Post by Uesugi-dono on Jul 6, 2018 14:17:42 GMT
Let me tell you a story of the "racist south" and what it was like to grow up white here.
In my childhood my parents never said a cross word about black people in my presence. Before kindergarten I hadn't really been around any; after all it was just me and my mom at home. None came to our church. I saw a few out and about town so I was aware of them but I didn't think anything about it. There were different color dogs so why not people... that's what I thought.
I was bullied my first day in kindergarten. Some red-headed kid named Travis attacked and beat me when I didn't know who KISS was. I was humiliated. I didn't have any siblings so I had never fought before. I didn't even fight back. The entire school laughed as this ginger beat my ass on the playground in front of everyone. From that day on I was the Omega. No one wanted to talk to me, let alone be my friend, because of that incident.
That's when I met a black kid named Mike. I was sitting next to him in class in our assigned seats. Mike was huge; very tall for his age and incredibly strong. In recess he excelled at every sport he played. I was minding my own business in class, doodling cats on a piece of paper when Mike asked what I was doing. He liked army men. So he drew army men shooting at my cats and I drew cats scratching their eyes out. We had fun. I finally had a friend.
Mostly our class self-segregated, as people tend to do naturally, but Mike and I hung out together. Mike called me "Whitey." I called Mike "Blackie." It was good, innocent fun. With him for protection the ginger wouldn't come near me. We laughed and played. I liked Mike. My mother was surprised when I told her that Mike was black, she went to school during segregation and her little sister was in school when they forcibly integrated schools and suffered through the chaos that followed, but she was happy I finally made a friend. After all, I finally stopped crying every day over school.
Eventually I made another friend, another white kid, and we became best buds but Mike and I still hung out in class where our last names usually meant we sat next to each other. I still got to see him at recess too. Keep in mind at this point I had yet to hear a negative thing from anyone about black people. In the south... amazing right? Not from parents, not from teachers, not from other kids... nothing.
One day Mike and I were hanging out during recess when another black kid came up. J.J. was his name. He was short and lighter skinned and I knew he was one of Mike's friends. He joined in our conversation and everything was cool. Then Mike casually said something to me and addressed me as Whitey. J.J. thought this was HILARIOUS. It was the first time I had seen anybody actually roll on the ground with laughter. He pointed at me and called me Whitey two or three times. Mike laughed, I laughed, we were having fun. Then I called him Blackie.
J.J. punched the hell out of me.
I looked at Mike, expecting him to defend me. But Mike... Mike was still laughing. Mike pointed at me and... laughed.
All I could say was "why?" Over and over I asked why. Why did J.J. punch me? Why didn't Mike step in? Why did he laugh at me?
The teachers got involved and I expected J.J. to get in trouble... but he didn't... I did. Keep in mind this was in the late 70's/early 80's. I got told that what I had done was wrong. I got told that I deserved to get punched. I learned the word "racist."
And, just like that, Mike wasn't my friend anymore.
After that I learned how it was. The blacks and whites didn't play together. I was the odd exception. Mike had been my friend because he thought it was funny to have a little white kid follow him around but as soon as another black kid took issue with me he simply stopped speaking to me.
I learned racism from a black kid.
I don't accept white privilege; not in the common form promoted. Simply being white never got me any favors beyond being able to blend in with the majority. I've always been a bit of an outcast I guess. I had long hair. I favor wearing black. I don't worship football or go to church anymore. My father was a Command Sergeant Major in the National Guard so don't even come at me with jingoistic patriotism; I loathe it. Oh, and I'm poor. My life? Not full of opportunity. I worked my ass off for pretty much every job I've ever gotten that wasn't a Temp job. Prior to where I work now I dished out 150 resumes in a summer, looking for work. I got 2 interviews... both for Law Enforcement. See, I didn't have an arrest record and I had a valid driver's license. That's really all you need to get into my line of work.
Nothing was ever handed to me the way J.J. got handed the right to punch me.
Addendum: 20 years ago I saw Mike again... on the news. He was arrested. Caught on camera shooting a Criminal Informant during a drug buy. Mike was the seller. He sold the C.I. the dope then pulled a gun on him and demanded the dope back. The C.I. complied but Mike shot him in the gut. He survived. Mike was sentenced to prison for life for attempted murder.
I feel sorry for Mike. It's easy to say my white privilege kept me from falling prey to his circumstances. After all Mike chose to get involved with drugs, selling drugs, and violence while I... didn't. I had plenty of chances to get involved with drugs, but I didn't. I don't think me being white had anything to do with that. Just like I don't think being black had anything to do with Mike's involvement. Maybe it was our home life; my father lived with us... he was an abusive ass but... present. Mike only had his mom. Maybe it was who we hung out with; I still had my other friend. To this day we are still friends. Mike continued to hang out with J.J. for the rest of school.
We had different families. Different friends. Different cultures... but what we had in common was we were both poor. We had the exact same education until graduation. I went to college and Mike... started selling drugs.
Despite all of that I would still love to meet him and ask him again: "Why?" Why didn't you stand up for me? Why didn't you tell your friend to just be cool, that I was cool? Why didn't you explain to him that this was all innocent?
