A second hard look in the mirror

While I was reading this article over on Skepchick and the ones that it linked to, and the ones linked to in the comments, and the ones that they linked to, I had a lot more thoughts than I shared in my last post. I chose not to write it all out as one ginormous article- for your sakes and mine- and wasn’t sure if I was going to add my other thoughts.

But it looks like I will.

As I was reading about racism, sexism and privilege, I reflected on some of the privilege I have, but hadn’t realized was privilege, as well as on my own sexism (a later article, perhaps), and some of the ways in which I am a racist.

It’s not something I like about me, but I am a racist. Sure, I was able to avoid the obvious “all these do this” sort of bigotry, or feel a great dislike to members of any particular race. Instead, I have simply been oblivious and ignorant that anyone is different than I.

When I was in seminary, a classmate commented on how she’d heard one of the pastors back in my hometown was black. This surprised me, mildly, and I had to think about it. It actually took me a minute to remember that one of the pastor’s who I had worked with on different youth events and had car pooled with me to a distant event, was black. Worse, it wasn’t his skin colour that finally reminded me of it; it was remembering stories he’d told me of growing up in “nigger alley” (his words, not mine).

A minute later, I said, “Wait, isn’t Esteban* black, too? He isn’t white, anyway. Blast, I’m not sure. But I think he said he’s from the same country as Julia* and, wait, right, she’s black, too. I think. Isn’t she?”

I couldn’t remember. You see, I’m the guy who, when asked to describe a friend, will likely be wrong. I’ll get the height, body shape, hair colour, hair length, and fashion tastes completely wrong, and if their skin isn’t pale white, I’d have no clue as to race. Heck, Julia actually has dark enough skin to be considered black, not dark brown, but it hadn’t clicked into my memory with any degree of certainty.

I’d be a horrible witness to a crime. And I used to be proud of that. I saw people as people, and treated them as people.

But I didn’t. Not really. I treated them as me. I treated everyone as if they shared my cultural background, my tastes, my modes of expression, my standards of behaviour and expectations of what is and is not courteous, my body language and sense of personal space, my taboos, traditions and all the rest. It’s like being proud that, no matter what your race, culture or religion, I (as your employer) will give you Christmas and Easter as holidays to spend with your family. I’m sure that people with high holy days that occur during different parts of the year are just ecstatic about that.

And, I have no real idea on how to fix this. How do I ask people, “Are you a different race than I?” or “Do you celebrate different holidays?” without becoming actively, instead of passively racist?

What the bleeping bleep do I do now?

*not their real names.