On the topic of race....
Oct. 2nd, 2012 01:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
poltr1I've been thinking about writing this blog post for months. What are my views on the issue of race and racism? Where do they come from? How do these views affect and influence my behavior?
I'll start here: I'm not part of the black subculture, so I therefore don't understand it. I grew up in an upper-middle-class suburb of Buffalo, NY. I had a few families on my block that were of color -- the Evans family, at 2728, and the Jones family, at 2646. The Evans' oldest son, Karl, was one year younger then me, and we were close friends until high school. We just drifted apart as we developed different interests. I don't know where he is now, and I'd love to get back in contact with him.
Many African-Americans lived on the east side of Buffalo. The local TV news would often report on shootings and murders there. When I was 6 or 7, I saw a child psychologist who had her office at one end of Central Park Plaza, which (if I remember correctly) was on the edge of the East Side. As we drove into the city of Buffalo, my Dad would tell me to lock the car doors. The message I got about the East Side was "Don't go there!"
I also had several Jewish friends and neighbors in my neighborhood. We went to elementary school together, and we celebrated our holidays side-by-side. There were a couple of boys from India in my high school -- Sandeep and Kishore. I suepect their parents were students at UB (SUNY/Buffalo) at the time. I regret not reaching out to them to get to know them better. But overall, many of the people I associated with in Buffalo were of European ancestry -- mainly Irish, German, Italian, Greek, and Polish. But not all of them.
In my parents' generation, the various ethnic groups had their own sections of town -- the Italians lived on the West Side, the Polish lived in Black Rock. And rarely did they mingle. Back then, Catholics and Protestants couldn't marry. And people from that generation referred to people of color as "the coloreds" or "the Negroes". It was an us-and-them world back them; each ethnic group was their own tribe, and the lines that divided them were well-defined and enforced.
On to college. I initially pursued a major in engineering, and after 2 years, switched to computer science. I stayed in the science/technology/engineering/mathematics (STEM) curriculum. Many of my fellow students came over from southeast Asian countries and India. And I noticed there were very few students of color in my classes. But I didn't ask why that was the case.
I joined a college fraternity that had cultural and religious diversity in its local chapter membership. I had fraternity brothers from Haiti (Riffin/Nick), Ecuador (Juan), South Korea (Woo Hyun/Teddy). I was also our fraternity's representative to the Inter-Greek Council. And I noticed that the reps from the black fraternities and sororities rarely showed up or particiapted in our events, outside of elections. I got the message that they want no part of our world.
And through a local Doctor Who fan club, I met Buxees, also known as Louis. He was a Sikh, and the oldest of 7 brothers and sisters. While we didn't go to college together, we hung out when he was in town. He was the best man at my first wedding, and I participated in his wedding. We remain close friends to this day.
After graduating from college, I found a job as a defense contractor in Dayton, Ohio, and settled in the upper-middle-class suburbs that were similar to where I grew up. The people of color settled in the western section of Dayton, on the other side of the Great Miami River. And I rarely ventured there. The local news reported of the shootings and murders that took place there. This mirrored and reinforced the experience I had in Buffalo, and reinforced the stereotypes I had developed: African-American men associate with gangs, listen to gangsta rap and hip-hop, and are short-tempered and violent. And African-American women are bossy and domineering. And the ones that don't fit these stereotype are evangelical Christians, ready and eager to hard-sell their faith to me.
I spent two three-month periods in Indianapolis, working for a large pharmaceutical manufacturer. And on my way to and from work was a Nation of Islam mosque. "Brother Nuri Speaks", proclaimed their sign outside their mosque on East 38th St., near the Indiana Sate Fairgrounds. On sone occasions, I noticed some young men of color, with white shirts and ties, giving newsletters out to drivers who were stopped at the traffic light near the mosque. But they would only pass out the newsletters to black drivers; I and the other white drivers were ignored. While I don't personally know any of its members, I doubt that I'd be welcomed with open arms. To them, this is their cultural identity, and they don't want it polluted or corrupted. But then, I doubt that they would see me as "the enemy" and threaten to kill me.
So I now have this idea that I was to reach out to the African-American community, and get involved, I'd be told, "This isn't your neighborhood, and it isn't your problem. Butt out, whitey." But is that a reality, or just my projection onto it?
There is a group in town, the Dayton Dialogue on Race Relations, which has been working to bridge the gap between our cultures and our worlds. A few people I know are involved with it.
And I'm reminded of the time I worked as an independent poll observer in the 2002 election. I was stationed in the Walnut Hills neighborhood of Cincinnati. I helped some of the people with voting -- not with who to vote for, but with the mechanics of the voting system. (I think we still used the Votomatic punched-card system back then.) One was illiterate and couldn't read the ballot, so I read it to her and explained where she needed to punch the card with the stylus. I still remember an older, African-American gentleman, calling me "brother". I took that as a very high compliment.
