Racism

 

         I just heard the worst tale of racism ever. Mom says this black guy, 23 years old, ran out of gas on his way to Houston to see his mother. He gets out of the car, goes to a farmhouse to ask for help and the minute the door opens, this 67-year-old white guy shoots him at point blank range.

         They went to search the car to see whether or not the guy had any motive at all toward trying to attack the farmer and right on the car seat, they found a Bible. Not the unused "some friend of the family" Bible that's never used and it just lays around. No, this one had actual passages marked in it. Good thing Farmer Fred shot him in time, huh? No telling what a devout Christian’ll do.

         There are times that I hate this world so much for hating me that I can't see straight. There are times when my innate fear of that same world consumes me and I'm afraid to even look into the face of a white person.

         And then there are times that the injustice this world can bring just leaves me so emotionally stricken that I can do nothing but whisper "Oh, God" and just cry.

         That's where I am now. I don't know why this story bothered me so much, but it did and every time I think of it, I start crying again. It's nothing like "Oh, it could be my brother" or anything like that. It's the thought of the guy, stranded and probably a little scared, knocking on this guy's door, assuming nothing more than that the occupant will tell him to take a hike, or slam the door. I imagine him seeing a gun leveled at him, maybe for the first time, definitely for the last...and his cold fear and realization that nothing can protect him from the hatred this man is aiming at him. He thinks he is in a movie, that this can't be real and he calls out to God, maybe mentally, maybe aloud, for help.

         And then he is shot.

         He collapses into himself in great pain and confusion, wondering "Why? What did I do? I just needed some help, brother! Why have you done this to me? What did I do to you?"

         I'm not writing a narrative on purpose. I just kind of let me feelings and fingers go. I'm not even going to correct this anymore. It's pretty accurate, anyway.

         I figured writing it would help some, but right now, I'm just empty. There isn't anything I can do...and apparently prayer won't help this one.

Thanks for watching the screen.

 

I wrote this several years ago in the early 90's when this shooting happened. Now that I've talked to more people and listened to what they have to say about racism, I have added this:

 

I know there's a ton of people in the world who feel like they haven't don't anything to anyone and are really angry that a black person would be mean to them or fear them. They can't understand why anyone would blame them for the racist acts of yesterday. But those people don't know what it feels like to drive around the countryside afraid to stop your car because someone who saw a violent black person on the news is going to confuse that person with me. They don't know the pain of being a father who can't protect his child or a mother who has to tell their child that this is the way the world is and how sorry they are that they can't change this. The don't understand what it's like to be denied politely by a best friend's parent and then told "that's just the way my mom is…ignore her". I've seen people lose it over a NAME their girlfriend was called or the unfairness of a job…why do I have to be the one to ignore it or accept it or keep the peace? Why can't I be just as outraged as you would be? Why is my indignance a riot and yours a justified reaction? Why do the acts of ANY black person reflect on what I do or say? In other words, it's all well and good to say things are fine and keep the peace when you aren't the one with the problem.

I guess my answer for those people is twofold. First of all, not all black people act that way and to say that they do just makes you the same type of person you say you're not. Claiming that the acts of the one hundred (and I'm being generous) black people you've met in your life is like my saying the one hundred Southerners I may have known that hated me are just like YOU, so make sure it's not what you mean. Second, I'll do my BEST to change those I can change so long as you do the same for me. It's one thing to know that some people are not going to like you for who you are, but another entirely to know they'll hurt you for what you look like and even worse to know that someone else's reason for not sticking up for you will be that same fear of retribution. You may not have done anything to a single black person, but do you get outraged and angry when you hear the jokes or the names or any of the other comments about "those" people that your friends do? Do you stand up for me and mine when I can't stand up for myself, because I KNOW I stand up for you. I know I tell my black friends about how things have changed…do you tell your friends to change or just assume you can't change them and don't want to make waves?

I don't deny that there are black people who've learned to wear that hatred as a badge and abuse that power, just like there are white people who do the same. I'm sorry you've met those people, just as sorry I am that I met the ones in my life. BUT those are the ones that we (you and me) have to change as we can, speak out against when we can't and NEVER let them cloud our belief that all people of one race are not represented by a few idiots.

If you do this already (and only you can say whether you REALLY DO get angry or just shift nervously and quietly say "You guys, c'mon…don't say that stuff" and let it go at that) then you already understand all I've just said and you didn't need to read this, anyhow!

 

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