Racism...about that...

This week things got ugly in Charlottesville, NC, less ugly in Boston and Quebec City, and only slightly ugly in Vancouver. All 3 cities had alt-right, white supremacist rallies, allegedly spurred by the removal of confederate and/or colonialist monuments (so then why the shouts against Jews?),  and immigration.

These protests and counter-protests got me thinking about being white, about being an egalitarian white woman who "prides" herself on appreciating the diversity and uniqueness of each human she meets, regardless of where they were born or the colour of their skin.

But is that true? Am I really that?

Having been born in 1962, in a decidedly  WASP neighbourhood, my first recollection of "others" were the Italian new immigrant family that moved next door. While I played with Anna-Maria and her brother Joe,  I recall my step-father saying what seemed like mean things about their father, but as a 6 year old, had no grid for standing up to him or up for others.  Moreover, his comments were no more meaningful to me than the Polish jokes my grandfather told about my aunt's new husband or the fact that a friend in grade 4, Brian Ryanowski, came to school one day with a new surname -  Ryan. I remember telling Brian that I liked his old surname better and his answer..."yeah, but dad says it's not anglo enough".  Anglo? Neither of us knew what that meant.  Such was the life of naive...and utterly accepting... childhood.

Believe it or not, I had absolutely no knowledge of any other kinds of people until 1972, when a neighbour mom took her daughter and me to my very first movie. The movie was Sounder, and it blew my mind!! Imagine that; aged 10 before I knew there were people on the planet who were a different colour than me!  Being very much aware of  the injustice depicted in the movie, when I got home I asked my mom about it. She explained slavery, the south, and civil rights, to which I declared my very own 10 year old fix! Purposing that when I saw my first black person for real, I was going to be really, really nice to them, smile, say hi and be a friend;  my mom bemusedly told me that doing so would only make them feel different.  She suggested instead that I simply treat them as I would anyone else, meaning,  as I would my white friends. In fact she stated,  "pretend you don't even notice the colour of their skin".  To a 10 year old, it seemed like good advise, but I think it's backfired.

As I entered into my teen and early adult years, the town I grew up in became more and more diverse; those were the days of the "boat people" - both Pakistani refugees and the first wave of African refugees came to our town. Having met far more people of colour than I knew existed back when I was 10, my circle of friends was truly diverse. In fact, I recall bragging about how colour blind I was.

I'm all grown now, and continue to enjoy loving friendships with women of colour, but here's where I think my mom's advise to "treat them like you would anyone else,  to never pay attention to the colour of their skin" has backfired.  Because not once, in all our years of friendship, have I ever asked these women what it is like to live in their skin.  Not once.  It has never occurred to me that their experience truly has been different from mine. It's as if treating them like I would any of my other - read white - friends hardened my heart to their reality or convinced me that they each are just as privileged and accepted as I am.  And whether they are or whether they aren't isn't the point. Living out of assumption, I've never actually taken the time to ask, never actually taken the time to truly know them and their experience.

That makes me a racist.

Racism...about that...it's far more insidious than we think. It doesn't have to be overt, obvious and in your face. It doesn't have to display Nazi flags or spout off nationalist slogan spewed in the guise of preserving culture.  It can  be very subtle, like the undertow no one knows is there, taking the form of simple assumption that flows out of good, though still utterly misinformed and therefore, dangerous, dishonouring,  intention.

For that I am very sorry.





 

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