Encounter with the Mall Clerk

Went to the post office in the Mall.  The Clerk does not acknowledge me. She slouches over to the counter and barely asks what I want.  Her mannerisms display a clear lack or concern, as if she is bored and can't be bothered.  I ask if I should make the package smaller to lower the price and she sneers an answer.  Al-righty!  It doesn't matter what she said; it was how she said it.

I hold out $20.05 for the $9.05 bill. She cannot even look at my hand to notice that I am holding a nickle with the twenty. I tell her twice I have a nickle. She doesn't respond but finally throws the change she has started to count back into the till and takes the nickle from me.

OK, this lady needs some lessons in etiquette and...or... she must be having a bad day.

As I turn to leave, I hear this Clerk say to the Customer behind me, "Hiiii! How may I help you?" and I hear all manner of perkiness from said Clerk.

I wait for the Customer to come out. She is a lovely grandmother type. I approach her cautiously and say "Excuse me, I just want to check if I'm crazy. Do you think that lady was rude to me?" She agreed with me wholeheartedly that she was very rude to me, and even told me that she saw the clerk roll her eyes when she took the nickle from me.

I shopped a couple of minutes to think things through and pray.  First, approach the person who offended you.  As I approach the Clerk I can see she is already bristling. As I stand at the counter, she is brimming over with a double-shot of attitude. I say, "Do you remember me?" The disgust in her "yes" is palpable, as they say in bad novels. "I just wanted to know if I did or said something to offend you," to which she replied, "Oh I am just having a bad day."

"Well, that's what I thought, but then I saw how polite you were to the woman behind me and I just wanted to know if I offended you somehow." She repeatedly says that "everything's fine" and sorry if I was offended. Hmmm, call me cynical but I don't think she really meant it!  Not only was she [at least] rude, she was also a coward.

So, I spend a few minutes thinking some more, then I went to the Mall Office and shared the situation. It was obvious from the Mall Woman's expression that this was not the first complaint about said Clerk. She said she would take care of it, and she apologized to me.

*

So what do you think happened?

Need I tell you the Clerk was white?  

and that the grandmotherly Customer was also white?

*

I have so many friends that do not think East Asians are on the receiving end of prejudice or racism in all it's ugly glory.  How else could I interpret what happened?

Nation and Culture

On the one hand, the United State has a dominant WASP culture.  The powers that be are still, on the whole, white Protestant males.  And many, I can say, think of America as being a WASP nation, and consider anything else to be, at best, suspect.  Why else is there the persistent rumor that Obama is a Muslim?  As if being a Muslim were proof that he is un-American. It wasn't long ago when being from Ireland was un-American.  Éirinn go brách.

On the other hand, we recognize the variety of cultures that make up this nation.  Melting Pot and all that.  These cultures could be ethnic heritage, national origin, religious practice, religious heritage and even variances of regional norms:

We may have been here for over 100 years, like the ethnic Koreans of Hawaii, or over 200 years like ethnic Africans brought over into slavery.  Or even recent immigrants like my family.  There are those, that on the surface fit the stereotype of an American but are clearly from another country, like Ahnold.  When I walk down the streets of my little town, I can't go but a block without seeing a black American woman wearing a burqa.  Even those that may not practice their religion clearly harbor the cultural norms instilled in them - like those who dress up for church on 2 Sundays a year.  When I went to graduate school in St. Louis, I was shocked at the regional differences in manners and speech from my Pennsylvania ways.  And anyone who has crossed the Mason-Dixon line will immediately feel the difference. 

And we're all Americans, right?  Different cultures, one nation.

Maybe the Melting Pot is only nice in concept.  NIMB: Not In My Backyard.  It's all nice to have "interesting" folks around, but don't make me have to smell their funny cooking, or try to understand their accent, or translate documents for them.  Maybe the Melting Pot is only nice if it looks and smells like mashed potatoes.

Today I heard that former Senator Santorum said, in effect, that if Puerto Rico wants statehood, they have to speak English.  He said this in Puerto Rico.  To Puerto Ricans.

I'll let you take that in.

(whistling)

I hope he knows there's no such provision in federal law.

[Oops, I think I'm breaking my guideline for succinct posts.]

A nation of monolinguals may, of course, consider language to be merely a flamboyance, like a fancy scarf.  Leave it in the closet, unless you want to make others feel uncomfortable or show your disdain for them.  Language is not a feather boa.  It's a ladder.  To your soul.  The more languages you know, the more you can know.  It's like love - the more you love, the more you can love.

