(I wrote all of my thoughts down and blogger didn't save any of it :( So this is a rushed rewrite)
Recently, I was asked whether or not I had race-related conversations with my friends of other races. I do not. Mainly because whenever I've tried, no one really wants to talk about it. It's not their reality and it doesn't affect their day-to-day so they'd rather live like racism, the kind that affects me, doesn't exist. Only one of my friends of another race has ever even asked me a race-related question. She said that she was trying to understand but I got the sense that she was more interested in pointing out that the woman in question was merely paranoid. So when I was asked whether I had such discussions with my friends of other races, I told the story of the time I'd gone to dinner with four friends, one Indian, one Asian, one Costa Rican, and one Armenian. Then there was me, the black one.
We all met up at a popular Chinese restaurant in Pasadena,California. After we arrived and were seated, I got up and went to wash my hands. 5 chairs and my purse was on the back of mines being guarded by my friends. Our waiter came around and poured everyone a glass of water, except me. Hrm. Then he came back while I was seated and took everyone's drink order, overlooking me yet again. He literally asked each one of them what they wanted, except me. I waited to be asked but nothing. He left. I made mention of this to the girls, like "uh, I know y'all saw that," and they all looked puzzled. Shortly after that, the waiter came back with their drinks and still didn't acknowledge me sitting there. All four of them had two glasses in front of them and I had none. Nobody said anything, we just observed. As he sat drinks in front of each of them, they were nervously waiting for me to make a scene but that wasn't my intent at all. If I was going to throw down the race card I wanted them to witness the whole ordeal for themselves. I wanted them to acknowledge it for what it was - not a figment of my imagination. If any of them had an explanation to the contrary, none of them offered it up. They just sat their, uncomfortable because I'd decided to point out the elephant in the room. The waiter returned again and refilled their water glasses, still pretending that I didn't exist. By this time they couldn't tell me that he wasn't either an asshole, a racist, or both. So I asked him when I could expect to be asked what I wanted to drink and he was like "oh, uh...what do you want to drink?" 0_0
I pointed out that all four of my friends had two glasses in front of them and I had none, despite him being at our table at least 3 times since we got there. He simply looked embarrassed.
But what really pissed me off was that at the end of dinner the restaurant had comped all of our drinks and because of that my Armenian friend felt bad for the waiter, so she decided to tip him double. She cared more about a strangers' feelings than she did mine, her so-called friend. I was extremely hurt but, like a fool, I never addressed her about it. I didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable, even though she obviously didn't care that I was made to feel uncomfortable. This wouldn't be the last time something like this would occur and I'd let it go. What was the point? Who cared? Only me.
I often get the feeling that many think that racism is a figment of our (black peoples) imaginations. That we are just paranoid and that no one would, consciously or unconsciously, discriminate against us. Which is exactly the reason why I handled the restaurant situation the way I did. I recognized it. I knew immediately what it was but I wanted them to see it unequivocally, no excuses, no rationalizing it. They were all speechless, yet I suspect that at least half of them sympathized more with the waiter than they did with me. Try as they might, they couldn't explain it in any way that would make me believe that I didn't experience what I'd experienced. So they chose to ignore it.
There are thousands of senseless murders and hate crimes in this country, yet I don't know of any where the police allowed the murderer to go free while the murdered, a child, lay dead in a morgue for three days, despite having a cellphone on him and despite his father filing a missing persons report. No one bothered to figure out who he was, no one cared whether someone was looking for him. They took the word of his killer claiming self-defense even though this child wasn't carrying any weapon at all and was merely walking home from a convenience store. It has now been months since his murder and, despite knowing full well who his killer was because he confessed, no arrest has been made. That baffles me. There is no comparison between this hate crime, this murder, and any other that I have heard of that didn't involve a black youth.
Like Trayvon Martin, my child wears a hoodie every single day, and he has for the last four years. He is a 6 foot, 1 inch tall, black 17 year old and, sometimes, when it rains he wears his hoodie over his head, like Trayvon did. Every day before he leaves our house I have to instill fear in him for his own safety, I worry and pray that no one acts on their prejudices against him. Through no fault of his own, he fits a stereotype - he's young, black, and he wears a hoodie to stay warm. I doubt that it would make a difference if he chose to wear a coat rather than a hoodie. He'd still be young, black, and tall. Or, according to my new ex-military co-worker, he'd still be "suspicious-looking". Unlike my co-worker, though, my son doesn't have the luxury of wearing whatever he wants. He barely even has the luxury to exist. So yes, I am angry. I have a right to be angry. Trayvon's family has a right to be angry. We should all be angry!
