I thought you were white on the phone
Bruce Flippens,
Washington DC.
I was told that by the first man who hired me when I left the Army. He hired me because of my military background, over the phone through several interviews.
White Slavery & The Myth of White Privilege
DeAnna Calderon,
Austin, TX.
I grew up poor in the Southside of Chicago. We were extremely poor and even homeless at times. Sleeping outside in the middle of winter when I was a child. When I was 22 I joined the Army. The treatment I faced as a woman in the military felt like it was 1954, instead of 2004. A man of any color was treated better than a female. When black people and white liberal suburbanites talk of “White Privilege” I asked myself, “Where was my ‘White Privilege'”?’ A lot of poor whites live in the same neighborhoods as blacks and Hispanics, go to the same schools, and work at the same jobs; yet, white privilege is thrown in our face as if we do not have the same struggles. Slavery didn’t start with the Atlantic Slave Trade and black people were not the only victims. In the Bible, Egypt (in Africa) enslaved the Jews. Millions of Europeans were enslaved by North Africans and brought back to the Barbary Coast (http://researchnews.osu.edu/archive/whtslav.htm). The first slaves in America didn’t come from Africa, but from Ireland. The Irish Slave Trade dropped the population in Ireland from 1,500,000 people to 600,000 within a decade. “African slaves were very expensive during the late 1600s (50 Sterling). Irish slaves came cheap (no more than 5 Sterling). If a planter whipped or branded or beat an Irish slave to death, it was never a crime. A death was a monetary setback, but far cheaper than killing a more expensive African” (http://www.africaresource.com/rasta/sesostris-the-great-the-egyptian-hercules/the-irish-slave-trade-forgotten-white-slaves/). The term slave actually comes from the Slavs or the ethnic Polish. The Slavs were enslaved by the Ancient Romans. Slavery even continues today in most countries, but the victims are women and children that are sold into sex trafficking. Life isn’t easy for anyone. The only privilege that exists today isn’t white, but green. Money and power will get you whatever you want. Michael Jordan, Russell Simmons, and other wealthy minorities have Green Privilege and with that privilege comes power.
Being a non-racist straight white man
Kenton Skiba,
Flagstaff, AZ
There is a stereotype put with being a straight white man that we are all racist. For the most part, I do believe it is true. I grew up in a small town with a white majority and a lot of those people really proved this stereotype. They made almost everything racist and it was hard to be around them. Because of this, I can understand the stereotype that is put onto white people. However, a stereotype does not and should not speak for everyone that it could apply to. Straight out of high school I joined the Army. There was so much diversity in the Army and because of that, I did not see much racism there. Everyone seemed to get along better and rather than hate on someone just because of their race, they all worked to get stuff done. That was the place that I felt more comfortable being in. I know there are a lot of people that are good people and aren’t terrible and that’s where I am most comfortable.
SOC215 at Northern Arizona University
We’re ONE; Perception is everything.
Miranda Childe,
Miami, FL
I’m a 68-year-old native New Yorker transplanted to Florida after my divorce made it emotionally and financially difficult to stay in my beloved home town. My parents were retiring to Hallandale, and as an only child with no children I was now free to come and be there for them. We were always very close, I shred everything with them, kept nothing back. We were a very small family, but we made it through good times and bad together.
My mother was born in Puerto Rico, my father in Cuba. They met at Jones Beach; their mother worked for the State Department and her father was in the Army headed for Korea very soon. They connected in so many ways – opposites attract. She moved in with his two sisters and a Japanese-American second-generation American in a small apartment in Manhattan’s “Germantown”, the East 80s in Manhattan. He wrote to her every day, in pencil, on scraps of paper while he was resting in cold swamps in Korea. My mother would receive envelopes stuffed with many of these love notes every month or so. They were married in a community church called The Little Church Around the Corner. No bridal gowns or tuxedos, no wedding party, only my father’s sister Olga as a Maid of Honor. There was no best man. Neither side of their family attended. The Puerto Rican side thought Cubans were loud and coarse; the Cuban side thought Puerto Ricans were low class! Two years later I was born, a Spanish-Caribbean American cocktail.