On the one hand, Americans seem to be proud of the Melting Pot.  On the other had, Americans seem to insist that things melt into White.  Mashed potatoes.  Or would that be English?  Is English the line in the sand?  Stand on this side of the line and you're American.  Stand over there, and you're un-American.  Unpatriotic.

Must we be a nation of Either/Or?
Because me?  I want to be a nation of Both/And.
Messy.
Rich.
Interesting.

One nation, many cultures.

Did You Notice That Big Cross?

I've been reading a few articles about this Health & Human Services mandate requiring the coverage of birth control and abortions, as a matter of a woman's health and well-being, they say, even if it is against the beliefs of the employers, the Catholics, let's say.  I know there are many aspects - too many to count - to this discussion, but it made me think back to something in my life from a few years ago.

When Boo was 2, I looked around for a preschool for him.  I write "for him," but really, it was for me.  Almost any mother will remember those days of toddlerhood when your child needed every nano second of your attention, every ounce of your strength and squeezed every drop of your patience.  So I did my usual careful research, and with pen and chart in hand, I trudged from place to place.

I first went to the YWCA, wanting diversity most of all for him.  (Of course, safety was the most important.)  I made an appointment, full of hope for a better, more peaceful world.  It was located in a part of town with a large black and Hispanic population, many of them poor, in this part of town.  I saw the manifestations of their mission, to help parents who lacked good parenting skills - that is, children who "needed guidance," shall we say.  I decided against that culture for my son.  It broke my little liberal heart, but when push came to shove, my child came first.

I then went to the Jewish synagogue, looking for diversity of a different kind.  I expected and looked forward to little Boo learning about shabat and bitter herbs and the oil that lasted and lasted.  I knew he would not be learning about Easter.  In the end, I think it was some mundane issue like their schedule that lead me to move down my roster.

I went to a protestant church school that had a good reputation, supposedly the place to go for upper-crust townians.  It saddened me somewhat to consider the notion of his being surrounded by what I assumed would be white middle-class teachers and white middle-class kids.  There would be the blond moms in their mini-vans and Land Rovers, little kids wearing Gymboree with matching ribbons.  It was a nice building with plenty of parking, an adjacent fenced-in play ground, good adult-child ratios.  Well, I thought, what he misses in diversity, he'll gain in Christian education.

I asked the petite Caucasian director about the curriculum.  Don't get me wrong, we're talking about 2-year olds and I was not expecting a treatise on the End Times.  What she said, though, shocked me. 

"We don't teach religion here because we have families from all over and we don't want to offend them."  

Let me clarify that this is a program run by the church, not simply a nursery school that rents space.

When I went to the Synagogue, did I not think that there might be some Jewish traditions and beliefs presented?  Did I not realize when I went to the Y in that part of town, that the children would represent the neighborhood?  When I went to Penn, we had classes canceled for Jewish holidays but not on Good Friday. 

So I ask, did the people coming to this church school miss the big steeple with the cross on top?  Did they notice the big stain glass with the descending dove?  or the big sign that said the protestant denominational affiliation?  Should they be offended if the children do sheep and cross crafts and learn John 3:16?  So when ya go work for a Catholic institution, a hospital, let's say, didja miss the big statue of  a woman wearing flowing robes, or the bleeding man on a cross?  Have ya heard of the Catholic church? That they don't look kindly on birth control pills, abortion or divorce?

Alright.  Did you make that leap with me?  Were you holding my hand?  or did I let go somewhere in my writing?

Memphis, Tennessee

Ernest C. Withers
American (1922–2007)
I Am A Man, Sanitation Workers Strike, Memphis, Tennessee, March 28, 1968

The Racist Button

A classmate in grad school was recounting her semester in Seville, Spain, where she met up with a group of American guys.  They invited her to an island for the weekend and she went.  With these strangers.  I was a bit shocked and asked if she was in the least bit afraid, to which she batted her long lashes and replied in her wispy voice, "They were really nice and they were American!"

Lest anyone judge her as being shallow and foolish, I find there are many who associate superficial appearances with deep character traits.  "Character flaws" like being a rapist, or murderer.  We want our crazies to look like Ted Kaczynski, not Timothy McVeigh. We want our crazies to be unkempt, rambling incomprehensibly; not like the nice young man at the Sunoco down the street. 

Most of us have learned that looks can be deceiving, but it seems when faced with it in our lives, we forget.  Maybe we want to forget.  We want life to be simple and worked out for us.  If you are bad, you will look scary.  A scary "badge," as it were.  It's almost an urban lore to have the murderer/rapist/molester's neighbor say, "He was pretty quiet.  Seeemed like a nice guy."

