Thank you, Mr. White Man

Mr. White Man looks a "little" like Sam Shepard, with glasses...

I sat there in my window seat, 15E.  I sat there miserably reclusive, yet exposed, emanating self-pity and sorrow.  I tried not to let it show; I kept my eyes closed and my ears plugged into my own music.  Ahhh, my own music.  "Please just leave me alone," I transmitted to others around me.  I believe they received the message.

However, my own music could not drown out the voice of a man seated in the aisle side seat of the row in front of us.  He was a white man; a casually yet very appropriately groomed and adorned fellow, from his hair to his glasses, to his clothes and shoes.  Middle-aged and silver-haired, a surprising enthusiasm still expressed itself in his eyes.  Mr. Happy White Man.

This dude wouldn't shut up.  He was a walking encyclopedia with a compulsion to share.  Ughhhh!!  I was so pissed off until the conversation turned to something that intrigued and shocked me.

Even as I sat in my corner being pissy, I eavesdropped.  Couldn't help it anyway - he was that loud.  He talked about his Christian missionary work, which had led him to several third world areas all over the globe - countries in Africa, Central and South America.  He talked about some of the engineering projects he'd worked on, particularly one where he facilitated the building of a new well for a village for in East Africa.  He described the men as quite lazy, while the women carried huge jugs of water for miles and miles to mix with other materials to produce concrete.   He discussed the role of religion - primarily Islam in several of the areas he visited - and how it mixed with the maternal culture of many tribes he interacted with.   He explained that while the men could often trump the women in some matters, women yielded more control in many financial cases.  So, if a wife got pissed, she might literally kick her husband out of the house and refuse him food and shelter until he decided to behave himself again!

But that's not the shocking part - my jaw almost hit the floor when Mr. White Guy turned to the passenger to his right, a BLACK woman, and started discussing the height and physical characteristics of the black people of Haiti.  His words, almost literally, "They're not like you; they're much more diminutive.  Black people in the United States are much larger by comparison."  I watched the woman from behind; her back snapped straight for a moment, but then she relaxed.  I sighed to myself and subdued the heat rushing to my face - whew!! I thought to myself, "Holy shit!!  Doesn't he realize that slavery breeding practices were a huge contributor to how her race has evolved in the United States. Dude, please, please, please...shut up now before someone gets hurt!!"  But she looked at him carefully for a moment, and I think, decided he meant no harm.  And from then on, they were both the best of friends on the flight.  She talked about her work with government and the United Nations, he talked about his worldly experience and even the window seat passenger in front of me found ways to contribute to the conversation.  In other words, none of them would shut up.   But I didn't care. I was feeling a little less sorry for myself, observing the camaraderie, listening to their laughter and their sharing, and it all made me feel a little better about life in general.  I still turned up my music, but I appreciated the energy radiating around me - it was uplifting, comforting and reinforced my faith in people a bit.

Just before landing in Dallas, Mr. White Man turned his attention to a mother and her two little girls in the row in front of him.  Pretty soon, he had them looped into his little group.  This one little girl, who I'll call "Carrot Top" (because she had orange springy hair that her mother had gathered into a sprouting pony tail on top of her head) kept sharing all kinds of things with the group. She'd pull a page from a magazine, stick it in her mouth for a few minutes and then pass it around to each person in the group (yuck!).   If the person held on it to it for too long, she'd take it from that person (almost indignantly; so cute!) give a look and ensure it made it to the next person in their group of fun.   With as much as they all talked and laughed, I'm sure the flight felt much shorter and less exhausting for them.

As we de-boarded, Mr. White Man helped several people with their luggage as I watched from the corner of my eye.  I thought to myself, "Surely this man has been through hell and seen many versions of hell throughout his life.  And yet, this whole flight, he effused optimism, friendliness, care for and interest in others.  Meanwhile, I sat here feeling sorry for myself, trying to block out the world.  Wonder which attitude leads to a happier, more fulfilling life?  Why can't I be more like him??"

I guess I can.  :)

"Black People Don't Like You"

I don't believe that kid understands what that sign says.  Something in my gut says a jackass teenager thought it would be humorous to have the kid pose with a sign like that.  I mean, come on, he's like 6 years old???  Anyway, I was looking for an image to use with this post, and when I saw this, I couldn't stop myself.  I had to use it.  It's only stupid to me, but I imagine this image could really agitate some folks.

"Black People Don't Like You."

When my family and I moved back to the states from Germany, I was 14 years old and my sister was 11.  Before my dad reported for duty we traveled around the states visiting various relatives.  My favorite relatives were my cousins, Eric and Brian.  We were a perfect foursome; always raucous - making fun of each other, pillow fights, water fights, etc.   I really should get back in touch with them.  I've actually avoided interaction with any of my relatives because of the drama (of which my mom is usually at least part!), but I'm rethinking that now.

