"Someone once said racism is like cancer. It's never totally wiped out, it's in remission," William Ferris, senior associate director of the Center for the Study of the American South at the University of North Carolina.
Growing up in a small Southern town, I became acquainted with racism in both its noxious overt form and its more deadly, more subtle forms. A journalism and history-heavy university education at a large, diverse institution helped me begin to understand racism's roots. Living for the first time as a racial minority in New Orleans East gave me a tiny bit of insight into the minority experience. Studying theology exposed racism's lies (as well as the lies told by that particular religious tradition in upholding institutionalized racism in the past). Struggling to build cross-cultural bridges in a proudly African-American Southern city taught me about the challenges we all still face when dealing with the past. Finally, living again as a racial minority in Africa (complete with a whole new set of historical racial baggage) and working almost exclusively across racial lines has shown me just how destructive racism is to everyone involved and how deeply ingrained those destructive patterns have become across entire societies.
But it has never been truly personal. Even when living as a minority, it has not been as the oppressed other, but as a member of the historical oppressor and the current base of (primary) economic power. That isn't to say that race, racism, and power structures are the basis of all of my relationships - thankfully our work based on the truth of Jesus and His radically inclusive life has brought us to the table as equals and sometimes less - but those issues remain.
Now it is personal. My son does not look like me. His skin is darker. And so some people will hate him. Some people will deny him opportunity. Some people will believe he is their subordinate, their inferior, their slave. Some people will call him names. Some people will try to hurt him. Some people will tell lies about him in order to categorize and marginalize him. To some people, my son is less than they are. Now it's personal.
I cried today when I read the article containing the quote that opens this post. The article is about the response of some people across America to Barack Obama's election as President. From New England to California and from Florida to Washington, there are hateful, hurtful, ignorant, destructive people whose views and actions I now take very personally. I'm angry and I'm sad and I'm confused... I read this:
Grant Griffin, a 46-year-old white Georgia native, expressed similar sentiments: "I believe our nation is ruined and has been for several decades and the election of Obama is merely the culmination of the change.
"If you had real change it would involve all the members of (Obama's) church being deported," he said.
and this:
Four North Carolina State University students admitted writing anti-Obama comments in a tunnel designated for free speech expression, including one that said: "Let's shoot that (N-word) in the head."
and this:
At Standish, Maine, a sign inside the Oak Hill General Store read: "Osama Obama Shotgun Pool." Customers could sign up to bet $1 on a date when Obama would be killed. "Stabbing, shooting, roadside bombs, they all count," the sign said. At the bottom of the marker board was written "Let's hope someone wins."
and this:
(In) the Los Angeles area... swastikas, racial slurs and "Go Back To Africa" were spray painted on sidewalks, houses and cars.
For all of the (rightful) celebration that a new era has come in America, we are reminded that yesterday is still with us. And now I understand something much more profound than sociological explanations or theological underpinnings... I understand how it feels to read the article and hear those words directed at me and my family. And it hurts like hell.
