racism

Not too long ago davin posted some thoughts about his recent experience with racism. I wondered why I hadn’t posted on the subject before, when I seem to touch most of the big issues at least tangentially.

I think it’s because there needs to be an alternate viewpoint for there to be any debate. For me to rant about racism I need to be aware of some conflicting opinion. An opposing view with at least some basis of defensibility.

But when we’re talking about racism there just isn’t anything anyone can say that justifies it.

It’s ignorance.

It’s insecurity.

It’s stupid.

Never in history has an entire race done anything worthy of wholesale hatred. Never in history has even a significant percentage of any race done anything justifying prejudgement.

Anyone who claims that a given race is inferior in any way, or has an ulterior and sinister motive in immigrating, might as well stencil a permanent L on their forehead. I’m not saying they are without redemption- anyone can change. But there’s no faster way to lose my respect than to show me a little of that ol’ blind hatred.

Not that it has to be hatred. Prejudice is only hatred at extremes. Racism is still racism no matter how casual or thoughtless.

We can even make it tricky by saying that racism is a three-dimensional sword. Going too far the other way and becoming hyper sensitive is just as bad as the prejudice you’re running away from. Affirmative Action was an abysmal failure. Hiring quotas are a bitter lesson learned. Going out of your way to describe a guy you just met as having tightly curled black hair, dark eyes and flashing white teeth all to avoid saying he’s black… it’s ridiculous. And he can’t be African American if he’s Canadian. The Politically Correct movement of the nineties is a dead issue, just as poorly thought through as Affirmative Action.

It’s such a simple issue. So why does humanity struggle with it all over the world?

The easy answer is that humanity, by and large, is still a bunch of semi-evolved apes, barely able to tell the business end of the guns they invented. If we can’t even take the time to clean up after ourselves how can we be expected to put forth the effort of understanding a new culture?

It is no coincidence that there is a radically higher number of racially-motivated incidences among the less educated population. Simply put: racism = ignorance. For you to harbour racist feelings you must necessarily be lacking in an understanding of the people and culture you are prejudging.

There it is in a nutshell: prejudice. Prejudging. Judging without due consideration.

It’s the same lazy mentality that leads not only to genocidal persecution, but to voting for higher taxes and lower wages. True story. It happens. If Daddy says vote Republican, hate immigrants, and cut your hair you fucking hippy, and you do all these things without ever questioning them, then you are nothing but a cog in the wheel. Less than a statistic. You don’t matter because you are the status quo. The baseline. The past. When you grow old you will hate the young because in your day a man worked hard and women knew their place. Your kids will hate you because you’re a hardliner, a tough old asshole who never had an original thought in his life. You fear change. You secretly know that most people are smarter than you, and have worked harder than you to get where they’re at. And you hate that. You hate that they’ve got what you don’t. You want to blame them for your own failings.

You make sweeping generalities. You block. You antagonize. You attack. And when they ask why you say they had it coming. Nothing more than what they deserved.

Now then. How would you like to be treated if you were in their shoes? Try them on. Walk around for a bit.

You wake up in your small, overcrowded home and kiss your family goodbye. You hurry to catch the bus but the driver sees you coming and moves swiftly off, ignoring you completely. You arrive on foot at work fifteen minutes late and are severely and publically reprimanded by your boss. You’re lucky to keep your job mopping the diner floor. Two other employees show up ten minutes later, but their skin matches the manager’s, so it’s high-fives and a big sigh as they talk about hangovers. You’ve volunteered to work a double today, as usual. It’s payday and it would be nice to take the family out for a treat. But even though you’ve been working here eight months longer than the new guy you’re still making four dollars an hour less than he is. Maybe you’ll take the family out for an ice cream on your day off. Well, some of the family. Most of them will be working.

The country doesn’t recognize your traditions so even though you can ask to get holy days off you don’t get paid for them. You’ll work on the statutory holidays though, and that will make up for the loss of wages.

On your walk home you do your best to ignore the sullen looks and the insults shouted from a safe distance away. You’ve long since learned to avoid certain routes home even though they’re much more direct. They just aren’t safe for someone your colour. Only a few days ago your neighbour was horribly beaten only steps from her door, and you had to call 911 three times before anyone would come. When the police arrived they told you an ambulance would not be available. They didn’t offer a reason.

The family back in the old country barely speak to you. They are very upset that you have abandoned their culture. Centuries of tradition apparently mean less to you than fitting in. You know you could never make them understand.

You work 80-hour weeks for thirty years. Somehow you found the time to get an education. You speak the local language carefully but well. You watch tv late at night to practice your accent. You’re 45 but you look 65. In that time you’ve lost several family members and friends. Police investigations are open, but you know nothing is really being done. There doesn’t seem much point, they say. Your kind should stop killing each other, or hurry up and get it done with.

But you persevered. Against innumerable blocks and relentless sullen obstinacy you quietly carried your dignity and you worked very hard. You have a nice house, older but so much better than the tenement, in a neighbourhood peopled by folk the same colour as the police. None of them will talk to you. They do their best to pretend you’re not there. Some of them threaten to move away, saying the neighbourhood is going to hell. It’s hard for you, because you’ve done all you can to fit in. You learned their language. You wear their clothes. You had their flag on your porch, but someone tore it down.

You worry sometimes. As hard as things were in the old neighbourhood at least you knew you could count on your neighbours to call for help. Around here… the neighbours aren’t so friendly. In desperation you once went to their church, but the glares were so hostile that you smiled apologetically and retreated.

And when you look in the mirror, asking yourself why you left your world of comfort and familiarity behind for this land of hostility and resistance, sometimes you catch yourself wishing you were more like them. Anything but white.