I was 15 when my father died after a long and sad illness and after that, my mother and I were closer than ever. Ten years later mother was swept off her feet by a charismatic and funny blue-eyed Argentinian from Buenos Aires. He was a busboy at the Spanish seafood restaurant around the corner from me in the Chelsea area of Manhattan. He always made me laugh and thought he’d be a fun friend to help my mother to open up a bit. I felt it was high time my mother stopped her workaholic ways and lived a little, so devised a crafty plan. I was 24; I knew it all then. I invited her to El Quixote for their great $9.95 lobster dinner, where of course my favorite busboy charmed her immediately. It took her two weeks to actually call the number he had given her. They were married less than a year later. A marriage that lasted for 38 years.
Fast forward to 1992, a new life for the family in Florida. I got a job teaching English at the Wolfson Campus of Miami Dade College. My parents had fun decorating their $52,000, 2-bedroom, 1,700 sq ft condo – can you believe what condos went for in 1992? They entertained every weekend; Carlos making his fabulous Parilla Argentina on the grill in the pool area downstairs, and Sylvia, my Mommy, creating a beautiful spread with real steak knives, and linen, of course. She was a true Lady until the day she died! The last of the great ladies I have ever known. Perhaps my pride and admiration are showing…
Since 2015 I’ve been an orphan and it’s been an adjustment, for a while the light went out of my life. Nevertheless, I kept smiling and spreading my l smiles to everyone I see because everyone I see is part of me and I them. My full and varied life blessed me with the opportunity to meet people from all different places, all cultures, all colors, all beliefs, philosophies and values. I have traveled through Southeast Asia, South and Central America, Europe and 26 states in every geographical region of the United States. I grew up in New York City in an Irish/Italian working class neighborhood. A few blocks away were Eastern European, Greek and Polish neighborhoods. Everywhere I lived then the neighborhood was family. Even if we didn’t know each other, we watched out for each other. In my 20s, I lived alone in a beautiful but sometimes unsafe neighborhood, but if anyone wanted to mess with me, there was always a “stranger” who told them to back off, I was one of them. I started working at 15 as a cashier in supermarkets through high school and college. I attended Catholic School for 10 years, went to high school in a town that was 75% Jewish, and attended New York University. I have been a waitress, a temp worker doing filing and bookkeeping, taug I’m a 68 year old native New Yorker transplanted to Florida after my divorce made it emotionally and financially difficult to stay in my beloved home town. My parents were retiring to Hallandale, and as an only child with no children I was now free to come and be there for them. We were always very close, I shred everything with them, kept nothing back. We were a very small family, but we made it through good times and bad together.
My mother was born in Puerto Rico, my father in Cuba. They met at Jones Beach; mother worked for the State Department and father was in the Army headed for Korea very soon. They connected in so many ways – opposites attract. She moved in with his two sisters and a Japanese-American second generation American in a small apartment in Manhattan’s “Germantown”, the East 80s in Manhattan. He wrote to her every day, in pencil, on scraps of paper while he was resting in cold swamps in Korea. My mother would receive envelopes stuffed with many of these love
notes every month or so. They were married in a community church called The Little Church Around the Corner. No bridal gowns or tuxedos, no wedding party, only my father’s sister Olga as a Maid of Honor. There was no best man. Neither side of their family attended. The Puerto Rican side thought Cubans were loud and coarse; the Cuban side thought Puerto Ricans were low class! Two years later I was born, a Spanish-Caribbean American cocktail.
I was 15 when my father died after a long and sad illness and after that, my
mother and I were closer
than ever.
Ten years later mother was swept off her feet by a charismatic and funny blue-eyed Argentinian from Buenos Aires. He was a busboy at the Spanish seafood restaurant around the corner from me in the Chelsea area of Manhattan. He always made me laugh and thought he’d be a fun friend to help my mother to open up a bit. I felt it was high time my mother stopped her workaholic ways and lived a little, so devised a crafty plan. I was 24; I knew it all then. I invited her to El Quixote for their great $9.95 lobster dinner, where of course my favorite busboy charmed her immediately. It took her two weeks to actually call the number he had given her. They were married less than a year later. A marriage that lasted for 38 years.
