the other side of the tracks
Race relations have been on my mind a lot these days. It is one subject that I always ponder the realization of its existence. However, most people view racial discussions as if it were a boil on the face... if you ignore it, it may not bust; but if you bother it, it may be a mess... the common notion is, why do I have to be black or white, or Asian, etcetera? Why can’t I just be me? That would be nice in a perfect world, but we don’t live in a perfect world, do we? There always will be a classification of people that will extend beyond their name and occupation. People will be grouped into clusters that identify them. It just so happens that racial classification is the easiest to do…
I have always been a victim of stereotypes whether I choose to be or not. Stereotypes suck, but they exist.
* Italians are mobsters.
* Mexicans carry a knife.
* Haitians know voodoo.
* White man can’t jump.
I am expected to be the athlete and not the student.
Who knows where these stereotypes come from? I am willing to bet they came from a lack of understanding or proliferation of intolerance. Characterization is prevalent in media, which often highlights the most extreme cases. Hence, characterizations are often caricatures.
I recently saw a movie where that was the case. Crash was a mosaic of social caricatures, which seemed to miss the reality of respective situations for sake of sensationalism. I found it a lot less easy to swallow in comparison to movies such as Higher Learning or Do the Right Thing. Do the right thing purposely HAD caricatures and was easier to relate than crash…
I think I will watch a Spike Lee movie… I never saw Bamboozled…
When I was younger, my family befell a small windfall of money and we were able to finance a home to own. We moved to a rancher style home in a neighborhood that was victim to urban sprawl from one of the most crime-infested areas in the United States. I learned what racism was when the white folks moved away and the black folks moved in. At one point, there were only two white families in my neighborhood… Well one family was Italian. Anyhow, these two families managed to forge real close friendships between them. I now recognize the strength in their unity. I had nothing against them. In fact, I am glad that they stayed. One family's son managed to even date the other family's daughter. That white boy was the fastest dude I knew! Plus, he was my friend too. I didn't stay there for long... I then moved to Florida, where racism is still alive and well.
I attended a school in 1988 that wasn’t desegregated until 1978. I moved to a neighborhood that was definitely segregated by the boundaries of a railroad track. The school was less than 10 percent black and the black kids stuck together… I then went to a Historically Black College or University in the state of Florida. I then realized that racism and racial stereotypes were everywhere and people used them to their advantage as well…
I am not attempting to give a history of racism. I am just reflecting on how I discovered racism at the same time that I was discovering myself. When I take into account my placement in society in a reflective manner, it serves my best interest to include the fact that I am a black man. Otherwise, I will be reminded by the cruel world…
When I cross those railroad tracks, I have to have my game face on. I find that it serves me best to congregate with those who visit my temple of familiar... It is not because I want to be either. It is because, I know, when the sun goes down, on what side of the tracks I need to be.
I have always been a victim of stereotypes whether I choose to be or not. Stereotypes suck, but they exist.
* Italians are mobsters.
* Mexicans carry a knife.
* Haitians know voodoo.
* White man can’t jump.
I am expected to be the athlete and not the student.
Who knows where these stereotypes come from? I am willing to bet they came from a lack of understanding or proliferation of intolerance. Characterization is prevalent in media, which often highlights the most extreme cases. Hence, characterizations are often caricatures.
I recently saw a movie where that was the case. Crash was a mosaic of social caricatures, which seemed to miss the reality of respective situations for sake of sensationalism. I found it a lot less easy to swallow in comparison to movies such as Higher Learning or Do the Right Thing. Do the right thing purposely HAD caricatures and was easier to relate than crash…
I think I will watch a Spike Lee movie… I never saw Bamboozled…
When I was younger, my family befell a small windfall of money and we were able to finance a home to own. We moved to a rancher style home in a neighborhood that was victim to urban sprawl from one of the most crime-infested areas in the United States. I learned what racism was when the white folks moved away and the black folks moved in. At one point, there were only two white families in my neighborhood… Well one family was Italian. Anyhow, these two families managed to forge real close friendships between them. I now recognize the strength in their unity. I had nothing against them. In fact, I am glad that they stayed. One family's son managed to even date the other family's daughter. That white boy was the fastest dude I knew! Plus, he was my friend too. I didn't stay there for long... I then moved to Florida, where racism is still alive and well.
