Racism: Yes, It Still Exists…

Tags

race relations, racism

I feel incredibly sad right now. I also feel incredibly angry. I’ve been praying for months about the race issue in our country, and the last two days have torn my heart back open again. 

One of the things I’ve been praying about most is how I’ve heard it discussed. Here’s what people have said:

• “Well, if THEY just wouldn’t resist and would respect the police THEY wouldn’t have anything to worry about.”
• “Just because some cops are probably racist doesn’t mean all are. THEY should just respect them more every time THEY get pulled over.” 
• “Racism isn’t an issue in our country anymore. If people would stop talking about it, no one would be upset, and things like this wouldn’t happen.”

First, the conversation always divides into US and THEM. That’s the part that really wounds me. Emancipation, the death of Jim Crow, and many events throughout time in the last centuries were efforts made to end the division. To be bluntly honest, the divide that slavery caused when Africans came into this country as property to be beaten, used, and cared for like or less than animals will have implications that ripple across time. It did make white Americans the “US” that owned and controlled “THEM.” The sad thing in this is that some people don’t see the privilege divide that was created there exists and shows itself in the situations we continue to see. I will state this clearly now as to be clear here for all the points I will make: THIS DOES NOT MEAN ALL WHITE PEOPLE ARE RACIST. This does mean that we exist in a system now that has been influenced by racism that has been distributed down generations. 

Has not resisting arrest been a proven method to avoid being shot in every situation? No. If we can all be honest about that, then there can be real change made. The problem is that there is immediate bias when people see black men. Words like “scary” or “intimidating” are often used. You don’t think they notice. Every black man I know or am related to notices this. They notice when you clutch your purse a little tighter next to them. They notice the difference in what it takes to be recognized in a conversation as an intelligent professional. They notice when they are being followed through a store. They notice. It is not lost on people who are raised to know what to expect – that they are going to have to navigate the world differently than people who don’t look like them. 

I remember my parents talking to us about being respectful to cops. They had dedicated conversations with my brothers that extended beyond “be polite” because there was more they needed to know. Keep your hands on the steering wheel if you get pulled over. Don’t reach for anything. If they ask you for your information, ask permission before you try to get it. Don’t make eye contact unless you’re asked to. Don’t ever get out of the car unless you’re asked to. They explained the danger in appearing intimidating or threatening. Sure parents have to talk about driving safety with their kids, but how many have to be so specific because history taught them that one perceived wrong thing could cause them serious consequences?

Again, I will say we were taught to respect police and all those in service. We were raised in a small town where the cops knew who your parents were. They came to school from the time we were young and talked about being there to protect and serve. There are several cops I know and love and call friends today that I pray for because they put their lives on the line for the sake of others. I do not doubt that these men are anything short of honorable with real desire and passion to protect and serve. I can acknowledge that, but those who say, “Sure some are racist, but just be respectful and you should be fine,” aren’t considering that you’re asking people who might be seen as “scary” or “intimidating” to hope if they get stopped for a random search or pulled over, they get the “luck of the draw” of a cop that is not going to be immediately on the defensive just because of how they look. It’s almost like saying, “Sure there are probably a few bad ones out there, but most of them are good so just take in the whole without question.” This is a Skittles analogy turned on its head that doesn’t work for me any more than the first I heard. This speaks to a need for reform. This speaks to a need for change. 

 That was our generation’s lesson (trust the police, but be careful how you interact), but generations before us couldn’t trust them. Generations before us and in different geographic areas grew up being told that you couldn’t trust the police because they actually couldn’t. They experienced brutality and witnessed murders done by the hands of racist cops before a time when it wasn’t illegal for black people to be shot or hung or set on fire while still breathing as a mob or those dressed in their bed sheets deemed it appropriate punishment. The generations that witnessed these atrocities and crimes taught their kids a different story because their experience was a completely different narrative. How many of us will take time to consider that narrative when thinking about why not everyone hears the same story we do? Those stories are part of a real history that taught whole generations they couldn’t trust the police and recent events are reteaching those lessons. 

Bill O’Reilly isn’t correct. Racism does exist today. It is no longer supposed to be reality, but it is. Just because it is not a part of your reality doesn’t mean that others don’t know its glaring hatred and haven’t been or don’t continue to be wounded by its implications. 

Legally it’s not supposed to exist. Legally this battle is supposed to be over. Since that is plainly not true, we can’t expect it to ever end unless we acknowledge it and seek to do our parts. It starts at home. The heritage of racism or biases can begin to be put to death in how we raise our children. It’s not just about what you say. It’s about how they see you interact and what you do. The world will teach them lessons and biases you don’t want them to have if you don’t have the courage of conviction to talk about it. 