Fast forward to 1992, a new life for the family in Florida. I got a job teaching English at the Wolfson Campus of Miami Dade College. My parents had fun decorating their $52,000, 2-bedroom, 1,700 sq ft condo – can you believe what condos went for in 1992? They entertained every weekend; Carlos making his fabulous Parilla Argentina on the grill in the pool area downstairs, and Sylvia, my Mommy, creating a beautiful spread with real steak knives, and linen, of course. She was a true Lady until the day she died! The last of the great ladies I have ever known. Perhaps my pride and admiration are showing…
Since 2015 I’ve been an orphan and it’s been an adjustment, for a while the light went out of my life. Nevertheless, I kept smiling and spreading my l smiles to everyone I see because everyone I see is part of me and I them. My full and varied life blessed me with the opportunity to meet people from all different places, all cultures, all colors, all beliefs, philosophies and values. I have traveled through Southeast Asia, South and Central America, Europe and 26 states in every geographical region of the United States. I started working at 15 as a cashier in supermarkets through high school and college. I attended Catholic School for 10 years, went to high school in a town that was 75% Jewish, attended New York University. I was an actress and singer in musical theatre on and off-Broadway for 17 years; I taught at several colleges and universities for ht singing and public speaking to teens and doctors and everyone in between. I was an actress and singer in musical theatre on and off-Broadway for 17 years; I taught at several colleges and universities for 30 years. Now I live in Hollywood, Florida in a diverse community. As you can see, I have had the good fortune to come to know first hand that we are all one, we live in a safe universe. The only thing that can bring violence, evil and separation to our lives is ourselves. If we believe that the world is unsafe, that people are all out to get us, everyone cheats, there is no respect anymore, we have to shout to get heard – then those things will be part of our lives. When actually, we are part of all that is and ultimately love is all that truly is.
Now, I can protest that murder
David C. Ruffin
Washington, DC
I participated in the March on Washington in 1963. I was 18 and home on leave from the Air Force. My most enduring memory of the March was a conversation I had with an older man on the train ride from Pittsburgh to Washington the night before. He told me that when he was in the Army in the Jim Crow South during World War II, he witnessed the murder of another black soldier. He was powerless to do anything about it at that time, but the March finally gave him an opportunity to protest the killing.
I had been based in Texas where I was subjected to racial discrimination. The March was also means for me to stand up against racism. Below is my short remembrance of that time.
Stood-Up-at-March
I am white. So?
Alan S. Doctor,
Cambria, CA.
I was born in San Francisco on 15 Sep 1930. Dad was Scotch/English and Mom was Polish with a dash of German. Both 1st generation born in USA.
My neighborhood friends were Hispanic, Oriental, white and refugee Jews from Germany. In high school I liked to walk home through the Fillmore district and fell in love with Dixie and other jazz. I would stop in front of the Negro clubs to listen and was frequently invited in. Never a problem.
I excelled in Army ROTC and graduated a Cadet Major. I enlisted Army in May 1949 and had Basic at Fort Ord, CA. The armed services were integrated by order of President Truman in 1947, I believe. The Army was struggling with this, still is. I remember a few black Trainees and one in my Platoon. He and I became friendly enough for me to go to his home in Compton, CA for a weekend and he came to my home in San Francisco for a weekend. We both had asked for training as an automotive mechanic and travelled together to the Ordnance Automotive School in Atlanta, GA. We departed Los Angeles via UP and were not treated well because we were Soldiers. We changed crews somewhere in Texas to SP. What a difference. Very good treatment.
Our duffle bags were delayed and we only had the OD uniform we travelled in. The bags showed up in 3 or 4 days and we had clean clothes. We decided to look around Atlanta and took the civilian bus downtown.. The driver stopped just outside the main gate and ushered all black troops to the back of the bus. We were shocked. I had heard about Jim Crow, but new nothing about it. The two of us could go nowhere together. After graduation I was assigned to an Ordnance unit at Ft. Riley, KA and saw more Jim Crow, Not as severe as in Atlanta.