Anyway, Eric and Brian joined my family for part of the road trip.  On one day, at some hour and for some reason, the conversation turned to racism, and specifically, black people.  I really can't remember why.  But my sister and I were disturbed when my cousins informed us:

"Black people don't like you.  Stay away from them. They'll hurt you."

I was really offended and a little sad.  I was old enough to understand racism, obviously.  It had been discussed in classes several times, and there were the occasional bouts of name calling leading to fights on the bus, in the schoolyard, etc., but I'd never heard anything stated so categorically.  What they were telling us is that black people didn't like white people...just because they were white!!  This seemed like absurd bullshit to me and I tried to argue with them, but they started telling me stories about "black-on-white" violence, etc. - it really was pointless to discuss the issue with them.  And the reason is quite simple - it was part of their social reality in Alabama, which is where they were from.  Of course, they never offered up any examples of "white-on-black" violence.

It was a reality and mindset that confused and upset my sister and I.

In Germany, Americans stuck together.  We were all military brats, right?  We understood each other; we related.  Some of my best friends were black.  Race by itself just didn't matter, and even when it did, certainly not that much.  We were more focused on who the best break dancer was, or who "going with" whom, or what "so-and-so said about her"...you know, stuff like that.  We all attended this international/Department of Defense school in the Netherlands called AFCENT (yes, their website sucks).   My bus rides were 90 minutes long each way, and we had to carry our passports with us every day because we crossed the Germany-Netherlands border to attend school.  But my point is, race didn't make or break friendships.  At least, I never noticed that it did.  Cliques existed, but not based on race.

Since we're talking about race (among other things), I should mention how welcoming and friendly our German neighbors were.  They embraced Americans into their little towns with open arms.   Every Christmas, my sister and I got visited by two different versions of Santa Claus:  the regular American dude, and Saint Nicholas.  Saint Nicholas was cool because he delivered CANDY and other goodies to your wooden clogs if you left them outside your front door on Christmas Eve.  So, I never noticed any German vs. American animosity either (except the time I dared my sister to tell our German bus driver that he stunk. She didn't have to do it, though!!  But she did and there was definitely some negative feedback).

Someone was mean to me in Paris, once.  A weird French dude sauntered up to me and said, "Little American bitch!"   I realize this isn't racism, but it's an example of another categorical rejection based on bullshit criteria.

But my real bottom line is that I didn't learn the harsh reality of racism until I returned home, to the United States.  How fucking sad is that?  And now, it's a daily part of my life but at least it's not part of me.  I guess I was old enough that when I returned to the U.S. that I already had my own opinions about most things.  The same can be said of my sister - she never bought into the racism crap either.  

But it's real, isn't it?  :(

Trouble the Water - You gotta watch it.

This morning began much like any other Saturday for me. I got up, ate a Clif bar for breakfast, took some vitamins, made some of my "workout juice" (a concoction of some more vitamins, etc.) and settled down on my living room floor to play on the laptop and watch a little TV. The TV is just for background noise; helps wake me up and put me in the right frame of mind for my little yoga routine.

Since I wasn't in the mood to watch CNN and piss myself off this morning, I decided to browse HBO ON Demand for a cool documentary. I love most HBO documentaries; they're generally well produced, entertaining and educational. Those adjectives don't come near to describing "Trouble the Water" and the impact it had on this white chick. This documentary was emotional "shock and awe".

When Katrina hit New Orleans in 2005 the devastation was incredible - I already understood that. F.E.M.A.'s mistakes have been enumerated in the media over the years and our government's response was shockingly insufficient and inept in so many ways. I already knew these things. I had seen the images of the helpless, hungry, homeless and scared citizens of New Orleans on TV before. But those images and the information that followed them were comfortably remote. I sympathized with their plight, prayed for them and even donated a little to help, but my emotional engagement was minimal. "Trouble the Water" brought the catastrophe much closer to home.

I empathized. I won't insult the citizens of New Orleans by saying I felt what they felt exactly, but I did experience shock, fear, despair, disbelief, frustration and outrage. I watched Kimberly River Roberts and her husband's footage of the storm and the aftermath...it's still hard for me to believe that all that took place here, in my home, the United States.

Why were U.S. citizens turned away from a Navy base at gunpoint, when all they sought was refuge?! Why did it take so long for help to arrive?! And those 911 calls made me cry. Imagine being so close and yet so far away from another human being that needs your help to SURVIVE.

But I have new heroes now. That Larry dude - I thought he was a police officer or fireman...some kind of civil watchman. But no, he was just a guy; just a man doing what he felt was right and necessary at the time. Or as he puts it in the documentary, "I guess God finally found a use for a guy like me!"