Next, be an appropriately active voice. Think about who you’re voting for. Think about what they believe. Write letters to your representatives. Don’t just get on Facebook and make or share a status update. Do something valuable with your voice. 

I think about how I’ve seen people using their voices since these unarmed shootings started. Don’t be a voice that shares posts that try to make things like the Confederate flag cute. I will say here what I know will offend, but if a group of Muslims decided to establish their own country inside the borders of America, started a war where they killed Americans, lost that war, but wanted to fly the flag that represented their army, most of you posting these things would lose your minds. What is the difference beyond Muslims hypothetically doing this and white Americans who actually did it besides skin color and religion? Why is this a part of history that is still honored in some ways? Why are they not called terrorist who splintered off and created a nation, and then started a war so they could maintain the right to keep rights out of the hands of those they felt entitled and privileged to own?

Don’t use your voice this way or post things that outright call black people criminals or whiners and not expect people to think things about you that rub up against your own self image and make you uncomfortable and defensive. If you are posting things where the goal isn’t clearly aimed at sowing peace and eliminating divide, you are part of the problem. 

Love. Give love away. Love others. You don’t have to think like someone or agree with them on every issue to love them. Loving people in how you engage them and serve them is another opportunity for us to come together and be catalysts for good. 

I wrote this today because I am genuinely heart-broken and worried. I, now more than ever, have to be worried about my brothers and uncles and cousins and nephews and my friends. They could do all the things those carefully repeated conversations told them do and still end up dead on a highway. That is a haunting realization. To think those you love aren’t safe because of genetics being a point of perception more valuable than character is something that will keep me praying in the days ahead. 

I want to close by sharing something that was done at the Village Church that inspires hope in my heart. They did an incredibly difficult thing by confronting the culture that supports or allows what’s happening today by having the conversation that most won’t. They did a whole series on Racial Reconciliation that I would highly recommend. 

http://www.thevillagechurch.net/resources/sermons/detail/justice-and-racial-reconciliation/

I hope we can reach for love and abandon hate. I hope that will be our generation’s legacy. 

Why Do You Ask?

Tags

racism

I have never really looked like anyone. I have always been the question mark. The fact that almost everyone in my family is darker than me always made me the odd man out, especially as I grew up. I looked different, but that does not mean that I was spared prejudice or racism. 

It started in kindergarten. Kids would ask me why my mom was black. I did not know what to say. To me my mom was my mom and my family was my family. I was never taught to be concerned with anything dealing with that. Unfortunately, that’s not true for every child. I was told that if my mom was black I was a ______ too. When I told the teacher she said if she did not hear it, she could not do anything about it. I am 28 and can not bring myself to type that word. It is still dirty to me. It still offends me. It still is tied to history that whether or not is included in textbooks can not be unwritten. 

As I grew up, especially as a teenager, everyone assumed that I was my brother’s girlfriend. Yes, that was always weird. We look nothing alike so most people assumed that instead of just seeing a family. That is the part that has always been so hard. People never treated my brother like a question mark. The world saw/sees him as a black man. No one ever wondered or persisted with the question, “What are you?”

This question has been asked a few different ways, and no matter the packaging used, the heart in it is still the same. Here is the disturbing reality. Some people can not make decisions about others without a specific ethnicity or race to associate them with. It says that no one can be their own person. Some people can not ever get to know someone for who they are without having a pool of associations to draw from. If you are this you must like that or if you look like this, you do not belong here. 

I was once in a situation where someone said my daughter had the most beautiful complexion. I thanked them. The person next to them, who had been brimming over to ask said, “Oh, what is HER ethnicity?” I can always tell when someone is dying to ask. I looked at her and directly asked, “Are you asking because you would like to know mine?” They quickly said, “No.” The conversation ended there. 

I was reminded of these moments today when I walked into a restaurant in the middle of Oklahoma. This is an area where lynchings and other forms of murder were usual, unprosecuted crimes no more than 60 years ago. My husband notices it now too. It is not just seeing the looks on people’s faces change, there is a noticeable shift that radiates disgust in these kind of places. It reaches out to make sure you know you are not welcome. 

This feeling is familiar. If you have ever dealt with prejudice because you were poor or because you were not like everyone else, you know it. This kind of racism and prejudice is not exclusive to white people. Most people associate racism with white Americans, and that in and of itself is prejudice and racist. It is not a disease that has seeped into this race alone. The truth is that you can find this kind of hatred in every race of people. The thing we really need to be concerned with is ending this heritage of hatred that has always been present in our country. 