On 15 Sep, 1950 I celebrated my 20th birthday in Pusan Korea and spent the next 12 months serving with the 1st Cavalry Division as an Infantry man and eventually as a Squad leader. We had a few black troopers and I don’t think that anyone really noticed. I was too busy trying to live. I was pleased to have people I could trust on my flanks.
I spent my 3rd year of active duty at Ft Huachuca, AZ where I served as the Bn. Personnel Sgt. Returned home to San Francisco, Got married and re-enlisted in the Army Reserve and, eventually, the Calif. Army National Guard. I retired with the rank of 1st Sgt. in 1981. There was a large number of Hispanic soldiers in the National Guard. My unit had one black officer and one black Platoon Sgt. I don’t recall any problems with anyone. We had a job to do and we worked together. My personal concern at that time was Vietnam. We were not ordered into active duty
thank God.
My unit was sent to perform Riot Control in Watts during the race riot in 1965. We spent 9 days on State Active Duty. We were definitely in harms way. I recall an interesting event at the border between Watts and Compton in a strip mall. We had a few of us there as guards for 2 days. The shop owners set up tables with food and cold drinks for us. A very nice, white haired lady who was black came to me. She took my hand in hers and said “Sgt. you keep those G—D— N—– out of Compton. They don’t belong over here.”
My wife passed from a kidney infection after 45 years with me. I am re-married to a lovely lady who moved in across the street. The rest of my life has been pretty White. In Cambria I have several Hispanic neighbors. Hard working, good people raising their families. My daughters are doing well. My amazing granddaughters who are middle school age are doing very well. My grandson is a disabled Veteran with 2 tours in Iraq. He wanted to be like Grandpa so he joined the Army.
I am 87 and counting. I hope to pass 100. Disability and pain be Damned!
Army-wide, we were all green.
Christine Cook,
Wayne State,
Ann Arbour, MI
When I was in the Army, diversity was important. So was looking past color differences. At the beginning of basic training, the drill sergeant insisted we were all “green”–meaning the color of our uniform was more important than the color of our skin.
United we stand, divided we fall.
Chad Beauvais,
Bend, OR.
You are exactly right for sharing your real story. Many people feel the same way as you do and have similar experiences. I was told that there was no financial aid for me because I was predominantly white (even though I had the grades and financial need to qualify), so I joined the Army for 13years in order to pay for college. I am grateful to have served my country, but I am 70% disabled because of my service. If I was any other ethnicity, I would not have had to risk life, limb and mind just to receive an education. Where is my so called white privilege? I traced my lineage back several generations to find that not only did none of my ancestors own slaves, my grandmother was an indentured Irish orphan servant (slave) to English foster parents.
Heart isn’t racist false accusations anger
Kevin Antonelli,
Vienna, NJ.
I remember the riots of the 1960’s yet at the time as a young child didn’t know the reason behind them or what was going on in the world. I was raised by an Archie Bunker and lived in a W.A.S.P. town with one black family. I was a racist but didn’t know why- it just was.
Then I entered the Army and a Black man, Willie, saved my life. I lived with, were brothers with those that were different than me and it shed new light about my fellow human beings. I then worked for a company that secretly practiced discrimination and I was torn between keeping my job and my beliefs that if they qualified for an apt just like a white man did they should have the right to housing.
All through my life I personally tried to do what I could to make a difference in how I treated black at the same time somehow how i was raised was still somewhere influencing me. But then at the same time, I resented the black community calling me racists without knowing who I am but just because I was white I must automatically be a racist. I personally do not believe anyone is better than the next person regardless of the circumstances– and I resent when people act as if they are- regardless of their race. I was passed up for a promotion to Sergeant in the Army because the other guy was black and I was told that outright.