And Kimberly River Roberts, her husband and their crew...I'd be proud to call them friends of mine. At 24, Kimberly radiated calm, confidence, strength and perseverance rarely seen in people PERIOD, let alone at her relatively young age, and most especially under such conditions. Kimberly, you are definitely AMAZING and lyrical.

We have too many layers of abstraction in our society; too many "safe" zones. I live a relatively peaceful, comfortable life - something that I take for granted on a daily basis. Sometimes you gotta shake people to get their attention. That's what this documentary did to me.

For more information on this documentary, click here.

Stupid White Chick; Scary Black Man ???

I was driving down the freeway one Saturday morning when the car in front of me suddenly made this incredible "POP!" noise and burst into flames underneath. The driver quickly pulled off, of course, as did I - it's the right thing to do, right???

The driver of the flaming vehicle flings his door open and climbs out of the driver's seat, and he's a black guy. A rather large black man. And he stands next to his car, shaking his head in dismay; it's an older car, probably with very high mileage and I seriously doubt the poor machine survived. At first, I was alarmed because he was standing so close to the car. I parked a short distance away for safety and then ran up to him, "You gotta get away from your car! It was on fire!!" He hadn't noticed that part, and by the time I was standing next to him the flames were out. But I told him to grab his stuff quickly anyway (not bright; car could've blown up) and back away from the vehicle...which he did.

I asked him if he had someone he could call for a ride - No.
Triple A (AAA) coverage - No.
Anyone that can give you a lift??? - No.

And he obviously did not have money for a cab. So what does any decent person do? Offer him a ride, of course. Especially since he was on his way to some sort of sports thing not even 5 minutes from where we were on the freeway. No problem, right? Kinda wrong.

I did offer him the ride, and he accepted with a surprised look on his face, but my behavior in this scenario would be considered too risky by most people I associate with regularly. The more awkward thing was, there seemed to be a sort of silent understanding between the two of us that this was indeed a very strange thing - my offering him a ride. Especially considering that the stretch of freeway we were on runs right through South Central LA. Not the safest territory for anyone; even a spunky white chick who assumes that her luck and can-do attitude will carry her through the experience.

So he gets into my car and I try to make polite conversation to soothe his nerves. Heck, his car just blew up, right? This seemed to make him even more anxious, so I shut up and we drove in silence until we arrived at his destination. He didn't even wait for my car to fully stop before he throws open the passenger side door and jumps out. I was startled, but no big deal. As he walked away, he did turn around to thank me. And that concludes the whole interaction.

Now, I've been told before that I should NEVER do something like that in SoCal. So that's the context in my head as I'm helping this guy. And I'm wondering if he's thinking in the same context - like, "What is she doing?! Doesn't she know that I'm a big black guy that could bust a cap in her ass??"

However, he could've been nervous and/or upset for so many reasons:
1. His car blew up.
2. Doesn't look like he has a lot of money (based on the car, his attire, etc.), so he might be worried about his job? Perhaps because he can't afford to repair his car or purchase a replacement??
3. Or maybe he just had a really horrible morning and the car was the proverbial "icing on the cake".
4. Etc., etc., etc.

Whatever the case was, I'll never know. My point is, I KNEW what the context in my head was, and part of me regarded him as a risk.

What would you have done?

So I'm a White Girl

THE PURPOSE OF THIS BLOG:
I'm not trying to piss anyone off. As this blog evolves, I'll address controversial topics that will hopefully spark some meaningful dialogue on racial issues in the US and elsewhere. Some posts will be funny to some; offensive to others. My primary intentions are to process my own experiences and to provoke conversation and contemplation with and in others. I welcome all comments, as long as they are germane and not obnoxious. In other words, comments like "Shut up, honky!!" will be deleted. Not because I'm really offended, but because it's just not helpful. It would make me laugh, though, if someone really posted that. Well, perhaps. ;)

And so we begin...

I'm a white lady, as I am frequently told. It's not that I didn't know it before (obviously), but it never figured into my thinking until I moved to Los Angeles almost 14 years ago. To be fair, where I moved from the demographic was quite different, with Caucasians representing approximately 90% of the population. But I never felt like I was part of that demographic for two reasons:

1 - I'm a military brat; lived in several different places and had different perspectives on things, and...

2 - I wasn't LDS/Mormon, but almost everyone else was!! And I tried to convert, believe me; would've made my life there a lot easier. All of my friends were LDS so it was the path of least resistance, if I could coerce myself into believing and conforming. But I went through the missionary lessons and just couldn't get myself to buy into it. Oh well...

Around 1996, I met my first real boyfriend at work. He'd come from California and was very different and exciting from the other guys I knew. Ultimately, I came to Los Angeles in 1996 with him; he didn't care for Utah and missed his home - Cali.

And it was here, in California, that I began to learn about my "whiteness" - the various ways it impacts others and my own tendencies and opportunities in general.