I attended a school in 1988 that wasn’t desegregated until 1978. I moved to a neighborhood that was definitely segregated by the boundaries of a railroad track. The school was less than 10 percent black and the black kids stuck together… I then went to a Historically Black College or University in the state of Florida. I then realized that racism and racial stereotypes were everywhere and people used them to their advantage as well…
I am not attempting to give a history of racism. I am just reflecting on how I discovered racism at the same time that I was discovering myself. When I take into account my placement in society in a reflective manner, it serves my best interest to include the fact that I am a black man. Otherwise, I will be reminded by the cruel world…
When I cross those railroad tracks, I have to have my game face on. I find that it serves me best to congregate with those who visit my temple of familiar... It is not because I want to be either. It is because, I know, when the sun goes down, on what side of the tracks I need to be.
posted by blackcaesar at 12:52
6 Comments:
Bravo BC! Let's quit ignoring it politely, and acknowledge it. Talk about it. See if we can't find our way out this wreck our ancestors created.
For years, I lived in a predominantly black neighborhood. I walked alone at night without fear, but I too had to put my "game face" on. My game face was one of questions: "Do you mind my being here? Am I intruding? Do you see me as a tourist? Should I play the black music I love, or would that seem like pandering? How do I say, 'You're welcome in my life.' without sounding like another liberal white pain-in-the-ass?"
Years later, I was apartment hunting with my upper middle-class white mother. She looked around and said, "I think most of your neighbors will be black, but I guess your used to that."
I said, "I love black people. I've lived around Black people most of my adult life. And I'll take black people over white trash anyday of the week." Even mom had to agree with me on that.
But now, I live in a town that is 96% white. 96%! I worked for years for a man who was a terrible racist, and I never knew! I never saw him around anyone who wasn't white!
Not long ago, I saw an elderly black woman walking down the street carrying groceries. Old ladies don't walk with groceries with me around. Not allowed. My grandmother would come out of her grave and kill me if I let an old lady walk! Old ladies get a ride.
I pulled over, said, "Ma'am, could I give you a ride home?" I saw fear in her eyes for a moment. But then she decided to throw the dice. Let me take her home.
What can I do to stop that fear? I don't want to be an instrument of fear.
My best answer is that we all start talking about why we are afraid of each other. What's your best answer BC?
@ diane: i am not afraid of you as an individual. i am afraid of the perception of life and the related repercussions that keep people separated. fear is learned. teach me differently.
Ah, but therein lies the rub. How do we teach ourselves, each other, our children, everyone differently.
I guess it begins with "Hi. I'm Diane." And then after a while you see me as an individual, and I see you as an individual. And we both get sprung from "the box".
Thing is, how do we make that translate on a larger level. We can't all find each other as individuals. How do we kill "the box"?
@diane: i cant have issues with the box because i find comfort in my relative box. being in a family situation as opposed to being isolated puts you into a clloective. the same with accepting a job or joining a trade organization. i want to join the VFW. that will put me into a box. some may refer to me as a warmonger of etcetera, but my intebtion was not to be grouped as much as it is to be around those with similar interests and values.
Hi Diane! It's nice to meet you. You can call me BC.
Black Caesar, I like your writing style it’s honest and insightful. Sorry to post here 6 months after you published this , but I’m kind of new to the whole blogging thing and this is the first time I really went through your sight and actually read it. I was tempted to post when I read the one about your little girl being gone , but I didn’t. I feel for you about that one especially.
This one though I have to answer. Because I understand a little bit about it , even if I wish sometimes that I didn’t. You know when you say...i cant have issues with the box because i find comfort in my relative box. being in a family situation as opposed to being isolated puts you into a collective.
The thing is that the box is what keeps most of us the way we are as far as how we treat other people. Once when I was a small child about 8 years old a friend of mine that I played with everyday at school came to visit me. On his way to my house he had to cross those rail road tracks you mentioned. My parents discovered us playing together in the back yard. They told him he had to go home because we were going away , after he left I was punished.
I live in a divided family. I don’t mean that I’m divorced (I am but that crap is long over with.) I mean that my oldest grand daughter is bi- racial. Her name is Chelsea , she’s 12 years old and an honor student. I’m very proud of her and she and I have a great relationship. So why then do I say I live in a divided family? Because I was raised by people who think that is a worse sin than bank robbery or murder. At one point I didn’t speak to my own mother for 7 years. Seven years of wasted life time over stupidity. My father feels the same as her. These two people have been divorced for over 40 years and have never agreed on anything except this. Sometimes there is no comfort in the box.
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