My first brush with racism was the year I was 14. I fell head over heels in love with a senior. He was my everything. He lived right around the corner from us and since I wasn’t “old enough to date” according to my parents, he would come visit me while I was babysitting my brothers during the afternoons. If he couldn’t come over, he would call. He happened to be Asian. In my ignorance, I didn’t know that mattered. It evidently mattered to my father who managed to end that relationship without me ever knowing how or even that he was involved. One day Gary loved me and the next he no longer spoke to me. My heart broke and I began to wonder what was wrong with me. It was years before I found out that what was wrong was my father.
My next brush with racism was when I went to work in a multicultural industry in a multicultural part of Seattle. I fell for a black man. He was kind and patient and smart and most important, he made me laugh. I met his family first and was treated with respect and dignity. And, then, I took him home to meet my family. It was awful. My parents divorced me. My father threatened to take a baseball bat to him and my brothers had to calm him down. My mother thought I was throwing away my white privilege and put it just that way. My boyfriend, who knew racism so much better than I, wasn’t surprised, but I was devastated. Time went on and my boyfriend got really tired of my inner conflict. Yes, I really loved him, but I missed my family. I was an outcast……again. This time, I knew why and I was absolutely floored. I’d been raised differently. I’d been raised on that old song, “Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world. Red and yellow, black and white, they are precious in his sight. Jesus loves the little children of the world”. I believed it and so did my mother. She just didn’t think those races should mix. She’d left that part out of my education.
When I joined the Navy, at 28, I knew about racism. I knew it existed on many levels; obnoxiously obvious as in my father’s case and insidiously arrogant as in my mother’s. In boot camp, racism was addressed in a class. The instructor got out a white sheet of paper and invited several of us up to the front of the class. There were those of us who were pale skinned to those of us who were dark black skinned. He held that paper up next to all of us and, of course, it didn’t match any of us. Even my Norweigen white skin looked beige next to it. And, that was his point. We were all different colors of brown from light beige to dark. This wasn’t a difficult concept for me, but it was for some of my classmates.
During my time in the Navy, I had lots of friends from pale white, to Asian, to hispanic, to black. We were all thrown together. We worked together and when I lived in the barracks, we lived together. One of my friends was EJ. We were both young and single so we kept each other company when either of us was having a down dating time. When I had a difficult time recovering from a surgery, he did my grocery shopping for me and took out my garbage. He was a good friend. It took awhile for me to even realize what completely different lives we led, though. I wanted to see a particular band which was playing at a bar and grill. I wasn’t dating anyone so I called EJ and asked him if he wanted to go with me. His response? “Teri, I can’t take you there! I’d be lynched!”. White privilege. I’d not even considered that. I could go anywhere. He couldn’t. He especially couldn’t with a white woman.
White privilege does exist. Racism is systemic and those of you who don’t think so are leading lives of white privilege and don’t even know it because you haven’t stepped out of your white experience far enough to find out. These are only a few of the “in your face” examples of racism I’ve encountered over the years. And, I haven’t even mentioned the education I’m only just receiving on what it is like growing up bi-racial in our culture, where you’re not black enough and you’re also not white enough.
For those of you who don’t believe white privilege and racism exist in this culture, that they aren’t systemic, it’s time for you to do your research. Read books written by those who live it. If you know people of color begin asking questions about their experience. If you don’t know any people of color well enough to ask, for God’s sake, why not? These protests are not only about George Floyd. They are about racism at a ground floor level. They are about being afraid all of the time because one lives in a black skin. They are about reduced opportunity because one moves about in a culture where a black skin makes you less than one’s white neighbors. It’s about knowing that when one is stopped for a traffic violation it could very well mean a death sentence just because of the color of one’s skin. It means being afraid to go walking in a white neighborhood. Being black in this culture means one is assumed guilty until proven innocent and the proving of that innocence is rife with road blocks. If you don’t see that, you aren’t paying attention. These protests will be over when white people begin to pay attention.