RACISM and BIGOTRY: Know Your Enemy, Know Yourself.

Some times I look back on some of my comments to other threads and see an editorial in the making. This is one of those occasions. There are two very important discussions concerning race and racism occurring on both MsCyprah's column and k-stanz's column. The articles are, respectively, "What Does Being White Mean to You" and "Race - The Pink Elephant in the Room - Can We Talk?" I want to applaud both columnists for their bravery in using NewsVine to open doors to the very heart of what is a difficult topic to discuss openly for many people. Now I ask that you read all that is to follow with an open mind. I also ask that the discussion/debate that follows remain respectful. You can express your views and disagree with others without a personal verbal assault on others and without an intentional effort to inflame others.

What I'd like to examine in this article is what our parents have taught us concerning other races, what stereotypes they may or may not have taught you about those other races, and what behavior and attitudes they patterned for you in regard to other races. I find that our parents' generation often gets a bad rap for some of the attitudes exhibited by later generations. Is this entirely fair? Were there not personal experiences of our own that may have shaped our current biases or lack of biases to more or less closely resemble that of our parents? In every life, there is some refining along the way. Many things may happen on that journey to alter the mindset our parents released us into the world with.

They say "know your enemy." For the purposes of this article, the enemy is racism and bigotry. They also say that in order to truly destroy a weed, you need to get at its root. Let's take a look at the roots of our own beliefs in regard to those who are racially, ethnically, religiously, or culturally different from ourselves. From where or under what circumstances did you form your strongest feelings, whether positive or negative, toward other races, religions, cultures, or creeds?

As you can see after reading my story, there were many influences on my attitudes. Not all of these were the direct result of learning or adopting attitudes of my parents. Here is my story, my journey, to the attitudes I have today:

Although I was only about 4 or 5 years old at the time, I have very vivid memories of Dr. King's assassination. It is my first memory that has any association with race. We lived in inner city Louisville, Ky. at the time. The rioting broke out just as my mother was driving us home after dropping my daddy off for his second shift job. High school had just let out. We were surrounded by school buses from the high school. Things were being thrown at our car, teenagers were screaming things at us that I couldn't understand and, to a 4 or 5 year old, they looked more like a bunch of very angry grown men than school kids. I remember being so afraid, I couldn't even cry, because I could sense my mama's terror.

We moved shortly after the riots. I think that was a defining moment for our future. My mom had grown up in that inner city neighborhood. We lived 2 doors away from my grandparents. She knew the names of everyone on that street. Most of the families had 3 or more generations on that street. Shortly thereafter, we were in an older suburb in South Louisville. I was getting ready to start first grade, having been one of the first "Headstart" kids in my former inner-city neighborhood. For my parents, the riots meant one thing: their children were in danger in this era of political and cultural upheaval.

I recall as a young child of 5 or 6, riding in the car with my dad in our new neighborhood. This would have been approximately late 1968. To the best of my knowledge, that was the first and last time my father heard me use the "N" word. As was considered polite and proper in those days, he sternly told me that people of color were "Negroes" and he did not want to hear that other word out of my mouth ever again. My dad was a scientist (a chemist for Celanese Coatings, later a computer engineer for Sperry Rand Univac.) He tends towards deep analysis of every subject whether it be with a 6 year old or an adult. I recall bits and pieces of his attempt to explain racial epithets using an analogy. I recall there being an alien monster in the analogy somewhere but I can't recall how he used it in the analogy. I only remember the "Purple People Eater" of song springing to mind when the monster was brought up in his explanation and he then promptly lost my attention. What I did remember clearly is my father's strong disapproval of racism and racial epithets.

Later we would move to a small Southern town called Hopkinsville on the border of Tennessee very near Fort Campbell, Ky. Although after school we were often divided by where each family could afford to live, for the most part, race was a non-issue there. Most white kids had some black kids among their closest circle of friends and vice-versa. My little "click" of closest friends was equally black and white. During our yearly Beta Club conventions, only my two black friends' parents would let them go to the "big city" so we three roomed together every year. After curfew and uninhibited by the need to hit the books on Beta weekend, we had our best debates, deepest discussions and it came as easily as talking to my little sister. It was just so easy to talk to Roz and Phyllis about race issues. I feel a great sadness that it has never been that easy since.

