In my writing I shy away from controversy, and lean towards
the warm fuzzies. I enjoy writing things that make people feel good about what
they are reading, regardless if we share the same viewpoints on environmental,
social, spiritual or political issues.
Recently something happened that I simply have to write
about: a racist comment. It was late night, two in the morning, and I was at
the home of some close friends. There were some people I didn’t know as well, but
as it goes it Durango, new faces often become new friends. Then the comment
happened. It was about black people. I looked across the room to see if anyone
was as offended as I was, and sure enough my buddy spoke up and said, “I have
black people in my family.”
The guy followed that up with another racist comment. My
buzz was instantly killed, and my blood boiled. I was absolutely shocked to think
that a person within my circle of friends could be so blatantly racist. I mean
after all it is 2013, and we’ve had a black president for over four years.
Later I talked about the event with my friend who spoke up.
He offered, “Man I’m from the south and used to racism, but to say something
like that here in Durango, that surprised me.”
Thinking about the event more, I suspect the guy was just
trying to act tough to impress his friends. I guarantee the guy would have not
made the comment if there were black people hanging out with us. And why did
the comment upset me so much?
Comedian Dave Chappelle is one of the most hilarious and
genius minds of my generation. Before disappearing out of the spotlight he made
two and a half seasons of the “Chappelle Show,” where he often made skits that
covered racism in a comedic and unique way.
The most brilliant skit was, “The Black White Supremacist,”
about a blind black man who was a leader in the white supremacist movement,
able to hide his skin color under the guise of a KKK outfit. Blind and
surrounded by racist white people, no one ever told him he was black. This skit
was so genius because it nailed the absurdity of racism. Why does the color of
one’s skin matter? We may be of different hues, but we are all human.
Reflecting
on the situation some more I wondered why I was so upset about the racist
remarks by a stranger, even if we did share some of the same friends. I started
thinking back to my childhood, and ever since then there has always been a black
person I’ve looked up to as a hero. As a child it was Michael Jordan. When I
grew up into a man, it was Martin Luther King Jr. Learning about Dr. King and
the civil rights era made me realize the importance of non-violence and love. I
felt connected to that struggle even though I wasn’t even born yet during King’s
time. Today I feel many of our country’s most brilliant minds are from hip-hop,
an art born in the black community. Hip-hop represents my generation, and is
the daily soundtrack to my existence. Black culture has always been part of my
life, and will continue to be. I’m actually looking forward to being an old
man, rolling up to some youngsters at a stoplight and bumping some 2Pac. God
knows what the kids will be listening to then.
Last month, while working on the alumni magazine for my alma
mater, Western State Colorado University, I interviewed a gentleman named
Melvin Foote, who is the president of the Constituency for Africa, based in
Washington D.C. Coincidentally Foote, who is black, is from Rockford, Illinois,
the same town where most of my family lives. Before moving to Colorado he grew
up poor and didn’t even know a single college graduate prior to attending
Western. After college he joined the Peace Corps, went to Ethiopia, and has
spent the rest of his life dedicated to helping the people of Africa. He’s
rubbed shoulders with many influential leaders, including Nelson Mandela and
Colin Powell. I reached out to Melvin earlier this week while working on this
piece to discuss racism.
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| Nelson Mandela and Melvin Foote |
Most of what we discussed I expected. Of course we talked
about slavery, and how everything is tied back to that. Foote shared with me
that racism is less direct now than it was in the 60s when he was in college,
and more institutional.
Then he talked about those younger than me. He spoke of his
daughter, who is 17 years old, and her group of friends, who are both white and
black. “They don’t judge each other by their skin color, but rather the content
of one’s character,” he said, quoting Dr. King. “They treat each other like
sisters.”
Then he talked about children, even younger than her. “In a
few years there are going to be kids that are 7-8 years old that have never
known anything other than a black president.”
When he said that it made me think of my own life, and what
I’ve known and seen in my very short 34 years. I wasn’t brought up in a racist
environment, and that is probably why I am not racist. I was raised in a time
where black people were not inferior, but where they were my peers, and even my
heroes. I didn’t live through the civil rights movement of the 60s, but rather
the aftermath, the path towards equality of all human beings, and that is
something to be proud of.
So, I think that’s what pissed me off and shocked me the
most, that someone could blatantly make racist comments in front of several
people he did not know. In retrospect though, forty or fifty years ago it may
have been commonplace for a white man to make such comments about black people.
Today it is not. That alone is a small victory.
In closing, I wish I had a few thousand more words to
reflect on this issue. There is a very similar struggle for equal rights going
on for those who love the same sex. I can only hope my children grow up in time
where everyone who loves each other can get married and share their love
openly, regardless if they are homosexual or heterosexual. After all, God is
love.
And wishing I had more time, more words, I’ll just leave you
with a few that I first heard from a rapper, Andre 3000 of Outkast, “No one is
free when others are oppressed.”
This piece appears in this week's Durango Telegraph.
This piece appears in this week's Durango Telegraph.
