The Most Racist Thing That Ever Happened To Me

This morning the Spousal Unit opened a drawer with pride. She waited until Scholar was out of the room and then beamed as she showed me her stash of school supplies. There were colored rulers, protractors, scores of markers, pencils, colored pens, crayons, erasers, staples and even scissors. It was like a small stationery store. It reminded me of Mrs Byers.

Mrs. Byers was my third grade teacher at Virginia Road Elementary School. I think I may have gotten her fired. But immediately as I saw the stash it brought to mind the time when she had us doing the sunrise journal. Every day we were to go to the newspaper and find out what time the sun came up and go outside and watch. We were to remember this time, come to class and write it down on a piece of paper. Some days into the experiment I asked Mrs. Byers for a pencil. She went into a diatribe about how 'you people' should bring your own pencils to school. Everyone hated Mrs Byers and apparently she hated everyone.

In that year I proceeded to piss myself in class about three times because I was afraid to ask Mrs Byers to use the lavatory. That and the pencil incident were raised to the principal through my parents, I assume. That same year I had tested twice at an IQ level of about 134. So there was a conflict to be resolved. The following year, Mrs Byers was gone. It would be a cool narrative if I thought there were anything like causality or racial justice involved, but I cannot make such a big deal out of it. I was eight. All I know are the truth of things I saw first hand, and I know what it's like to be told by a teacher to hold it in because she's not going to let you go to the lavatory.

I can't tell you if that's the most racist thing that ever happened to me. I'm actually hard pressed to come up with an example that stings especially. Yes I was the captain of the diving team in High School when Roots was on TV, and I recall my white teammates calling 'go Kunta' when I approached the board. It pissed me off, but nobody called me 'Toby'. I've been detained by cops and sheriff's deputies about 30 times for DWB having only received about 5 actual citations. Nobody actually hit me, and I'd only been cuffed twice. I've been called 'nigger' in drive bys half a dozen times. And I've sat around laughing happy whiteboys who have joked about how drunk they were and cops let them continue driving home. I've had white parents hustle their daughters away from me, and white apartment managers tell me that the people who just left got the apartment. I've had asian real-estate agents tell me straight out that it's unlikely that they would sell or rent to blacks, even though you look nice, and I've had corporate customers blink and scratch their heads when they see me in person. I've been asked if 'all of you are a church group or something' and I've had cops shut down a party at my apartment, telling my guests to keep their hands where they could see them.

For me, all of this is class three racism, denial of service. It never cost me any money. Of course I'm underemployed. There are all kinds of speculations I could apply to the job I didn't get, the loan I didn't get, the education I didn't get, and what I might have if I was white. But I don't, and I don't feel like Job. I feel like me, and that's just fine.

Several years ago, I tried to initiate a little campaign to document people's experiences with DWB. Nobody wanted to talk. The web page is still there. I only got myself and maybe one other person to write me anything. It was still, I imagine, too soon in black history for the pain of modern dirty laundry to be exposed. I find this both ironic and stupid considering the vehemence with which many of my African American bourgie borthers insist that we know racism to be real whereas whites spend their lives in denial. If you deny to testify, how is anybody supposed to sympathize or even know?

I don't expect blackfolks to stand up and tell whitefolks about the most hurtful thing they've experienced at the hands of whites or other non-blacks. I know that circle is part of a healing process and most people need to heal privately. I also don't expect that this blog should be a confessional.

BUT.. The alter is open. Come on down if you want to share your pain with us. I will be respectful, of course, as should we all. And I'm going to ping some other bloggers too.