I had nothing against the other man- he was my brother, I had his back he had mine- but he was not better than me. When Obama became President, although I did not vote for him not because he was black but because I didn’t support his political views–i still felt how wonderful it was that this country has come so far as to elect a black person President. BUT then by his actions and those of his wife, those actions of some of his administration such as Eric Holder- in their efforts to make a difference in the black mans lives– they alienated me as an American just because I was white. They themselves demonstrated themselves to be racists and I resent that. I believe that President Obama, his wife and others have created the division that we see in the US now and that although they tried to do good- they brought this country backwards and in the end– did not benefit the people they tried to help
I have been around the world
Mike Snow
Spotsylvania, VA
I have listened to the Race Card Project for some time on my NPR station and it has encouragd my own thoughts on the subject. I admitted to my self many years ago that I had thoughts and views that one could deem as “racist”. This smacked me in the face when I was in 8th grade and at a assembly of some sort. I was sitting in a row of students and on my left side was a classmate of mine who was African American. While watching the program I blindly turned to him and made what I thought at the time was an innocuous comment that was blatantly racist. I knew it, he knew it and I to this day am not sure if I have ever been so embarrassed and ashamed in my life, even at that middle school age I began to rethink how my actions affected others. I went on through my teens and early 20’s wrestling with my thoughts and beliefs as well. It was not until I entered the military and subsequently served in combat. During my career in the Army I was able to go overseas to Europe, the Middle East and throughout the USA. Seeing other cultures and worlds is a real eye opener, seeing the violence and devastation people can wreak on each other because of idealogical, racist and religious beliefs is astonishing to me. Seeing real suffering up close puts your own life in perspective. But, my biggest thought changing experience still is that how well my unit(s) worked together, overcoming obstacles together. Speding time in that vacuum together with people from all walks of life, differing religious, race and gender backgrounds, and putting everything aside to accomplish a goal or a mission, suffering equally together and rejoicing when we could. Now I’m not naive enough to think everyone feels the same as I do but for me anyway being in a position where one’s race, gender or religion ultimately did not matter brought a lot into perspective for me. That perspective was even clearer upon returning to the States and reading, seeing and interacting again and seeing and identifying the tendecies of people and discriminating behaviors. While I think there have been strides in race relations in this country, that there still exists a racial divide and some deep racism is apparent. My thought is “if these people (by that I mean people who harbor some ignorant positions) could look outside this country and see the plight of the rest of the world maybe they would have a different opinion” and that peoples true colors show through in times of austerity and difficulty and that should be the measure of a person, not a generalization based upon an incorrect belief. I make it a point not to look at each person I come into contact with for who they are an dlet their own actins speak as to what kind of person they are. This Project just makes me think more, to keep it in the front of my thoughts and to try and be a better person. Thank You.
Michael Snow
Virginia
What color will your kid’s be?
J. Torres
Kansas City, MO
My father is from Puerto Rico, born and raised. My mother is Colombian. However, raised in Panama. They met in the 1950’s while my dad was in the U.S. Army. Us kids always called ourselves PanaRicans. Until my mother gave us her true background. I attended college in Michigan in the early 80’s. I was from a inner city, industrial area, mixed race, lot of culture..Flint. I went to college in what is considered Mid-Michigan. If you see the state as a mitten, as we all did. Mid-Michigan was about in the middle of the mitten. Flint, a little lower on the palm. And Detroit, for a reference point, is closer to the palm and wrist, towards the thumb. Michigan is very divided racially. Generally speaking, from the middle of the mitten going to the fingers (north) is very white. Below that (south) is more big cities Flint, Detroit, Lansing, Grand Rapids, Saginaw. I’ve always considered myself Puerto Rican. It’s easier. I didn’t want to get into the mix thing. I think some of you understand. I’m a darker skinned PR. I must get that from my mom, as all of my dad’s family are lighter skinned, olive in tone. My titi (aunt) has green eyes and blond hair. Growing up I never considered myself black or white. I was Spanish or Latin in most boxes I checked. And in the area of Flint that I grew up in, it didn’t really matter. We were all poor. That gives you a group to belong to right there. I fell in love in college. The prettiest girl in the dorm. Long blonde hair, green eyes, very pleasant, very nice girl.