I think we have a primal instinct to identify people that are like us, and therefore deemed safe, while we look at others dissimilar to us and automatically get our guard up.  I talked about this with respect to race before.  But we have evolved, haven't we? And being in an integrated culture, don't we have to think a little harder?  Maybe just even think, for a minute, instead of going to the automatic place?

Sin knows no racial, ethnic, class, gender, or national border.

When the Nazis were rounding up Jews, the neighbors watched.  "Neutral" countries turned their heads.  We'd like to think those German neighbors were hate-spewing, racists sneering at what was going on.  Some were, to be sure.  But I'm betting they were neighbors and merchants and just like you and me and your aunt and your neighbor.  The one that is so nice.

Because you know, no racist thinks they're racist.  They consider it Truth.  Guised in Right and Wrong.  Some dare to base it on the Bible.  The Europeans who ruled Africa did not see themselves as racist.  They just knew that the black natives were lazy, not to be trusted and violent with no rule of law.  It was a Truth.  And to rule over them and force European Law on them, to make them work the land to benefit Britannia was a matter of Right and Wrong.

Do you find people that are a little too quick to believe a story about an angry black mob attacking an innocent white man?  Shake head, "Those blacks...."  They're a little too quick to believe the myth of the "urban single mom," who sucks our taxes by popping out babies for welfare money.  [I grew up in central Pennsylvania and I saw a lot of women with food stamps at the grocery store and none of them were black.]  Do you know someone a little too vehement about illegal immigration?  Now don't be accusing me of approving the breaking of the law. I'm talking about the heart, here.  Have you heard a contempt in their voice for the illegal immigrants themselves, instead of the laws and processes?

Racists(and murders and rapists) don't all live in southern Georgia.  They don't wear uniforms, although there are some that wear those sheets.  Or Nazi paraphernalia.  They don't wear a button.  They wear Dockers and polos and live down the street.  They play with their kids, attend a house of worship.  And seem like a nice person.

...behold! a great multitude that no one could number, **from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages,** standing before the throne and before the Lamb...                                                               - Revelations 7:9

Crossing the Line

Germans are known for their sense of orderliness.
Hispanics for their passion.
American for their "frontier" spirit.

In my last post, I shared that my mother advised me against marrying a Japanese man.  She actually preferred I marry an "American," meaning White, of course, over a Korean man.  This is pretty amazing for back in the day.  She believed that Americans had a more egalitarian view of women than their East Asian counterparts.

Clearly not every white American man treats their wives well.  But there is some cultural understanding and acceptance in America of what constitutes a good or bad husband. Roses on your anniversary, doing the dinner dishes, rubbing your wife's feet: Good.   Having a mistress, going out with an escort, being a couch potato: Bad.  We can name philandering politicians, and we ran to the side of Diana when we found out about Camilla.  There are other cultures whose determination of a Good Husband and Bad Husband differ from ours, right?

When you make an informed characterization of a people, considering their history, age, class, and/or ethnicity, you make generalities, right? whether you're a blogging mom or a Cultural Anthropologist.

When does a sociological characteristic of a peoples turn into prejudice?

Nobody wants to be considered liars, or adulterers, right?  But there are cultures that consider side-stepping to be the correct and appropriate behavior.  There are cultures that consider mistresses a part of male behavior, or even, a right. Is that calling a Spade a Spade, or Pot Calling the Kettle Black?

Everyone knows Asians are good at math, right?  Is that racist?  As a culture, East Asians are good at math.  There are tests of school children to prove it.  My own personal experience indicates that East Asians are much more math literate than their American peers, and this has been confirmed in a book pointing to this alarming condition called Innumeracy: Mathematical Illiteracy & It's Consequences.

So that can't be prejudice, can it?  What's bad about being considered smart?

When does a sociological characteristic of a culture turn into prejudice?

I thinking you cross the line when you take one tendency, good or bad, and apply it to every person of that group.  Conversely, when your observation of one person (or two or three or ten,) in a certain time, a certain place, of a certain class and group and turn it into an observation about the whole ethnic group.

I'm thinking it's when you white-wash an entire group, when you can no longer see, or are no longer willing to see the individual, to consider the person in front of you.  Whether being smart or lazy, precise or dull, that individual is dehumanized, cast in plaster, and made into something of your own imagining.

See More

I listen to a great show on NPR called Tell Me More.  The show has a clear multi-cultural bent.  The host asked a question awhile back, ”Will racism ever end?”  I’ve been thinking about that ever since.