Near our town was a small town that was the birth place of Jefferson Davis. Every year on the anniversary of his birth, the KKK would descend upon our area in droves. Such was the case on the anniversary date somewhere in the late 1970s. One of the major intersections in town was one that we HAD to go through to get to the rest of the town. The KKK was set up at that intersection passing out literature when my dad got stopped by the light and approached. Wrong man to approach. Daddy politely declined the materials at first but then this Klansman stuck his hand in his pocket as if to imply he had a weapon pointed at my dad and told my daddy "I think you better take it." My dad is one of these people that only gets mad once a year, but when he does, look out. He told this guy "If you want to keep your damned arm, you better get this sh!t out of my face right now, you b@stard" Now my daddy is very proper with a huge vocabulary. It is extremely rare for him to use foul language. In that case, however, I was very proud of him. My parents highly approved of both Roz and Phyllis because they had wonderful values and very fine characters. I couldn't wait to tell Roz and Phyllis what daddy did at that intersection. (Rosalind H., Hannah I., and Phyllis S. from Hoptown: If you are reading this, it's Debbie and I've been trying to locate you all so e-mail me!)

It was during the years in Hopkinsville that I first started having the ability to meet people without my first reaction being a mental definition of their race. Because of my parents? Because of my friends? I just don't know.

I know that when I began nursing school and my nursing career, this ability progressed by leaps and bounds. When you work in long term care, you see your patients more often than their families do. After working with a particular patient for a period of time, (it varies from patient to patient) you get to where you worry about their case of the sniffles or a viral infection or any number of changes you've noticed long after you clocked out and went home. They become your extended family. You love them and worry about them as you would your children or your grandparents. You grieve when you lose one of them that you have become so attached to.

It is very frequent that you have to fill out forms and define race in the course of documentation and charting. After a period of time, this is the only time you give race a conscious thought. After sharing hundreds of hugs, kisses, "I love yous," being taught how to dance the old "Jelly Belly" or "The Stroll," and having confused patients tell newly admitted confused patients that "If you hurt her, you'll answer to me!" The only thing you see when you look at these people, regardless of their race, is someone you love very much and someone who makes you smile sometimes, laugh at others, and worry about them when something isn't quite right with their condition. You just don't consciously acknowledge their race except at those times you have to do it for documentation purposes. This extends to co-workers on your unit as well. The unique thing about 12 hour shifts at many facilities is that you are always working with the same crew. 4 CNAs and I worked together for 5 years. We were family to each other as well as to the patients. We were a 40/60 inter-racial crew. We took care of each other and we loved each other.

When my youngest son was just getting old enough to try to sing, 18-24 months old. We ended up in 24 hour Kroger due to the late hour and some unexpected baby necessity that had popped up. The neighborhood was deeper into inner city Cincinnati than we usually would go. It was after midnight and the store was nearly empty. I had Mason in the seat of the basket. This baby had icy blonde hair, big brown eyes and knew no strangers. Coming up one aisle of the store, Mason was singing gibberish to the top of his lungs. You couldn't understand what he was singing but the attempt at song was obvious. In the mid-way point of the aisle, we passed two black gentlemen that appeared to be in their 20s. One of these gentlemen was huge. He looked like a linebacker. As he passed us, he held up his hand for Mason to "high-five" him with his tiny little hand and as he did, the gentleman said, "Sing on, little brother, sing on!" It sounds so simplistic now, but the impact of that man's words to this little one, my baby, who he did not know, touched me deeply in such a way that it has burned that moment into my memory where it has stayed for the past 20 years. It was a whisper of brotherhood between a big man and a tiny toddler he did not know, two who outwardly were so different. It was a moment of bliss. One of those moments in which you can feel your heart swell. One of those moment you wish could happen again and again and again.

Back in about 1995, I heard a song by Western Flyer called "Cherokee Highway" for the first time. I was in a public place at the time, but the lyrics, the song was so powerful that I got a huge lump in my throat that I feared would totally block off my breath before I could get to a private spot to weep out loud. I've never had a song hit me the way that one did. I felt as if I had been punched hard in the stomach. If you are unfamiliar with the song or the lyrics, you can follow the link to read them. I wouldn't do it in a public place, though.

How about explaining your own path. What were those significant events that led to your attitudes, both positive and negative, as they stand today? When we understand what motivates us in our view of others, we come to understand ourselves. When others understand what motivates your views, you may be surprised with empathy. I'm not necessarily suggesting agreement, but a bit more tolerance and understanding of you because of understanding the journey that led you here.

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