The post linked below sums it up so accurately, it hurts:
http://blacksnob.com/snob_blog/2012/3/20/no-apologizes-on-the-killing-of-trayvon-martin-and-being-goo.html
Recently, I was asked whether or not I had race-related conversations with my friends of other races. I do not. Mainly because whenever I've tried, no one really wants to talk about it. It's not their reality and it doesn't affect their day-to-day so they'd rather live like racism, the kind that affects me, doesn't exist. Only one of my friends of another race has ever even asked me a race-related question. She said that she was trying to understand but I got the sense that she was more interested in pointing out that the woman in question was merely paranoid. So when I was asked whether I had such discussions with my friends of other races, I told the story of the time I'd gone to dinner with four friends, one Indian, one Asian, one Costa Rican, and one Armenian. Then there was me, the black one.
We all met up at a popular Chinese restaurant in Pasadena,California. After we arrived and were seated, I got up and went to wash my hands. 5 chairs and my purse was on the back of mines being guarded by my friends. Our waiter came around and poured everyone a glass of water, except me. Hrm. Then he came back while I was seated and took everyone's drink order, overlooking me yet again. He literally asked each one of them what they wanted, except me. I waited to be asked but nothing. He left. I made mention of this to the girls, like "uh, I know y'all saw that," and they all looked puzzled. Shortly after that, the waiter came back with their drinks and still didn't acknowledge me sitting there. All four of them had two glasses in front of them and I had none. Nobody said anything, we just observed. As he sat drinks in front of each of them, they were nervously waiting for me to make a scene but that wasn't my intent at all. If I was going to throw down the race card I wanted them to witness the whole ordeal for themselves. I wanted them to acknowledge it for what it was - not a figment of my imagination. If any of them had an explanation to the contrary, none of them offered it up. They just sat their, uncomfortable because I'd decided to point out the elephant in the room. The waiter returned again and refilled their water glasses, still pretending that I didn't exist. By this time they couldn't tell me that he wasn't either an asshole, a racist, or both. So I asked him when I could expect to be asked what I wanted to drink and he was like "oh, uh...what do you want to drink?" 0_0
I pointed out that all four of my friends had two glasses in front of them and I had none, despite him being at our table at least 3 times since we got there. He simply looked embarrassed.
But what really pissed me off was that at the end of dinner the restaurant had comped all of our drinks and because of that my Armenian friend felt bad for the waiter, so she decided to tip him double. She cared more about a strangers' feelings than she did mine, her so-called friend. I was extremely hurt but, like a fool, I never addressed her about it. I didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable, even though she obviously didn't care that I was made to feel uncomfortable. This wouldn't be the last time something like this would occur and I'd let it go. What was the point? Who cared? Only me.
I often get the feeling that many think that racism is a figment of our (black peoples) imaginations. That we are just paranoid and that no one would, consciously or unconsciously, discriminate against us. Which is exactly the reason why I handled the restaurant situation the way I did. I recognized it. I knew immediately what it was but I wanted them to see it unequivocally, no excuses, no rationalizing it. They were all speechless, yet I suspect that at least half of them sympathized more with the waiter than they did with me. Try as they might, they couldn't explain it in any way that would make me believe that I didn't experience what I'd experienced. So they chose to ignore it.
There are thousands of senseless murders and hate crimes in this country, yet I don't know of any where the police allowed the murderer to go free while the murdered, a child, lay dead in a morgue for three days, despite having a cellphone on him and despite his father filing a missing persons report. No one bothered to figure out who he was, no one cared whether someone was looking for him. They took the word of his killer claiming self-defense even though this child wasn't carrying any weapon at all and was merely walking home from a convenience store. It has now been months since his murder and, despite knowing full well who his killer was because he confessed, no arrest has been made. That baffles me. There is no comparison between this hate crime, this murder, and any other that I have heard of that didn't involve a black youth.
Like Trayvon Martin, my child wears a hoodie every single day, and he has for the last four years. He is a 6 foot, 1 inch tall, black 17 year old and, sometimes, when it rains he wears his hoodie over his head, like Trayvon did. Every day before he leaves our house I have to instill fear in him for his own safety, I worry and pray that no one acts on their prejudices against him. Through no fault of his own, he fits a stereotype - he's young, black, and he wears a hoodie to stay warm. I doubt that it would make a difference if he chose to wear a coat rather than a hoodie. He'd still be young, black, and tall. Or, according to my new ex-military co-worker, he'd still be "suspicious-looking". Unlike my co-worker, though, my son doesn't have the luxury of wearing whatever he wants. He barely even has the luxury to exist. So yes, I am angry. I have a right to be angry. Trayvon's family has a right to be angry. We should all be angry!
The post linked below sums it up so accurately, it hurts:
http://blacksnob.com/snob_blog/2012/3/20/no-apologizes-on-the-killing-of-trayvon-martin-and-being-goo.html
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