But the sad truth is Mike would probably just laugh at me again.
In my childhood my parents never said a cross word about black people in my presence. Before kindergarten I hadn't really been around any; after all it was just me and my mom at home. None came to our church. I saw a few out and about town so I was aware of them but I didn't think anything about it. There were different color dogs so why not people... that's what I thought.
I was bullied my first day in kindergarten. Some red-headed kid named Travis attacked and beat me when I didn't know who KISS was. I was humiliated. I didn't have any siblings so I had never fought before. I didn't even fight back. The entire school laughed as this ginger beat my ass on the playground in front of everyone. From that day on I was the Omega. No one wanted to talk to me, let alone be my friend, because of that incident.
That's when I met a black kid named Mike. I was sitting next to him in class in our assigned seats. Mike was huge; very tall for his age and incredibly strong. In recess he excelled at every sport he played. I was minding my own business in class, doodling cats on a piece of paper when Mike asked what I was doing. He liked army men. So he drew army men shooting at my cats and I drew cats scratching their eyes out. We had fun. I finally had a friend.
Mostly our class self-segregated, as people tend to do naturally, but Mike and I hung out together. Mike called me "Whitey." I called Mike "Blackie." It was good, innocent fun. With him for protection the ginger wouldn't come near me. We laughed and played. I liked Mike. My mother was surprised when I told her that Mike was black, she went to school during segregation and her little sister was in school when they forcibly integrated schools and suffered through the chaos that followed, but she was happy I finally made a friend. After all, I finally stopped crying every day over school.
Eventually I made another friend, another white kid, and we became best buds but Mike and I still hung out in class where our last names usually meant we sat next to each other. I still got to see him at recess too. Keep in mind at this point I had yet to hear a negative thing from anyone about black people. In the south... amazing right? Not from parents, not from teachers, not from other kids... nothing.
One day Mike and I were hanging out during recess when another black kid came up. J.J. was his name. He was short and lighter skinned and I knew he was one of Mike's friends. He joined in our conversation and everything was cool. Then Mike casually said something to me and addressed me as Whitey. J.J. thought this was HILARIOUS. It was the first time I had seen anybody actually roll on the ground with laughter. He pointed at me and called me Whitey two or three times. Mike laughed, I laughed, we were having fun. Then I called him Blackie.
J.J. punched the hell out of me.
I looked at Mike, expecting him to defend me. But Mike... Mike was still laughing. Mike pointed at me and... laughed.
All I could say was "why?" Over and over I asked why. Why did J.J. punch me? Why didn't Mike step in? Why did he laugh at me?
The teachers got involved and I expected J.J. to get in trouble... but he didn't... I did. Keep in mind this was in the late 70's/early 80's. I got told that what I had done was wrong. I got told that I deserved to get punched. I learned the word "racist."
And, just like that, Mike wasn't my friend anymore.
After that I learned how it was. The blacks and whites didn't play together. I was the odd exception. Mike had been my friend because he thought it was funny to have a little white kid follow him around but as soon as another black kid took issue with me he simply stopped speaking to me.
I learned racism from a black kid.
I don't accept white privilege; not in the common form promoted. Simply being white never got me any favors beyond being able to blend in with the majority. I've always been a bit of an outcast I guess. I had long hair. I favor wearing black. I don't worship football or go to church anymore. My father was a Command Sergeant Major in the National Guard so don't even come at me with jingoistic patriotism; I loathe it. Oh, and I'm poor. My life? Not full of opportunity. I worked my ass off for pretty much every job I've ever gotten that wasn't a Temp job. Prior to where I work now I dished out 150 resumes in a summer, looking for work. I got 2 interviews... both for Law Enforcement. See, I didn't have an arrest record and I had a valid driver's license. That's really all you need to get into my line of work.
Nothing was ever handed to me the way J.J. got handed the right to punch me.
Addendum: 20 years ago I saw Mike again... on the news. He was arrested. Caught on camera shooting a Criminal Informant during a drug buy. Mike was the seller. He sold the C.I. the dope then pulled a gun on him and demanded the dope back. The C.I. complied but Mike shot him in the gut. He survived. Mike was sentenced to prison for life for attempted murder.
I feel sorry for Mike. It's easy to say my white privilege kept me from falling prey to his circumstances. After all Mike chose to get involved with drugs, selling drugs, and violence while I... didn't. I had plenty of chances to get involved with drugs, but I didn't. I don't think me being white had anything to do with that. Just like I don't think being black had anything to do with Mike's involvement. Maybe it was our home life; my father lived with us... he was an abusive ass but... present. Mike only had his mom. Maybe it was who we hung out with; I still had my other friend. To this day we are still friends. Mike continued to hang out with J.J. for the rest of school.
We had different families. Different friends. Different cultures... but what we had in common was we were both poor. We had the exact same education until graduation. I went to college and Mike... started selling drugs.
Despite all of that I would still love to meet him and ask him again: "Why?" Why didn't you stand up for me? Why didn't you tell your friend to just be cool, that I was cool? Why didn't you explain to him that this was all innocent?
But the sad truth is Mike would probably just laugh at me again.
