I'll go first.
The first time I realized I was racist was in the summer of 1998. Ironically, my best friend at the time was Marshall Gaskin, a big, black, beautiful man: a gentle giant and an incredible artist. We lived in adjacent buildings in an artist’s co-op just outside of Toronto. I’m grateful for having known him, for he was a major influence in my life. Sadly, he is no longer with us.
One day at the co-op, I was going through the underground parking lot and came across a young black man leaning on a car door towards a young white woman seated on the other side of the open window. Without hesitation, I pointedly looked at the woman and asked,” Are you alright”? She nodded, and I walked away.
My stomach turns at the memory of it. Who the fuck was I to presume that this woman was in trouble. The same feeling I had the next day, upon realizing what I had implied to a complete stranger.
More and more, I became acutely aware of my racism. Like the time I was in an elevator with three black men much larger than me. I noticed that I felt uncomfortable, and my heart started to pound. Faster. Faster. I thought, “What the fuck. This is racism! If these were three white guys, I would be cracking jokes.” After leaving the elevator I was grateful that I could see through the bullshit. I’ve extracted and examined most of my racist moments, and although I think I will always be racist to some minor degree, I acknowledge that any is too much.
I write this because I recently recounted a story that my mother told me to a group of friends. It was a story that my uncle would often repeat about a souvenir tin plate from Niagara Falls. I realize now that this wasn’t a story about something my uncle purchased. It was a racial slur wrapped in a story that he could tell over and over again. I never liked that he enjoyed making fun of minorities, and yet here I was … participating.
I write this because I am sorry.
I write this because I’m ashamed.
I write this for Marshall.
I miss you buddy.
I grew up in a tiny rural mountain town in North Carolina. There was maybe two black families in that entire county at the time and one that went to my highschool. One could say that I was sheltered from the rest of the world entirely.
Back then we didn't go out of our way to be racist, we just were. It's how we grew up and it's what people knew. To us our attitude wasn't racist, it was normal.
Fast forward the clock to when I was about 17, me and my mother moved to Greensboro, NC where I would speculate that white people are still a minority. I got a job at a nearby McDonald's, (Holden/Highpoint Rd, if you were curious....) where me and another girl were the only white people who worked there.
Now, by that time, I had already started to realize that my thought patterns and assumptions were just blatantly incorrect. One night, I was working night shift with the white girl and during a smoke break, I explained my confusion, explained where I grew up and asked for advice on what I should do and how I should approach other people. We talked for a while over a few cigarettes, but the core of the story was that people are just people, no matter how they look.
I am not embarrassed about my past and I am proud of mind-shift and personal growth I was willing to take at the time, especially being only 17. People can develop and change, especially if they are poisoned by ignorance and are willing to see another perspective.
Today, people can still have wildly bizarre opinions and sometimes, they are unaware that those opinions can cause behaviors that are hateful and even dangerous in some cases. In some cases, all it takes is a slight push to tumble down a nasty tower of stereotypes and logical fallacies.
So, I acknowledge that my past behavior was wrong, I took the appropriate steps to correct my behavior and I am a better person because of it. If needed, I would have been willing to make true and honest amends whenever possible.
Wallowing in any sin of my past doesn't do anyone any good.
Congrats on being willing and able to reflect on yourself, learn, grow, and change. Too many people refuse to do those things. Some of the most admirable people I know have made major mistakes in the past, and worked hard to overcome them. I think they’re better people for it.