I started by wondering why we have prejudices in the first place?  Are all prejudices bad?  Prejudice, I think, is a basic skill which allows us to distinguish one from another.  It’s like in the Kindergarten song that asks, “Which of these things don’t belong together?”  So when it’s a drawing of 3 oranges and 1 apple, it’s an easy task.  If the drawing showed 3 white kids and 1 black, well, that’s rife with all sorts of implications.  My son has a difficulty distinguishing a friendly smile from a sarcastic grin or pained grimace.  It is a survival skill he is learning, one painful encounter at a time.

In the most basic, instinctual sense, a baby needs to know who her “safe people” are.  She learns who her mom, dad, grandma and neighbor are.  As adults, we learn to assess a friendly situation from a potentially dangerous one.  Seeing people similar to us puts us at ease.  Most women will feel more comfortable walking into a room full of women, than a room full of men.   When I drive through a certain part of town and see people  hanging out on the street corners, cigarettes hanging from their mouths, donning ghetto gear, I feel uncomfortable.  I’ve thought this through and it’s not the color of their skin so much (they are equally black and white) as all the other symbols of their condition, that puts me on edge.  “What will they think of me?” is as vital a question as “What do I think of them?”  We make ourselves the “norm,” from which all judgments are made.  “I am safe,” and “I am normal,” are adages which we must live by. 

I have 3 older brothers, each a year apart in school.  Growing up in an area 99.6% white, they were constantly mistaken for each other, so much so that they stopped correcting people.  And really, they did not look alike.  Ask any Asian.  They are similar in height, with brown eyes and black hair, but then, so are several billion east Asians on this globe, right?  My one brother is fair-skinned, with fine-features set on a broad, square face atop broad shoulders.  My other brother is very olive, with thick black brows, coarse hair, a triangular face and much slimmer build.  Yet another brother is fair skinned but has a rectangular face and wore glasses.

Cut to scene 20 or so years later.  I am having a conversation with a white friend and we are talking about who his children look like.  He analyzed the exact tone of his children’s auburn hair and lighter brown eyes and the similarities to the Smith side of the family, as opposed to the blonder shade of hair and deep brown eyes of the Jones side.  He went on for several more minutes comparing the exact tilt of the nose and freckle structure.  These two examples, though occurring years and miles apart, made me realize something important:

We are more aware of our “own kind,” because we consider the basics "normal," and can easily get past these superficial qualities and see deeper.  

Despite having spent most of my years in the US, it is still harder for me to distinguish the subtleties of Caucasian features.  It is harder for me to see past the blond hair of the 4 tow-heads in my son’s class and constantly get them mixed up with each other.  Likewise, I think one race can’t see past the most basic features of another race, past the unfamiliar, past the "otherness" unless we really spend time and effort to see past the basics, dig deeper and really try to see.

Being able to recognize our own, to judge a comfortable situation from a threatening one, are lifesaving skills for us as human beings. It’s no wonder then, that one white male executive will be more likely to hire another young white male, from his own fraternity.  I get that.  But as human beings, we have the ability to get past our instincts and consciously choose to make wise choices that take us past merely our own comfort zone.

Will racism ever end?  In this life, on this earth, as long as our ability to segregate and differentiate is essential and instinctual?  I don’t think so.  But while we are here, can we at least try to see past the surface?  Can we set ourselves aside as being the “norm,” or the “normal,” as the basis by which all things are measured?  Can we look at the other person, part the curtains, and see more?

Human Bein'

All those moppets have equal value: whether bein' white, beige, tan, brown, athletic, handicapped, mute, blind, deaf, happy, sad, made in China or Macao.  I need know only this, that they are all made in the image of their Maker.

Once they start walkin' and talkin' - it's a different matter.  Born that way or made that way, they're walkin' and talkin' now.

I have the right and the responsibility to judge whether the walkin' and talkin' is acceptable, or not.  Acceptable.  (Loaded!)  We all do it.  Judge: Decide.  I see other moppets doin and talkin things I find unAcceptable.   They - obviously - think it is Acceptable.  I have the right and responsibility to differ.  But some of them moppets are startin to insist that I accept what they walkn and talkin.  Not very liberal of them.

According to them moppets, me a bigot bein'.

Victimless Crimes

I live in a small town. You won't see a hooker hanging out on the street corner. At least not openly. Some think prostitution should be legal - a fair trade going on for millenia between two consenting adults. Perhaps even an example of Capitalism at work. A "working girl."

