Black Lives Matter … How I “Learned” Not to be a Racist or Prejudiced

It has been two weeks since George Floyd was murdered by a police officer. Since that time people have taken to the streets all over the world in protest. Having lived through the civil rights movement in the 1960s and other eruptions of protest over how blacks are treated in America this is not something that is new to me and most Americans and Canadians in my age group. This time feels different.

It feels different because the outrage and taking to the streets has not been just by the black community. Everyone is outraged and prepared to get out there and demonstrate their anger and demand change. After a very few “protestors” unleashed their anger with violent outbursts during the first couple of days, those continuing to protest have done so in a peaceful and thoughtful manner.

You might find my statements a bit disingenuous. Who am I, a white person, to attempt to speak for the black community? In truth I am not attempting to speak for the black community, I am speaking to the white community. It is up to us to say enough is enough, no more, we are the ones who have to make sure things change.

Each and every one of us has to look ourselves in the mirror and say, am I really living my life without prejudice? Or have I either consciously or unconsciously contributed to the problem of racism? It is time for all of us to take positive action. That can begin with something as simple as saying to your friends, let’s have a discussion about this. Let us talk about whether we are really liberal minded and part of the solution, or are we subtly part of the problem?

I would like to tell you my story about how I “learned” not to be racist or prejudicial as a relatively young person. Please do not take this as me attempting to say look at how wonderful I have been. I still worry that I am unconsciously doing and saying things that are wrong, and I worry that I may continue to do so for my entire life.

My “learning” was based upon the impact of three very specific events in my life. Let me tell you about them.

The First Great Love of My Life

This first story involves the first great love of my life, Shelley F. It took place in Grade 2. I am 100% certain that she had absolutely no idea that she was the first great love of my life. And, I am sure the only reason I recall this at all is because of the ultimate impact it had on me. That notwithstanding, she played a major role in a very important event in my life.

One day after returning home from her house after an afternoon of playing together, my mother came to chat with me as I took off my winter clothes and boots. It was an innocuous conversation until my mother said … I am paraphrasing here … “you know, you won’t be able to marry her because she is Jewish”.

Now you may think that was profoundly anti-Semitic of my mother to say that. It was of course, but I don’t think that was her intention. In small town Ontario in the 1950s, marrying across religious boundaries was considered a non-starter. My mother could easily have said you won’t be able to marry her because she is Roman Catholic. In fairness to my mother, I believe, as far as I can recall, this was the only prejudicial words I ever heard her utter.

That said, I vividly recall the impact this event had on me. I remember being immediately struck with the feeling that what she had said was wrong, and that I wanted no part of it. And, I still want no part of it.

In the interesting way in which life unfolds, the story does not quite end there. About 45 or 50 years later, Shelley F.’s brother, Marshall F., ended up becoming a colleague of the Love-goddess. He has since become a good friend. I felt duty-bound to tell him the story because it did have such a powerful impact on my life. This led to a great discussion about how he had felt shunned in our hometown, because he was Jewish. I’m sure his perception was accurate.

The final event in this little narrative is that a few short years ago I attended a function at Marshall’s home… the family was sitting shiva for their deceased father … where I got to visit and chat with Shelley. We spoke a bit about teachers we could recall from elementary school and what was going on in our lives back then. I didn’t think it was appropriate at the time to tell her about the important role she had played in my life. I will certainly do so the next time I see her.

A Gentleman Smoking a Pipe

The second impactful event took place in the United States, when I was a young teenager. My parents owned and operated a small summer resort, which was predominantly frequented by Americans who came up to fish. My parents became friends with a number of these folks as they returned year after year.

I don’t recall a lot of racist talk from these American visitors, but it was clear they felt that there was a distinction between white and black Americans. I suppose they had expressed this distinction enough that on one visit to see some American friends I can recall feeling uncomfortable being in a situation where there were a lot of African-American people around. Not good.

The event took place in a discount department store in Ohio that was predominantly frequented by black Americans. I should preface this narrative with the fact that as a teenager my relationship with my own father wasn’t the best. This is not unusual for a teenage boy I suppose. As we stood in line at the checkout waiting to pay for our purchases, I was struck by the conversation the gentleman in line in front of me was having with his children.

The gentleman was calmly smoking a pipe and having a very pleasant, respectful conversation with his kids. The thought that popped into my head was that this guy is a much nicer father then my own. That’s a silly superficial judgment of course, but what it made me understand was there is no distinction to be made as I had been led to believe by the American visitors to our resort. Black people were no different than white people, and that was how I was going to think about them for the rest of my life.

August 28, 1963

The third event that had a powerfully positive impact on how I would view the world is one that you will be familiar with. That was Dr. Martin Luther King’s “I Have a Dream” speech in Washington. It took place on August 28, 1963, three days after my birthday.

The actual event that impacted me would have taken place a few days later. I had tuned into the news to see if I could catch a glimpse of Joan Baez who had performed at the event. I don’t actually recall if I got to see Joan or not. It was the speech, or more likely the part of the speech that was replayed on television, that impacted me.

The incredible oratorial skills of Dr. King married me to the idea that I had to be sure that I respected and treated blacks as I would any white person for the rest of my life. To this day I cannot watch the “I Have a Dream” speech without crying. I know this to be true because I just watched it a couple of minutes ago and it still happens.

The fact that I cry whenever I watch the speech actually proved to be what I think was an excellent teaching tool during my years in the classroom. Where I taught in the Greater Toronto Area, we made a point of celebrating Black History Month through scheduled events and instructions. Every year I spoke to my students about Dr. King, the civil rights movement, and his powerful message and impact. After it became easy to play videos in the classroom I always made a point of playing the speech for the class, with the warning to my students that I cried whenever I watched it.

I’m not sure what affected them more, seeing and hearing the words of Dr. King, or seeing their teacher cry. But, I could tell they were impacted, and in a positive way.

Here is a link to the “I Have a Dream” speech. I’m also including a link to Joan Baez’s performance at the event for those of you who are into music and would like to see that as well.

It is Always Good to Put Yourself in the Other Person’s Shoes

We don’t often get to reverse the situation blacks must find themselves in all the time, namely, being an isolated member of one particular racial group mostly surrounded by individuals of another racial group. I often wonder how the first black family in my hometown felt when they moved there for the father to take up a teaching position.

The Love-goddess and I got to experience this a couple of years ago when we spent three weeks in Senegal. We were there with another couple, both of us having been invited to join some friends who had a home there. There were a few white people in Dakar, the capital, but they were very few in the city of St. Louis where we stayed with our friends in their home. We only rarely saw another white person.

I remember thinking to myself many times, – take in and remember this experience, because you will not often get the opportunity to be in this situational reversal in your lifetime. It was a great visit, and a great situation in which to become more aware of one’s own feelings and biases. I’d love to do it again.

Canada Is No Different

Most of the examples I have used were set in the United States. We must remember that things really are no different here in Canada. Perhaps a little less overt, but systemic racism and prejudice exist here as well as does police brutality towards people of colour and First Nations. It is time for all of us to break out the mirrors and have a good look at ourselves. Let’s take this evolving moment in history to think about, no, to make the effort to be more aware of our biases and act to eliminate them. Black Lives Matter!