So maybe it is time I face my my fears, put myself out there, and start participating in the dialogue.
I'll start here: I'm not part of the black subculture, so I therefore don't understand it. I grew up in an upper-middle-class suburb of Buffalo, NY. I had a few families on my block that were of color -- the Evans family, at 2728, and the Jones family, at 2646. The Evans' oldest son, Karl, was one year younger then me, and we were close friends until high school. We just drifted apart as we developed different interests. I don't know where he is now, and I'd love to get back in contact with him.
Many African-Americans lived on the east side of Buffalo. The local TV news would often report on shootings and murders there. When I was 6 or 7, I saw a child psychologist who had her office at one end of Central Park Plaza, which (if I remember correctly) was on the edge of the East Side. As we drove into the city of Buffalo, my Dad would tell me to lock the car doors. The message I got about the East Side was "Don't go there!"
I also had several Jewish friends and neighbors in my neighborhood. We went to elementary school together, and we celebrated our holidays side-by-side. There were a couple of boys from India in my high school -- Sandeep and Kishore. I suepect their parents were students at UB (SUNY/Buffalo) at the time. I regret not reaching out to them to get to know them better. But overall, many of the people I associated with in Buffalo were of European ancestry -- mainly Irish, German, Italian, Greek, and Polish. But not all of them.
In my parents' generation, the various ethnic groups had their own sections of town -- the Italians lived on the West Side, the Polish lived in Black Rock. And rarely did they mingle. Back then, Catholics and Protestants couldn't marry. And people from that generation referred to people of color as "the coloreds" or "the Negroes". It was an us-and-them world back them; each ethnic group was their own tribe, and the lines that divided them were well-defined and enforced.
On to college. I initially pursued a major in engineering, and after 2 years, switched to computer science. I stayed in the science/technology/engineering/mathematics (STEM) curriculum. Many of my fellow students came over from southeast Asian countries and India. And I noticed there were very few students of color in my classes. But I didn't ask why that was the case.
I joined a college fraternity that had cultural and religious diversity in its local chapter membership. I had fraternity brothers from Haiti (Riffin/Nick), Ecuador (Juan), South Korea (Woo Hyun/Teddy). I was also our fraternity's representative to the Inter-Greek Council. And I noticed that the reps from the black fraternities and sororities rarely showed up or particiapted in our events, outside of elections. I got the message that they want no part of our world.
And through a local Doctor Who fan club, I met Buxees, also known as Louis. He was a Sikh, and the oldest of 7 brothers and sisters. While we didn't go to college together, we hung out when he was in town. He was the best man at my first wedding, and I participated in his wedding. We remain close friends to this day.
After graduating from college, I found a job as a defense contractor in Dayton, Ohio, and settled in the upper-middle-class suburbs that were similar to where I grew up. The people of color settled in the western section of Dayton, on the other side of the Great Miami River. And I rarely ventured there. The local news reported of the shootings and murders that took place there. This mirrored and reinforced the experience I had in Buffalo, and reinforced the stereotypes I had developed: African-American men associate with gangs, listen to gangsta rap and hip-hop, and are short-tempered and violent. And African-American women are bossy and domineering. And the ones that don't fit these stereotype are evangelical Christians, ready and eager to hard-sell their faith to me.
I spent two three-month periods in Indianapolis, working for a large pharmaceutical manufacturer. And on my way to and from work was a Nation of Islam mosque. "Brother Nuri Speaks", proclaimed their sign outside their mosque on East 38th St., near the Indiana Sate Fairgrounds. On sone occasions, I noticed some young men of color, with white shirts and ties, giving newsletters out to drivers who were stopped at the traffic light near the mosque. But they would only pass out the newsletters to black drivers; I and the other white drivers were ignored. While I don't personally know any of its members, I doubt that I'd be welcomed with open arms. To them, this is their cultural identity, and they don't want it polluted or corrupted. But then, I doubt that they would see me as "the enemy" and threaten to kill me.
So I now have this idea that I was to reach out to the African-American community, and get involved, I'd be told, "This isn't your neighborhood, and it isn't your problem. Butt out, whitey." But is that a reality, or just my projection onto it?
There is a group in town, the Dayton Dialogue on Race Relations, which has been working to bridge the gap between our cultures and our worlds. A few people I know are involved with it.
And I'm reminded of the time I worked as an independent poll observer in the 2002 election. I was stationed in the Walnut Hills neighborhood of Cincinnati. I helped some of the people with voting -- not with who to vote for, but with the mechanics of the voting system. (I think we still used the Votomatic punched-card system back then.) One was illiterate and couldn't read the ballot, so I read it to her and explained where she needed to punch the card with the stylus. I still remember an older, African-American gentleman, calling me "brother". I took that as a very high compliment.
So maybe it is time I face my my fears, put myself out there, and start participating in the dialogue.