Recently, a brothel in a nearby town was raided and was found to be part of an international sex slave ring. It was supplied by a Korean mob, owned by a Korean woman, managed by a Korean woman. The workers, of course, were Korean women from impoverished Korean towns, with little education and less hope. The neighboring woman-owned salon business knew all about it but didn't seem to have reported it. Nice. Love thy neighbor and all.

A federal agent said he wanted to know why the men went to these places. One comment struck him in particular:

He said he sees the women in the massage parlor as less than human because they do not look like his wife, or his sister, or his mother.

As if it weren't horrible enough what these people have done to their own kind. Then to hear a man talk about these women - moms, daughters, sisters - as if they were just an animal. Or a warm vending machine.

A victimless crime. Huh.

Black and White and Read All Over

.
You know the old riddle, don't you? I think it's for 3rd graders plus or minus.

What's black and white and read all over?
A nun falling down the stairs.
A zebra with diaper rash.
A newspaper.

A few days ago, I was waiting to get my feet x-rayed.

X-ray. Doesn't that sound really retro? Like x-ray glasses. X-ray gun! At one time the epitome of high tech. Now when you look at those clunky metal film cartridges and the cross beam, it all seems so Dr. Who-ish.

I was contemplating what socially redeeming book to take with me but remembered there would be tattered, Pig Flued copies of People and Sports Illustrated in the waiting area. It's amazing how immersed I can get in the gossip about celebrities.

And there are fewer and fewer that are familiar to me. Because most of them are young enough to be my kids. Hey you - Kleinblower and McAuldy - it'll happen to you too, so don't sit there all young and cute with a puzzled puppy look on your face.

So I get there and it's a choice between golf, housekeeping and - angel choir voices and bright lights - EBONY.

I have never picked up a copy of Ebony. In fact, I looked in the racks at my local grocery today and didn't find a copy of Ebony. Or Essence. Not even O. So why the angels and lights? Because I read it. And liked it. Then an interesting thing happend. I'm lost in the articles and and there's this little tinging in the back of my consciousness that everyone. Everyone. In this magazine is black. Except for the one white man contributor. And some women in a tampon ad. And I thought.

Everybody should read Ebony.

If you're not black, do you ever think to pick up Ebony? And yet, blacks are expected to read Glamour or Cosmo or Good Housekeeping like it's "normal."

Pick one up somewhere.

Get immersed. . . .

Get a glimpse of the world from another side.

I now realize how ture it is that God does not show favoritism but accepts people from every nation who fear Him and do what is right. - Acts 10: 34,35

After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands, and crying out with a loud voice, "Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!" - Revelations 7:9-10

Perception is Reality, Part Deux

Here's a slightly different take on Perception and Reality.

I was at a birthday party several years ago and was speaking with an acquaintance. Let's call her Ceci. She's very intelligent and very successful. Princeton undergrad, an Attorney, tall, good-looking and black. She was born and raised in New Jersey. I was raised in central Pennsylvania. Her take on Pennsylvania is that everyone past Philadelphia regularly walks around in white hoods, carrying a torch in one hand. At the time, I was merely bemused. Later on, as I thought back, I was mildly offended. I don't think I was deeply offended, but I was deeply affected. I continued to replay that interaction, testing it for perception vs reality.

Recently, I had the chance to do a little research into her perception. If you'd like your nice suburban butt kicked out of your comfort zone, go browse The Southern Poverty Law Center website. My analysis is going to be far from a thorough scientific report, but it will give you some idea of where reality lies. Lays. Lies. What's true and not.

Pennsylvania has 46,058 square miles and 37 known hate groups, which equals 1 hate group per 1,245 square miles. New Jersey, at 8,722 square miles, is about 1/5 the size of its neighbor. New Jersey has 40 known hate groups, which equals 1 hate group per 218 sq miles.

Pennsylvania has a population of about 12,500,000 people which is about 1 hate group per 337,840 people. New Jersey has a population of about 8,680,000 people. That's 1 hate group per 217,000 people.

I'm not picking on New Jersey. Some of my best friends are from New Jersey. They can be very nice. ;-) I just wanted to check Ceci's perception. And defend Pennsylvania. She, like most people, are comfortable at home, no matter what "home" actually is. It could, in fact, be dangerous, abusive, toxic. But not knowing what's out there, the unfamiliar, is UNcomfortable, even scary. What is that saying about the known evil? Help me out here. Think about the extreme situation where a child is abused in her own home. But it's home and normal to her. She grows up and what? Another abusive situation. Feels like home. How about you? What do you take for granted as being safe and even, good? but is merely familiar?

