(Disclaimer: This article is an editorial of a firsthand account. Names have been changed to protect the identity of all involved parties.)
I watched in horror Sunday night as someone I had loved and trusted for four years held a knife to a balloon and prepared to symbolically slit someone's throat pretending to be a police officer. It started as a harmless game of fighting a balloon at a birthday party in which I was the only racial minority.
Out of seven people in attendance, Jim and Chris were the only cisgendered, straight white men. Chris, a veteran stoner and a lifetime cop-hater, suggested the balloon was a cop. The comment went relatively ignored but little did he know it was a match lit right next to gasoline. Rachel, a trans-woman who had been making white supremacy jokes all night, passionately commanded the balloon to stop resisting arrest. I watched as every person in that room excluding Chris began to beat the balloon with far more force than before while they continued to yell “I said stay down!” I expressed the anxiety building in me. Chris twirls in a rolling office chair and says, “You’re fine.” This angers me but I calm myself and explain that people have been getting expelled for these types of jokes when they’re recorded. He replies, “just don’t record it.” Rachel regards much quieter this time, “You think the bodycam will save you?” At this point I was unsure if he’s aware of what the joke has become, but I knew I was furious. I raise my voice slightly and try to be firm this time “Please stop. I am extremely uncomfortable.” They all step back, all except Jim who steps forward, flips out a knife and grabs the neck of the balloon. I screamed, he stepped back, but I didn’t stop screaming for an hour. To him it was a joke, but I could not stop imagining that balloon as my nephew, my brother, my father, and every brown face I've ever loved.
I had seen videos online before of white kids joking about police brutality, beating inanimate objects, and even kneeling on friends to mock George Floyd’s death. I found this trend covered in a Business Insider article that detailed the act of kneeling on someone's neck and taking a picture of it being deemed the “George Floyd Challenge.” The supposed joke was treated as a hate crime. Punishment ranged from expulsion from universities to arrest.
Experiencing this hate crime executed by people who I’ve loved and trusted for years was heartbreaking. Fearing for my safety, I was ready to sever those ties. Stuck there at least for the night I recounted the last two months. When the news of George Floyd had become widespread, I was the primary source of information for them. I thought about the fact that I was screaming in their house and all anyone wanted to do was help. I thought about the genuine confusion on their faces. They truly did not know what they had done wrong. They had not even watched the video of George Floyd’s murder, yet they talked about it like a bad pop culture film, interested in the buzz surrounding it, but not at all invested in the actual plot. The ignorance displayed that night seems inexcusable, but it is the product of an education system that excludes minority perspectives of American History and politics. It is a product of the willful blindness they inherited from their parents and never had to confront until that very moment. It is the ignorance of white America.
Racist jokes do not create racists they only fuel them. The truly ignorant smile and nod as those who hold authentic prejudice take the pleasantry as proof their flawed ideology has validity. In a Psychology Today article, Gil Greengross Ph.D. explored the likelihood that racist humor could be promoting racism. Greengross highlights an experiment which found that when people are unsure about the morality of their prejudices hearing jokes about the out-group validates their discriminatory thoughts and behaviors. In other words, Rachel leaving when I got emotional but before anyone apologized allowed her to leave thinking her actions were okay because everyone else participated.
I calmed myself down enough to explain my emotional response. Everyone else was apologetic and ready to hear what it would take to earn my trust back. They explained that from their perspective they were making fun of the cops by mimicking their actions. I snapped back that they don’t get to make those kinds of jokes. I released notions that I have held back for years. I finally told them that I don’t like hearing them say the N-word even if it’s in a song, I especially don’t like hearing it in passing conversation. I demanded Rachel’s removal from the group, as she had proven herself unwilling to even have the conversation, which was all I ever asked for.
With very sorry eyes Chris apologized and admitted he was incapable of seeing it from my perspective and reassured me that I am more than welcome to make him uncomfortable pointing out when he does something racist. “I need to feel uncomfortable more often, I’m sure you feel uncomfortable all the time, and I’m sorry about any part I play in that.”
Many more conversations will need to be had. I am grateful most of my friends did not have malicious intent and are willing to learn from their mistakes. I hope that anyone else who experiences something similar is so fortunate, and I hope you can find it in your heart to have as much, or more, patience for these incidents.
There was limited focus on black history in school for myself and my peers, though now the education system is making an effort to expand the narrative of our country’s history, the system has a long way to go. I understand that I technically don’t have to explain myself, but I have accepted my role as a lifelong teacher. Minorities do not get paid for our jobs as educators, but everyday we are inadvertently giving the world examples of our humanity. Everytime I order food that steps outside of the stereotypes of what black people eat, and the cashier looks at me surprised, I am incidentally educating someone. Everytime I visit my friends' grandparents and treat them kindly even when they microagress me I am passively educating someone. The level of commitment and patience necessary to consciously educate is an individual choice. Explaining racism is a more emotionally taxing deed than teaching tolerance through kindness or simply by being ourselves. The decision to do so is not one I expect everyone to be able to make. I forgive the racist acts of those who are truly attempting to understand: I explain myself, I send articles, and I recommend books. I love those who love me, even when they reflect a glimmer of the hate they inherited and must work against, because I believe the only way to combat hate is love.
"can" - Google News
July 27, 2020 at 09:21PM
https://ift.tt/3hE6tgi
EDITORIAL: Can We Forgive Racism? - The Real Chi
"can" - Google News
https://ift.tt/2NE2i6G
https://ift.tt/3d3vX4n
Bagikan Berita Ini
0 Response to "EDITORIAL: Can We Forgive Racism? - The Real Chi"
Post a Comment