One of the most infuriating things anyone has ever said to me was, “You do not look or act black enough.” The way I look is a result of biology and the way God wove me together. Nothing about my light skin or “good” hair was my choosing. Even at church, people would say things to me about my hair and pretty skin not making me “better” than anyone else. I was just a child and did not understand this until I talked to my mom. I was crushed because I did not know what about me looking different made anyone feel the need to hurt me over it. As far as “acting black” is concerned, I do not know what that means. Where is list that says what someone must do to be  considered black or white or Hispanic or Chinese enough to be “right” for their ethnic group?

I was born into a hard working family and was challenged from a young age to be ambitious in my achievements. I was taught to value the education afforded to me by those who bled and died for it. I was raised to be respectful and honest knowing that there were real and swift consequences on the other side of not behaving that way. Whenever I tell someone who my family is, they always say I came from good people. I was not raised to be “black enough.” I was raised to be a respectful person who made the world a better place and treated people the way I would want to be treated. 

One of my favorite parts of my family is that it is a beautiful melting pot of different personalities and ethnicities, and NO ONE CARES. WE are a family because of love, not because we all look alike.

When will it end? Will there ever be a time when every person faces their prejudices, banishes them, and walks away from them instead of indoctrinating the coming generations with the same ideas? Will there ever be a day when people can be people and treated as such?

Today the feeling of someone being disgusted with my very presence was real to me again for the first time in a while. Here is the thing, after leaving the world I grew up in for the first time when we moved, it dawned on me that not a single person had posed this question to me. No one has cared or needed to know my race so much that they have asked. I have not gotten that feeling of knowing that they are waiting for the right moment to ask. Maybe that is why it was so real today. I had been so accustomed to that kind of thinking and those questions, I was blind to all the implications these ideas have always carried. Truthfully, I was used to it.

Until today, I had forgotten the hurt. I forgot to pray for those people so they would not raise up a generation who would look at my children like that in the days to come. 

Some people say that we should not make a big deal out of these situations. Some people say it only causes problems. I am glad that when people said that to civil rights and women’s rights activists, they did not listen. If they had, my marriage would be illegal, I would never have had the opportunity for higher education, and I would never have been able to vote. 

We have come a long way, and I have hope in the creator of the days to come that someday dreams like those envisioned by men like Dr. King will be fully realized. It starts with us realizing we are making the world what it is everyday. We have to own that responsibility and do what we can to eliminate hate and grow love while sowing peace. 

Just A Small Town Girl…

I live in the “city” now, but I will always be thankful for my small town roots. Growing up in a town like mine, you learn things that stick with you and become part of you. 

1. You learn to be creative. There was no mall. There was no movie theater. If you wanted to have fun, you had to make it. As a little kid, this was walking to the library, playing nighttime hide and seek (as long as you didn’t leave the yard after dark), and coming up with games like sock war with your brothers and sisters. I credit my ability to look at a pile of just about anything and come up with something fun to do to always have to think about finding fun. This is a handy skill for a mommy. 

2. You get to participate in just about everything. In doing that, you learn lessons. I was in so many activities from academics to athletics. I learned to work hard at each thing to develop a skill I sometimes did not know I had. I ran countless miles all around that small town pushing myself to the finish line. What I really learned that when it fell like my legs could go no more, I could dig down and find that spark that kept me from quitting. I shot millions of baskets in that school’s gym, but I really learned about being a team and grit that teaches you to not give up on yourself or that team. I learned to speak in front of others in costume and while interpreting beautiful poetry. I learned to be brave here. I learned to step out and be heard. 

3. Being kind to people matters. Manners matter. I had a very tough exterior growing up. I made sweet friends my freshman year while running all those miles who liked me for me, and because of them, I felt really accepted. That gave me permission to expect that people could be kind and accepting. From there I began to shake that exterior, and found a kindness underneath I thought was lost. 

4. It’s ok to be different. I went through most of life afraid to be different from everyone around me. The truth is, I always was. I was different in some of the best ways, but always trying to fit in made me realize that I was never meant to. I was afraid to really dive into my fullest potential in some ways. I was destined to blaze my own trail. I wish I had known and embraced that sooner. 

5. There are people who will love you like their own. I was fortunate to have family beyond blood. I was fortunate to have people who cared for me and invested in me. I could not begin to name all these people if I wanted to, but I can say I was uniquely blessed by a few. The McDonalds helped a lost kid find her way to Jesus. They tucked me into their family. The Schwertners supported and cheered me on with things like Blizzards on report card day and sharing dresses with me for the homecoming parade. I was in a community of kind people who loved me and were there when I graduated high school and college and had babies. It was that sense of community that will make me invest in the cities I live in. 

I am thankful for that small little town of Big Lake, Texas. It’s ever changing right now, but I still see it the way it was in my rear view on my way to move to ASU. I am thankful for the lessons I learned that led me to being a woman of great grit and determination. Determined and stubborn, like a true Texan. 

And yes, it is the town that was featured in the movie about a baseball coach, The Rookie.