It was the first time I had ever fell in love with a girl. I had plenty of girlfriends growing up. But love as a child, and love as an adult was a different emotion for me. It felt stronger. She was from way up north. Near Mackinaw Island, which is close to the bridge that separates the mitten from upper Michigan. A peninsula that is at the tip of your middle finger, for the sake of the mitten comparison or hand. I started going to her house on weekends. I would spend the night, we would engage with the family, etc. Her mom found a love letter that I sent her and she didn’t handle it so well. She told me that I “couldn’t be with her daughter anymore”. When I asked why? She said “we don’t do that up here, what you people do down there”. And i asked what do we do? She said “mix the race”. I told her I don’t understand. And I honestly didn’t. She said in a nut shell, that her daughter is white. And she will marry and be with a white man. That due to my skin color and race, “you wouldn’t even know what color your kids will come out”. To say it was devastating, is not even close to the scar that it left me, which I still carry some thirty years later. I have moved way on with my beautiful wife, and three beautiful children. I have attached a photo of all of us. They didn’t turn out green as her mother told me they would. They are very good, well behaved, God fearing, red blooded Americans….first! The rest will take care of itself.
I’m A Black Mother Not Monster
Anonymous,
Eden Praire, MN.
Prejudice robbed me of my child. 15 years ago my only living child was stolen from me by her white daddy and took overseas when she was 6 because I didn’t live up to his standards of what he thought was a good mother. To keep her away from me he played the race card and said what he had done was right, because according to him all black mothers in the United States are abusive and crazy and can’t take care of their children just used them for a source of income. The courts sided with him without even bothering to investigate what kind of person I am.
When I went to the police here in the US to report my child missing I was basically laughed out of the place, denied any help,and told that I didn’t have a right to complain about having my child stolen, because if I hadn’t been sleeping with foreigners and sitting on my a** collecting welfare instead of taking care of my little half breed it would’ve never happened. All I wanted was my only living child back and everywhere I turned doors were slammed in my face. I wasn’t a mother in the eyes of the law. I was worthless as anything except being the emotionless vessel that brought her into this world. My pain and struggles meant nothing.
My lowest point came when my daughter renounced me on the phone shortly after being kidnapped telling me she would never return and I was never her mother. I couldn’t be her mother because I’m black and crazy. She said she had a new mama now. That new mama was her daddy’s white wife. Later I learned that my ex had changed her name behind my back from the “black ghetto” name I gave her when she was born to something ‘normal’. He was Hell bent on destroying her black side and the courts let him do whatever he wanted. I fell into a deep depression for a long time afterwards, because I couldn’t come to terms with how I was being treated as a nobody even by my own country which I served proudly for 12 years in the Army. A very good friend of mine finally helped me to come to terms with it. He said “White is ALWAYS going to be right and it don’t matter none how great your black self is. People will ALWAYS see you as a worthless n*****. The only bright spot of this that your child will never experience the hate and prejudice that your black skin caused you.” No my child will never know what it means to be black and I guess that’s a blessing in disguise, but I if I could tell her just one thing it would be to never forget her black mother and grandmother who loved her first and sacrificed so much so she could have. I’m not a monster I’m a mother. Maybe not the best, made a lot of mistakes along the way, but my black skin doesn’t mean I love my child any less or ever deserved to have her ripped away by prejudice.
Black good samaritans, or would-be robbers?
Samuel C. Johnson,
Keezletown, VA.
I am a white man now 67 years of age. In May, 1968 (a month after the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.) I had just completed basic training in the Army in North Carolina, and was on my way to my home area near Philadelphia. I got off the train in Philadelphia at 30th Street Station around midnight, and walked to the entrance ramp of the Schuylkill Expressway to hitch a ride home. I was in my dress khaki uniform and soon a car stopped to give me a ride. They were 4 or 5 young black men who gave me a friendly invitation to get in, which I did. After I got in, I was very conscious of the situation I was in — late at night, one white guy and 4 or 5 black guys — but I did not feel threatened. I told them my destination — King of Prussia, a white suburb of Philadelphia — and they immediately offered to take me where I was going. I was struck by their generosity and we had friendly conversation on the ride to my destination.