Why It Matters, Final Installment*

*3-1/2 months later

Emulation.

Look at an infant. As soon as they shed the most primal instincts, they respond to their moms. Look into her eyes, she looks back. Give a hug, she cuddles back. Smile, smiles back. Clap your hands, she'll try the same. She models herself around her world. Do some ironing and cooking, and boys and girls will play house.

Soon, boys start identifying with their dad; girls, their mom. It's a natural process for brain and character development. Although it may be hard to imagine now, it was hard for a girl to look at all the men doctors and say "I want to be a doctor." It's was easier to admire the pretty 2nd grade teacher and model herself after her. Or, if you couldn't relate to any of the female teachers, secretaries or sales clerks and you sulked in your room and wondered what was wrong with you.

Add to the gender cake a layer for race. (Even now, try searching "female doctor," and see what you get. Page after page of mostly white females.) Back in the day, not only were the doctors men, they were white men. White men astronauts. White men news anchors. Short, tall, bald, fat. White, white, white! (You must say that like Jan, when she says "Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!")

If you are a white girl, you may understand that a black girl wouldn't feel comfortable going to the Clinique counter because of coloration, but it may be harder for you to believe an East Asian girl wouldn't, either. You may not think we're so different because we're usually lighter, like you. My friend understood this once she traveled abroad. But our eyes, facial structure and coloring are different. Put shadow on the crease? Highlight the brow bone? Dot the ball of your cheeks? Look up to put on mascara - on our straight lashes? Smudge the eyeliner - so that it smudges onto your cheek?? Things just don't make sense to us.

So who do we emulate? Do you understand the lack of connection, the potential frustration? If we want to encourage our children, in the words of a military ad "to be all that you can be," might we want to paint the possibilities in every color imaginable? And the more our children see various scenarios as "normal," might the walls of predispositions and prejudices break down? Might I possibly hope that the world would understand each other better?

As a Christian, I know grace does not abound without Christ. But there is common grace - the grace with which God blesses the World. Might we scatter and plant the seeds of possibilities, understanding, hope, tolerance and wisdom into the fertile field of Grace?

Might I Hope?

Heard On The Radio

I had the radio on this afternoon as I was driving home from Worship. It was one of those low-keyed stories retold by this guy with that NPR-montone voice. He was confessing his vacation disasters. Disasters that he admits are his fault. At one point, he said something like this:

This whole racism thing, I just don't get it. Me? Well, I really don't like people. There are so many things to dislike, and you're going to pick color??

Well, I got a chuckle, anyway.

Application, II

There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female,
for you are all one in Christ Jesus.
- Galatians 3:28 (NIV)

Finally, all of you, live in harmony with one another; be sympathetic,
love as brothers, be compassionate and humble.
- 1 Peter 3:8 (NIV)

How do apply these commands in the trenches? Unless we strive to understand the depth and breadth of love and all its applications, we will not be able to live it out. Love is not just a good feeling, although He blessed us with the rush of chemicals in our brain. Love is a choice.

". . .we need to become racially literate, not post-racially blind."
- Lani Guinier, Professor, Harvard Law School

I have rarely read a piece about race that I agree with so whole-heartedly. Professor Guinier uses Professor Gates' arrest to encourage us to break out of the 1963 images of race and seek to become "racially literate." Originally an op-ed piece from The Chronicle of Higher Education, it was reprinted in the Harvard Law School website.

Race is Always a Factor . . .

You may have read or heard about the arrest of Harvard Professor Gates at his own Cambridge, MA home. Whatever your thoughts have been, read this from The Huffington Post:

Why This White Guy Was Not Arrested While Trying to Break Into a House Not His Own

By Warren Goldstein

Last October I flew to Sarasota, Fla., and arranged to stay at the home of a friend who was traveling at the time. She mailed me keys and an address.

I landed late and took a cab. When we pulled up in front of the house, which I'd never seen before, it was very dark, so I asked the cabbie to wait while I let myself in.

The keys didn't work in the front door. Or the back door. With rising anxiety -- it was 11 p.m., after all -- I called my friend, but she wasn't answering her cell phone. We tried the keys in both doors again; no luck.

Just before heading back to the airport, where I figured I could find a hotel, I tried my friend again. This time she picked up.

I explained my problem, describing the front door -- and she started laughing. "You're in the wrong place. You'd better get out of there before someone calls the cops." We were on the wrong street.

