I hate you; but not for your race
I’ve been thinking about racism a lot lately. Maybe its because, for the first time, a qualified black man has managed to move beyond the bullshit social stigmas that previously prevented his run for the highest office in the nation. (I never thought Jessie Jackson was qualified) Maybe its because I’ve seen my own ugly forms of subtle-racism played out in my daily interactions amid my internal justifications that “I’m not a racist”. In fact, the other day, I had quite a little argument ‘discussion’ with a certain religious-minded friend of mine about racism. Maybe you, my gentle 3’s of readers can help with our argument ‘discussion’.
Allow me to set the stage…
We’re sitting on my couch, waiting for the Thai food to be delivered, enjoying the comfort of the fabulous new pillows Tom crafted for me when the topic of racism rears its head. I don’t remember what brought it up, but I remember the argument. For clarity sake, I’d like to offer the official definitions of racism:
Webster’s dictionary defines racism as:
1. The prejudice that members of one race are intrinsically superior to members of other races.
2. Discriminatory or abusive behavior towards members of another race.Oxford Dictionary defines racism as:
1. The belief that there are characteristics, abilities, or qualities specific to each race.
2. Discrimination against or antagonism towards other races.
On the Internets, educational and religious institutions, along with many bloggers, and my religious-minded friend define it as:
I have a huge problem with the last definition, which prompted our ‘discussion’ the other night.
I didn’t grow up in a vacuum and I realize that my life experiences differ greatly from people of other races due to the history of the United States and the European world. I also realize that my ethnicity has not hindered my development, education, professional or social life, like it has people of other races.
But I disagree with the belief that power is needed for racism. Racism is based on prejudice, pure and simple, either learned or socialized, but prejudice all the same. Under that construct, only White on Black, or Asian or Hispanic prejudice is racism. What about Black prejudice against Asian or White or Hispanic peoples? What about Hispanic prejudice against Asian or Black or White people? What about Asian prejudice against White or Black or Hispanic peoples? Does that not count as racism because they are not the ‘power’ race in the United States? If that doesn’t count as racism, then what is it? It is prejudice based upon race, is it not? Can Asians only be racist in Asia? Can Hispanics only be racist in Latin America? Can Blacks only be racist in African nations?
If another person has prejudice against me because I’m white, they’re racist and their racism is no more acceptable than my own. I’m more called to task on it because of the history of my country and I find that rather shitty. At least I’m aware of my racist issues and I’m consciously working to eradicate them. Why is it ok to call a white man racist but never acceptable to label a man of another race racist?
Racism will not end until all people can equally be called racist. Or better yet, till we can look past the color of a person’s skin and hate them for their personality.
notes: By using the term “man” I mean “mankind/womankind/transkind”. I’m not misogynistic as well as racist. I love you sisters! By using “Black” I’m refering to people of African descent. In my humble brain, African-Americans only apply to Americans of African descent, so I wasn’t sure the appropriate term to use since I was looking at this in the macro global environment.
June 27, 2007
wednesday wank
June 22, 2007
The cost of war
The unacceptable rising death toll aside, the cost of King George’s folly is frightening. I was watching the online ‘Cost of War‘ counter and was shocked to find that my annual salary, before taxes, is passed more than 3 times every minute. Either I’m in the wrong field, or that is a shitload of money being spent.
June 21, 2007
Father’s Day - belated
I missed posting my Father’s Day message of some profound moment with my father. I’ve been rather lazy lately, with the food allergy consuming my existence and mourning for the loss of all comfort foods. I phoned my father on Tuesday to wish him a belated Happy Dad’s Day and inquire about his newfound hobby. My dad has had many hobbies throughout my life, usually involving collecting, building, repairing, restoring items old and mechanical. Currently, his passion is vintage tractors. He’s amassed a rather nice little collection in the past year. I believe he’s approaching ten already, in various stages of restoration.
But that isn’t what I wanted to write about. I wanted to write about one of my most vivid memories of my father. Dad used to work a lot. It seemed that he was either sleeping or working. He worked nights and a lot of overtime hours to feed, and clothe his family. My dad was a great provider and I’m very glad that he can now enjoy all that he worked so hard to acquire and save over his many hours of working. He can still out work me. I would have loved to have him home more often, but without his sacrifice, none of us would have had a college education or the opportunities we’ve enjoyed. We were fortunate enough to travel the country, the world and see and experience things others in my small town couldn’t comprehend. My parents wouldn’t think twice about pulling all five of us kids out of school to fly off to some exotic local to experience something new. Be it London in winter or Kentucky in the hot humid days of summer. It was those moments that provided me with a lifetime hunger for traveling.
