Reversing Racism

ON THREE OCCASIONS I have been "victimized" by what might by some be called "racism", or perhaps more accurately, "reverse racism", seeing as how I am European-American, and my arguable discriminators were African-American. All three occured well into my adulthood, and left no permanent emotional scars, since I was by then a "big boy" as we say. The first happened in my hometown, in which I was born and raised, a mid sized blue collar midwestern city in which the African-American population was segregated, and lived, literally, across the tracks. The segregation had probably been mandatory in the town's rough and tumble late nineteenth century early days, and had endured as a matter of habit, voluntary segregation. I had a good friend who lived in the black section, a black man ten years my senior, who had played college football at our local college on a national championship team. He would often join ne and my other white friends for poker games. He was a delightful man, and we all loved him. Well, one night we honkies were cruisin', and decided to drop in on him, at his girlfriend's house. We knocked, he answered the door, and behind him a party was obviously in progress; an all black party. He did not invite us in, and hurridly got back to the party, barely opening the door, as if wanting to conceal from his black friends that some white guys had had the audacity to even knock. We left wondering why, or pretending to wonder why. Our black friend had his black friends, and his white friends, and never the twain did meet. Later, I had moved to a university town to pursue graduate studies, and lived in an apartment complex. My neighbor was a young beautiful African-American lady, and always pleasant to me. One night I needed a postage stamp, and for some reason could not wait. I knocked on her door, she opened it, furtively and barely, and obviously there was a party going on, all black. She quickly told me that she had nary a stamp, and closed the door, rapidly, as if wanting to conceal from her guests that a white man had come to her door. Less than an hour later, her party still hapnin', she knocked on my door, quickly handed me a stamp, and vamoosed lickety split, as if not wanting her guests to know that she has slipped out and given aid to me. A few years later, my teaching career underway, I had a job working for a state agency, teaching living skills to disabled children. Many of my fellow employees were African-American. On one occasion I was at the home of one of them, a good fiend of mine, and there were several other men present, all large, athletic, African-American men. They were having an animated conversation about sports, of the sort American men often do. They kept calling each other "nigger". Each time, I cringed. By the time it had happened about fifty times, I became somewhat inured to it, but never enough to stop the cringing. They were utterly unconcerned about my presence. I remained quiet during the group discussion, keeping my opinions about sports to my white self. I can still recall how much I later wanted to speak to my good friend, and try to expalin to him how awkward and uncomfortable the repeated "N word" had made me feel, that among most white people the word "nigger" is the most taboo word in the English language, so taboo that we always call it "The 'N' word", being wholly unable to even speak it aloud. But I never had the conversation. I didn't think it would have helped, and still doubt that it would have. He probably would have shrugged it off, and explained that for them to call each other that horrible word was perfectly acceptabe, which I already knew, and meant only as a gentle insult and actual term of endearment. He would probably have chided me for my over-sensitivity. I doubt he would have apologized, or that he would have thought he had anything for which to apologize, which, in truth he really didn't, although I wished he had. Whether the three above incidents had anything to do with racism is questionable. Doubtless not, at least overtly. All three were, arguably, predicated merely upon social exigencies and circumstances. I myself have often argued - a questionable argument - that it is impossible for black people to be "racist", because their objections to white people have nothing to do with skin color, but instead are entirely based on the treatment of black people by white people, past, present, and likely future. I actually treasure the situations I described as cherished memories, with humorous overtones, and for the benefit of having experienced, directly and personally, the emotional sting of being treated differently, because of my skin color. Empathy enhances people, of all colors.