It’s back in the news again, and no, I’m not talking about coronavirus. I’m talking about racism.
I made the mistake last night of catching up on the weekly
news before bedtime. With my husband and two of my kids gone on an overnight
trip with their cousins, I was having difficulty falling asleep, so l dove into
the headlines. And there it was, another
tragic story about a white cop and a black suspect. I read the story and it all seems plausible
and just so terrible. The suspect is dead, the cop has been fired, and questions
are being asked. Was this racism, or something else? I try not to take
sides. I have family members who are
second-generation law enforcement. I want
to show them and all law enforcement the respect they deserve, just as I respect
those who serve in our military and government and who work tirelessly for
justice so that we may live in peace.
Our freedoms would evaporate without them on the frontlines.
But I also have family members who are dark-skinned, one of
whom is my son. He slept next to me last
night as I read about the rioting, the anger, the vengeance, and the lack of
compassion on both sides of the issue. These injustices seem to be occurring
over and over in our country, particularly for young men of color. How do I
prepare my son for a society like this?
I am white, but I did not come only from white people. I came from ancestral origins partly known,
partly unknown. My father remembers his
great aunt, who was the sister of his grandfather. He tells me about how she was regarded as a
black woman because her skin was so dark, which was the physical reflection of
her Native American ancestry. I remember my grandmother refusing to wear short
sleeves on hot summer days for fear of tanning, and she encouraged me to do the
same. She told me the stories about the
murder attempts made upon her father, her grandfather, and her uncle, all of
whom were considered second-class citizens by a community that knew well their
ancestry. But that was a hundred years
ago now, and we’ve moved beyond that kind of racism in our country. Or so we think.
Four generations removed now, I have light skin. As a
result, I have never been the victim of racism and so I do not know what that
feels like. However, I am a woman in a male-dominated career field, a Catholic in the Bible Belt, and the parent of special needs kids in a trans-racial
family, so I do know what prejudice feels like.
And years ago, when I was discerning whether or not I should parent a
child of another race, it was many of those experiences that came to mind and
convinced me that I could do the job. Although
he and I do not share the same ethnicity, he and I can share what it feels like
to be unfairly judged and marginalized, and as painful as some of my own
experiences have been, I realize now that going through them was God’s way of preparing
me for being his mother. Or so, I hope.
What I will tell my son is that prejudices can seep into us
when we do not even realize it, beginning at birth and continuing throughout
our life. By nature, we notice differences in the world around us, and
particularly in the people around us. This is how we learn and it is a good
thing to recognize those differences. Our diversity in thought, experiences,
shape and form, among other things, makes humankind in general stronger and more
resilient, and our survival as a species depends upon such diversity. The
pandemic we are currently in will not be the end, not by a long shot, of
humankind, and that is only because of our physiological diversity. My children know the biological reason for variations
in skin tone and we leave it at that. But
not all children are given such simple, scientific explanations for our differences,
and so they are too often left to figure things out for themselves, creating
fertile ground for the seeds of prejudice to be planted by well-meaning
individuals filled with misunderstandings.
I will tell my son that racism is subtle and
well-hidden. The sweet little old lady
in the church pew. The friendly neighbor next door. The doting grandmother. The chummy co-worker. The friend who preaches “inclusiveness” and
“tolerance” on social media. These and
others very well may carry within themselves racist or sexist persuasions that they
will disclose only within their closest circles. I will encourage him to ask God to reveal
these people to him, and I believe that as he matures, he will develop that
“sixth sense” that clues him in to such people, a sense very familiar to those
who are part of a minority segment of society.
I will remind him that racism goes both ways, and that he
must be mindful of any tendencies he may have to show bias toward others. Shortly after we adopted him, we introduced
him to our Hispanic friends. I recall them passing him around, loving on him
and snuggling him, and one commenting that they wanted to take him home. Jokingly, we replied that they could do so if
they brought him back, to which they replied somewhat seriously that no, he
should not come back to us. It gave me pause.
Did they feel sorry for our son, to be adopted into a white family? Was
this a thinly disguised comment intended to express a deeper feeling that only
they could raise him properly because they all shared the same ethnicity? The preference our Hispanic friends show
towards our Hispanic son compared to how they treat our non-Hispanic sons, is
obvious. It doesn’t upset me, but it is
racist. However, I recognize it for what
it is. There is no ill-will in their
hearts, yet, having been the recipients of prejudice that I can only imagine, I
know they must feel somewhat protective and concerned about my son. It is human
nature to be drawn to those most like ourselves, and I am grateful that my son
has these friends who share his ethnicity in his life.
I will remind him that his outer appearance is what people
see first about him, and only those who want to know him better will ever see
beyond that. And I will remind him that
some people will never want to know him better, and that this mostly likely is
a response to their upbringing and personal experiences and has absolutely
nothing to do with him. I will also remind him that only Jesus can change such
a heart, and that he should pray for them and love them anyway.
My son is only three, but he has already been the victim of
prejudice and racist attitudes due to his dark skin. From the moment we brought him home, we have
faced the stares, the comments about his “beautiful skin”, the desire of people
to run their hands through his hair, the questions about his ethnicity, the
subtle biases shown by some family members who don’t give him quite the same
kind of attention afforded to his brothers.
As his mother, I hate it, but I also try to understand it. We can’t let racism anger us. It is an injustice, for sure, but like
poverty, it will always be part of the human condition. Over my life, I have experienced many grave
injustices due to my gender, my religion, my cultural background, my
values. Most of us have. My sons will, as well. I pray that it does not turn them into angry,
bitter men, but rather, makes them even more sensitive to those who are also
victims of such. I pray that they will become bridge-builders, and witnesses to
life and fighters for true justice. But most of all, I pray that if I, as their
mother, must mourn their loss due to an injustice grounded in prejudice, that I
will rise above a desire for vengeance and instead, imitate the Blessed Mother
when she cradled her own cherished son who was killed for the same reasons. And
in the nights to come, when darkness draws near and I cannot go to sleep, rather
than catching up on the news, I think I will talk to her, instead.
“Lord, send forth your spirit, and renew the face of the
earth. “
Psalm 104