While the driver was consulting his GPS, sure enough, a cop appeared behind us. We stopped; the cop came over; the cabbie explained; he and the cop had a chuckle; the cop returned to his car; we drove on to the right place, and the keys fit. All was well.

I thought of this story when I read about the recent arrest of Henry Louis Gates after entering his own house.

The worst thing that happened to me was that I had to feel stupid and frustrated for 15 minutes. It never occurred to me that I wouldn't be able to talk my way out of any problem.

That's because my story involves four white people -- the cabbie, my friend, the cop, and me. I think now it's fair to say that there isn't a black man in America who could tell a story like mine.

Gates is probably the most famous black professor in the world, and was in his own home in one of the most liberal cities in the entire country. Of course he was furious. Still the white officer arrested him -- even after he knew it was Gates' home.

My hope is that lots of white folks will finally get what our African-American brothers and sisters have been trying to get through our thick skulls for about half a century now. It's different being black. No matter whether we think we are racists. And anyway, no person of color believes any white person who says, "I'm not a racist."

Every day, we white people benefit from being white, from white ancestry, and from acting as if we deserve the benefits of being white.

When we hunt for housing, real estate agents regard us more favorably. We don't get followed by store security. We get better deals from car salesmen, more generous treatment from juries, and -- despite myths of rampant affirmative action -- our kids rarely compete with equally qualified African-American kids because so many urban schools, where most black kids are educated, are flat-out disasters.

Racism thrives in many places -- in hospital emergency rooms, in bank loan departments, in country clubs and churches and synagogues and universities. And in police departments.

White cops treat black men as criminals all the time -- all the time. And the Police Benevolent Association (PBA) everywhere defends every white officer who gets caught out -- even on video.

In Cambridge, the city and police department dropped the charges, calling the incident "regrettable and unfortunate" -- not the PBA, which gave its "full and unqualified support" to the officer's actions.

The incident even provoked President Obama, who's stayed pretty far away from race issues since being elected, into saying that the police acted "stupidly." He's since backtracked and invited both Gates and the officer who arrested him, Sgt. James Crowley, to the White House for a beer. It's a great start on what needs to happen.

But it's only a start. We need to transform police training top to bottom on the subject of race. The fact that the Cambridge cop taught the class about racial profiling suggests there's a good bit more work to do on the subject. Then we can start on banks, credit card companies, churches, synagogues and universities.

Gates has always had flair -- for figuring out new ideas and new trends, and for generating publicity. I don't wish upon him the fear he must have felt in his doorway, treated like a criminal in his own home. But he may have given white Americans one of the best teaching moments about race that we've ever had. If only we pay attention to it.

This piece originally appeared on the website of Minnesota Public Radio.

Why It Matters, III

Part III of my little series:
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Let's take a little quiz. The winner will get a prize. I'll have to think of one.

Premise: It is 1971. You are a little girl growing up in the United States. Your heritage is East Asian. Which of these prominent East Asian female role model will you choose to emulate?
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A. Nancy Kwan, above left, playing a hussy. I'll give you a hint here. Watch this clip - if you know me at all, you'll know this is just the kind of role model I was looking for.


B. A Housekeeper - notthattheresanythingwrongwiththat. (Do you think Mr. Eddie's Father will propose to Mrs. Livingston like The Nanny? Oh. Was that still illegal back then?)
C. A Laundress, above right, pigtails required.












D. Woman at the Well (picture above left.) Scrubs stinky American GI's backs. Then lays on back.

E. Same as D above, picture above right. What? you ask? But, but that good, strong American GI will rescue her! But she is shunned. How do you know that? Was that in the episode? Well, no. You see, that grubby little boy is hers. But she's wearing long braids. Which means she's not married. Which means that's a bastard boy. Which means he's persona-non-grata. And she's shunned. Which means she'll have to earn a living laying on her back. See D, above.

or. . . . . . . . . . . the final choice:


6. Connie Chung, newscaster, journalist.

Then along comes Connie (Connie, Connie)
And does she want to set them free
and let them see reality . . .

dumdee dumdee dumda da . . . if I only had a brain...

The correct answer will be in the next post in this series.

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I <3 Anna May Wong

Why It Matters, II

Why It Matters, II. Or, Why It Matters, To Me.

I remember when all newscasters were men. All. I remember one of the earlier women newscasters was on TV. I was maybe, 12 - coincidentally the first year Connie Chung is on national TV. I was in a room of several and a man looked around the room and said, "I just can't trust anything a woman (newscaster) says." I remember I said, "What, you think she's lying?" That smart-ass comment to an elder was not appreciated by my parents. That moment set the stage for what my parents would come to expect from me: disrespectful smart-ass comments.

