Let’s gently ease into this by talking about something gentle and light, not too controversial: Black/White race relations in the glorious U.S.!!
I have learned about race relationships in this country of ours up close and personal. Mostly in exotic locations that just naturally mix blacks and whites. Unfortunately I’m not referring to Trinidad and Tobago, the Virgin Islands or Bermuda; I’m referring to the U.S Army - and jail.
I do not accept the term reverse racism. The definition of that phrase just means when a white person – just white, mind you, runs into a discrimination situation where they are the victim. They have had a crime committed against them just, and only, because they are white, Caucasian if you will. This has been blessed with the moniker of “REVERSE RACISM”.
That says to me that the litmus test for black/white racism is your skin color. If you are white you are the definition, the antithesis, the origin, the creator, the perpetuator of the baseline boiler plate of white/black racism. YOU, you pasty faced fuck, are a racist automatically if the color of your skin looks like Larry Bird with a suntan (Larry Bird is so white he is almost transparent…).
What all that means is “Reverse Racism” makes me feel like I was born a racist because I am a white skinned person. That has always made me feel sad and left me confused. Confused because for me, I can honestly say that I certainly have never hated (hate may be too strong a word here) anyone just because they were black without any further knowledge of that person at all.
When I first started active duty for the U.S. Army in Dexheim, West Germany I must say that I felt the scorn and mistrust towards me as the new and only “white boy” in the supply office. Fresh from Basic Training and having no rank I didn’t have much choice but to suck it up.
And fuck with me they did. It took almost two full years before these guys would “accept” me as being “alright”. I was even given the distinct honor of being introduced, by one of my black co-workers to another black soldier, as “He’s Cool”. They taught me the handshake and everything.
Wow.
However, it took two years to get to the point where these guys would trust me, treat me with a modicum of respect. Just because I’m white? Well, WHY???? I had never even been in a situation where I could have been a mean old racist walking penis. And believe me I had a pretty hard time staying objective to the situation. I was dogged at work (for years), had things blatantly stolen from me, even had been beaten.
One time while waiting at a Bahnhof (German train station) a group of intoxicated black soldiers (off duty, street clothes) simply walked up to me and started hurling racial insults at me. Simply because I was white. Then one of these gentlemen walked right up to me and sucker punched me, just as hard as he could, right square in the face. You would have thought he had just told the funniest joke ever by the reaction of his friends. Jeering, scornful, snorting laughter filled my ears and rattled my head. I was both trying to stay conscious and pray to God that they wouldn’t kill me at the same time.
This incident happened at a train station in Mainz, West Germany, on a peaceful, clear, beautiful night after a fantastic local wine festival.
These German wine-fests were always the highlight of the summer. They are wonderful, happy celebrations of the new and old when it comes to wine and all things German. They transform the village into stretches of wine booths, fresh food, music, art and dancing for all ages.
The problem is that my experience at a wine-fest or anywhere else in Germany at the time was much different than a black U.S. Army soldier. At the time, and I’m just qualifying this because I have not been back to Germany since the re-unification, but at that time blacks were still not allowed to go into certain night-spots when their white friends were ushered right through the front door. This was in 1983 to 1986. I guess (guess?) twenty-seven years is actually a very insignificant amount of time when it comes to racial prejudice.
For maybe the first time in my life I really concentrated on what it would feel like if this were to happen to me. Put yourself in the other guy’s shoes for a minute.
I have tasted a slight wisp of discrimination while getting a prescription filled (read my post Oxy-Morons). I have long hair, was in a good mood because I was with a good friend of mine and I guess the pharmacist decided that this happy hippy didn’t need these painkillers as he just didn’t look the part. This whole ordeal is in another column so by all means do some reading (it’s posted!).
When I allowed myself to really try to feel that level of resentment I realized that if it was me on the other end of this gigantic fuck-stick I would make it my life’s work to kill as many white motherfuckers as I could. The rage that I felt was alarming, and of course we’re talking about simple concentrated thinking, I didn’t go undercover or disguise myself in any way for this experience. I didn’t need to.
I can’t and never will be able to understand what a Black man in this country still has to put up with. He will experience discrimination just by seeing whites go out of their way to make him feel “welcome”. Not to mention stupid shit like “Hey you’re one of the good ones!” or bringing up "I have a lot of black friends!” for no apparent reason other than you are speaking to the "Scary Black Man”. I have heard these actual words way too recently for comfort and it doesn’t embarrass me anymore. It makes me fucking mad as hell.
I think I’ll go beat up a honky – at least I’ll have a chance with a white guy…
Selah.
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