My destination was a friend’s house, where I knew I was as welcome as one of the family. While traveling, I had decided to spend the night at my white friends’ home, but I had not contacted them in advance about my plans and so they were not expecting me. When we pulled up at my friends’ house, the driver of the car told me he needed to get some water at the house for the leaky radiator of his car. Responding to my knock, a teenage daughter opened the door. Explaining the situation, I invited my black companions into the house to get some water. As they came in and passed through the living room, all the commotion woke up my friend’s parents. When the father saw several black men, strangers, in his living room he started yelling and went to get his gun. I was filling their jug with water and and when I heard that, I got them out of the house as fast as I could, bringing my time with them to a rude and unceremonious end. My friend’s parents, the father especially, chastised me for being so gullible and stupid for risking my own safety and theirs with these “niggers”. They believed that because these young men were black, they had criminal intent to rob the house.
I was young and inexperienced and thought that maybe my white friends were right. I didn’t know what to think. In the decades since I have often thought about that experience and how dangerous it was for these black good samaritans who gave me a ride and almost got shot by my white friend. And I have become aware of how common it is for white people to assume that black men are dangerous or criminal, and to respond inappropriately with “pre-emptive” violence. I often wish that I could somehow connect today with those young black men who gave me a ride then and nearly got shot. I wish that we could talk together about that experience and their perspective on it. If they have not been shot and are still alive.
You’re just like a normal couple.
Kathleen J Gagnon,
New Haven, VT.
We were at another couple’s house, for dinner. The meal was excruciatingly boring, but the man of the couple was my Army officer husband’s CO, or Commanding Officer, so I pasted a smile on my face and got through the evening. When it finally ended, we thanked our hosts and got in the car for the short drive home. “Let’s not do that again soon,” I said to my husband . It was a short drive home. Many of the officers lived in the same small area of Colorado Springs. As we walked in the door of our apartment, the phone was ringing. I answered to hear our recent hostess gushing, “What a wonderful night! Why didn’t we do this sooner? You and Duffy are just like a normal couple!” I am white. My ex-husband is African American.
This “Gook” serves the U.S Army
Tai Bui
St. Louis, MO
Don’t judge me by how I look, I might not look like you, but I am willing to do what you won’t.
Passed over, wrong color. I’m white.
Steve Townsend
Washington, DC
In the 1990s, the US Army was under pressure to normalize promotion rates, especially in “under-represented” branches. I was in the Infantry, which had significantly fewer minorities, especially in leadership positions. When a prime position opened, I was the most senior and best qualified for the position. However, the commander approached me and state that he was going to put a junior officer, who was a minority (and who had no previous experience) in the position because he had to show that there was upward mobility for minorities and encourage other qualified minority candidates to choose Infantry when they entered the Army. I understood this (it was true, we had too few minority leaders), but it was still difficult to swallow.
Cracker don’t belong in dis hood
Eric Chaney
Fort Leonardwood, MO
Serving in the Army I was stationed in Washington DC. When I arrived I worked in an office of 7 African Americans one Hispanic and me the only white guy. The guys in the office where great we were like family but they briefed me that there are parts of the city white people were not allowed. I laughed it off. One day in 1998 I was going for lunch and wanted to go to a neighborhood joint that the guys had taken me before. When I entered a lone white guy all eyes were on me as I got to the counter to order the lady just looked at me for a second and I hadn’t noticed the two guys that had stood until one told me I didn’t belong in that neighborhood and I needed to leave. I started to tell him I wasn’t looking for trouble and I had eaten here before but others had joined in telling the other people they were with that I needed to leave and that I was going to be beat down. The woman behind the counter even said that I needed to take my cracker ass someplace else. A woman and another man had joined the other two that were confronting me when one of the guys flashed a gun in his belt. I said I was leaving and all of a sudden there wasn’t a face in the crowd that wasn’t smiling except mine. I never told the guys in the office what happened but I never went back with them either. Over the six years I lived in the district I experienced an over whelming amount racism. It is the chocolate city after all vanilla beans have a hard time growing in that soil.