I don't know what spurred Jessica Savich, and I'm mystified at the strength and audacity of Oprah Winfrey and Connie Chung. I don't follow the paths of journalism's stars. I just know there was a time when there weren't any. Then a handful of super stars and weather-candies. Now there's this flood of women. East Asian women. I personally believe that Connie Chung, (as well as other female news casters) influenced the slew of them on the TV screen now.

When I was a teenager, who were my role models in the media? How about the sweet but befuddled housekeeper who used to say "Harro - Mistuh Eddie's Fadur?" or, I know! I know! how about Nancy Kwan on Flower Drum Song. A hussy! I know, it's not like I can only admire someone just like me. But it sure helps! I admired many people in my life: men, women, white, black and otherwise. But here was my reality:

Connie Chung was the only modern, strong East Asian woman
that I knew.

On TV. Or Mattel. Or Ford Modeling. Or in my school. Or Glamour. Or at the hospital. Or in my picture book. Or Saturday cartoons. If you, with your green/blue/hazel/tawny eyes and blonde/auburn/brown hair couldn't aspire to Barbie/Cybill/Nancy Drew, then certainly, I . . . I, I with blackhairalmondeyesshortlegsflatchest could never. Never. Never.

Never.

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Why It Matters, I

Why It Matters. Why it matters that the world we live in reflects us. All of us.

I like to keep my posts short. I think and think. I let issues percolate and simmer for days. Usually months. Often years. Just to keep it short. When I first think of an issue, it's a big combobulation of disparate thoughts thrown hither-thither and yon. Good over coffee, but not so good in a post. In a series of short posts, I'd like to share with you why I think it matters for children to have books, ads, shows and toys that show different colors and shapes of people living in different, but normal scenarios. From my point of view.

As a start, I'd like for you to read this revelation by my bloggy friend, She and her hubby will soon be a trans-racial parents to a cutie-patootie from Thailand, through the same agency by which we found our Boo. Rosemary is incredibly insightful and empathic. I know you will think so, too.

Tell me what you think of her realization.

Hope you had a restful Sabbath day.
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Them Good Ole Days

Each person has their own telescope into the past. Some past that was, within their range of vision, good and right. Whether said wistfully, enthusiastically, or with a vengeance, the comment is something like this: I want America the way it used to be. It's followed with, or implied that, "Life was so good when I was growing up. I want it to be that America again."

I've heard this kind of statement from people of different generations and I wonder what it really means. Because what life was like for Lush Rush is different than what life was like in the 80's. Which America are they talking about? or is it about just a piece of childhood? or youth?

A former boss, who is now retirement age, said something like that to me. He is a good man. Hard working. Intelligent. Talented. If I do the math right, he was in his prime in the early 60's, living way above the Mason-Dixon. I can imagine his life. I'm sure it was good, and I don't blame him for wanting not only youth, but peace, contentment and a feeling of security. Because I'm sure that life in his upper-middle-class, all-white upbringing was peaceful, content and secure.

But.

His vision at 18, 20, or 22, and his telescope back into that time doesn't include the little black girl fire-hosed by a white officer. A public servant. I'm sure he didn't know that whites (Europeans) were allowed to immigrate here, but me? my dad? Africans? were severely restricted. He probably didn't think about the fact that a working woman might have her paycheck paid to the order of her husband. If he had seen the rest of the scenery, what would he think? What would he think of the mother and young son thrown off the train in the middle of a field for riding in the wrong section?

This is my theory of why my former boss thinks the good ole days are the good ole days. This mythical, indefinable town and time. Because people stayed in their place. Whites stayed with whites. The Chinese stayed in Chinatown. The blacks weren't allowed to move up. The poor stayed poor and the wealthy could hire them. And he's not a mean person. He just didn't have to deal with it. Any of it.

Maybe the 70's were better. It was 1970 or so that Governor Wallace asked for, and President Nixon released Lt. William Calley even though he was responsible for killing over 500 innocent civilians in what is known as the My-Lai Massacre. (Are your children in another room? Then go ahead - click on the links. Look at the photos.) Or the 80's with the huge increase in national deficit and the environment in which the rich got richer and poorer got poorer.

Instead of longing for the not so good Good Ole Days, I wish the people who long for them would take down their telescopes and look around. I don't have to be hosed down or spit on to know that there's no such thing as a sparkling bright world. In this life, anyway. But then again, those wishing for the good ole days may not see those injustices as big as I see them.

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