I’m getting off track again. Like I said, my dad worked a lot of hours. His daily commute was at least an hour in each direction, which nowadays isn’t that extreme, but in the backwoods of small town New York State and hour commute was rare. He would often arrive home well after we went to bed and leave for work while we were in school. In the summer we weren’t allowed in the house during the morning hours while my dad slept. There was hell to pay if we woke him up and we were very conscious of that simple rule and kept quiet for the most part.
One fall night, I don’t remember the year; my dad came home at his usual time, and woke all five of us, urging us out into the darkness that surrounded our house exclaiming, ”you kids have got to see this”. We trudged through the woods along our driveway out onto the mostly-dirt road and across into the open field headed towards one of the most spectacular natural light shows I’ve ever witnessed. The northern lights were visibly, just barely, and just above the horizon, but they were visible to us and he wanted to show us. We stood there in the darkness staring into the northern sky watching the colors bounce off the horizon for quite some time. He explained to us what they were and how they were formed.
I think about that night from time to time and I’m thankful he woke us.
June 20, 2007
wednesday wank
June 18, 2007
Loss
My day was filled with sadness and regret as I mourned yet another loss in my life. The last few years has seen my stomach become much more interested in healthful and wholesome foods, often letting me know, in no uncertain terms, when I’ve eaten something less than good for me. Recently crossed off the acceptable list of foods to eat are junk foods. I’ve found that french fries make me gassy and within an hour of eating them, I have some crazy insulin reaction that makes my entire body feel weak and shake a little bit.
Yesterday, I learned that pasta was now officially on this list of foods no longer acceptable to my system. Gone are the days of my family specialty, fried macaroni, enjoyed on a cool afternoon while watching mindless movies on television. No more can I enjoy a heaping plate of spaghetti with meat sauce without dealing with the violent fireworks my body goes through for the next 12-24 hours.
I’ve been having trouble with pasta for some time now but thought it must be the acidity of the tomato sauce; which led me to try alfredo sauce with even worse results. My food poison/allergy induced fever broke around 3am last night and the sweats died down around 5am. The gas and heartburn are still with me.
I guess this is what getting old is all about. My body slowly shutting down no longer able to enjoy things I once thrived on. I guess it’s on to tofu and whole grains for me. Though I must admit, my ritual of yogurt for breakfast and a big glass of Metamucil before bed has been a god-send. Perhaps that old adage of “an apple a day”…
Eh, pass me another pizza roll. They only give me heartburn.
June 14, 2007
city-fied
In a time and age where violence is increasing without showing any signs of letting up, wars are popping up across the globe, and long-time friends become wary of each other, I’ve found solace in my early morning (ie. 10:00am) walks with Stella. When I return home from another day of crushing rejection and failure, its nice to relax on my couch with an after work snack (cheeses and savory meats) and Stella curled up against me, enjoying the bits and pieces I guiltily offer her under the coffee table. I turn off the television, filled with a media more interested in what Paris Hilton is eating, than the thousands of Americans in danger because of a crazy man’s holy quest to rid the earth of evil, while doing the exact opposite of what the majority of people in the entire world want him to do; I take comfort in knowing that soon I will be blissfully asleep cuddled up with my loyal dog.
It is true that dogs are man’s best friend. Stella has been the constant in my life since I adopted her nearly 7 years ago. She’s always at my side (unless she’s at the window checking out the goings on in the neighborhood) and she’s always there when I want to play.
This morning on our walk, after dodging the sprinklers waving back and forth as ominously as the swinging saw blades of a horror plot, or the stomping engine parts of a recent Dr. Who episode, we spotted a little bunny rabbit dart across the sidewalk in front of us and come to a stop within leash distance of the two of us. Stella calmly looked up at me then sat down and spied the rabbit, watching its every move intently. The rabbit, for its part, ate some grass, with its big black eyes watching the two of us, watching it. Slowly, Stella’s ADD kicked in and she lost interest in the rabbit and started walking around, still within leash distance. She smelled the tree, sniffed the grass, watched a passing car, all while keeping one eye on the rabbit, slowly eating grass as calmly as if it were behind a steel cage ensuring its safety.
Stella, bored, tugged at the leash in the opposite direction of the rabbit to spur on our stroll. I think she’s been sufficiently city-fied. It might be time to take her for a long day chasing critters in the country.
