. She quickly and vehemently corrected my error. Eight years later that man would become my middle school principal.

For years growing up, even into middle school, I thought that racism was an archaic thing of the past, at least in my town. Much like the dangers of drugs, it was one of those topics that was pounded in to us time and time again all throughout elementary school and with pretty much zero examples of either racial discrimination or drug use occurring, you begin to think that it's all a bunch of hooey, that no one really does that anymore. Well, of course, they do, it's just that it doesn't show up for a while. The moment that happened for me didn't come until seventh grade. That year, suddenly, everyone collectively seemed to realize that a large Somali population existed in our community, and not only that but, gasp, they were a little bit different than the rest of us. So, I suppose it wasn't exactly a racial issue so much as an ethnic one; there were other non-Somali black students in my school that didn't face an ounce of profiling as far as I could tell (not to say it didn't happen, but if so it was much more low key). Well unfortunately, though probably not coincidentally as I feel like this was the peak of most people's social primacy and general idiocy, thus creating the racism in the first place, this swell in discrimination coincided with my point of weakest self-esteem and greatest stupidity, basically the doldrums of my moral behavior

When I first began to hear people, including friends, bad mouth the immigrants I was slightly shocked and internally frowned upon it, or if I did say something it was usually with a hypocritical grin while saying "That's horrible," just because that's what you're supposed to say. Even though I really did frown upon it I didn't want to reprimand my peers, because the people saying such things we're often times 'cooler' than me, and I didn't dare cross them for fear of damaging my already tenuous social status. 7th and 8th grade were my years where I placed greater importance on this hierarchy than nearly anything else, including my principles, and as a result I did and said (or didn't do) a lot of things I shouldn't have (or should have) done. Eventually, this reached the point where one day, while in the presence of one of my 'cool' friends (aka, person I would later look upon as a toolbox), I tried to impress him by, to my ultimate shame, making a blatantly racist comment of my own. And this wasn't the racist comment for lolz that sounds outrageously bad but really isn't because both you and the person you're talking to know you're just playin', this was malicious, done only to try and earn a cheap laugh and a cool point. I'm not going to repeat it because I've regretted saying since that fateful day in the fall of 8th grade. In the extreme short term, I guess my plan was a success; I got a laugh out of my parasitic friend, but even as he was laughing, I regretted it already. I was flabbergasted it had come out of my mouth, it just happened. When he wanted to tell people about my "good joke", I wanted to deny it, I was ashamed, screw the laughs, and some of the more conscionable people he told were rightfully ashamed of me.

Since that event I strove to be better and haven't had a repeat incident of which I'm embarrassed (unless of course you count the time in American Studies when, without thinking about the racial implications, we dressed up Owen with a monkey mask while he was playing Al Roker, only to realize what idiots we were a few minutes later). Overall though I was feeling good. Then, during senior year, I watched the movie Crash. My review of the movie helps detail exactly how I felt about it, but even that doesn't truly explain the profound impact it had on me. The basic point of the movie, that everyone is racist whether they realize it or not, invigorated me to actively try and stamp out all racist notions that had been subconsciously imbedded into me by society and make a real effort at ignoring initial profiles and prejudices I developed towards people

Like many things though, my enthusiasm eventually waned and I began to fall in to this sort of complacency of not caring whether or not I became a mental racist (I haven't done or said anything that would express this, but inside I've been developing increasingly discriminatory notions). Sadly, in some strange twist of fate, college, that great liberalizer, has made me more racist, and, tired of being bombarded with PC messages, I've largely given up trying to fight this mental trend. It's sort of like growing up in a such a largely homogeneous town as the one I did allowed me to refrain from stereotyping people because the few people of diverse backgrounds I saw were the only examples of such people. The sample size was too small for my brain to start noting patterns. In a cosmopolitan place like my college though I see people of all colors and creeds frequently and their similarities in behavior and attitude have reinforced those respective stereotypes. Still though, I recognize this is wrong and I want to try and change my triggered perceptions, if only I can muster the ambition.

For this reason something about life on campus bugs me. By now I, and most everyone else, has heard a thousand times the initially jolting revelation Crash made to me that everyone is a little bit racist. The problem I have is how okay with that fact people seem to be. For example, in one class I had spring semester the professor asked us to raise our hands if we thought we were racist. A little more than half the students, myself included, were clearly tentative, likely knowing at heart they were slightly but not wanting to admit it. Many of the ones who did raise their hands were those that bothered me though. They almost seemed to be bragging that they were racists, as if they believed themselves morally superior because they admitted it out loud. They weren't ashamed of their racism as I, and most of the class seemed to be. The guy next to me's hand shot up as he said "Oh yeah, I'm definitely racist." So, while one would think they're honesty would be admirable (recognizing the problem is half the battle and all that), instead it just seemed arrogant. We all knew already that we were all racists, it's just that not all of us were okay with it. "If you're so confident, then why aren't you trying to change that?!" I wanted to retort to my neighbor. But maybe they're right, I don't know, maybe acknowledging the problem openly first is the best step regardless of motive.

And so we come to the present. Right now I'm really struggling because I seem to be finding that certain stereotypes prove truer and truer the more life experience I get, and this is making it harder and harder for me to not pigeonhole people upon appearance. That's the part they scarcely spell out for you, being racist is rarely an active choice, it's passively built-in over time; it's something you have to proactively fight. I have to frequently remind myself that just because someone looks a certain way doesn't mean they will necessarily act the way I expect them to, but, as I seem to be finding recently, it really does increase the chances they will. As the adage goes, most stereotypes are rooted in some truth. The real truth is though that almost all of these are cultural traits developed in countries of origin that happen to fall upon racial lines; one's race doesn't biologically predispose them to any sort of personality or actions. And most importantly though, just because I've been sort of programmed to mentally judge people and sometimes lose the will to fight it, doesn't mean in those flawed moments that I look down upon them based on these unfounded expectations, I still treat everyone with the same respect. And while imperfect, that, I suppose, is still progress.