The Race Card Project
By Michele Norris
Barbara Young,
Stockton, CA.
I’ve realized my own white privilege for some time now. But being the white female half of an interracial marriage, I suddenly experience America in a new frightening way. My husband is a 6’4″ 300 lb black man. I have a plan worked out in my mind of how I can shield his body from police gunfire should I need to. I’m mourning the loss of my innocent and naive view of police in the USA.
Kenyatta Yamel
Milwaukee, WI
Heard about this through twitter so I thought I would have my say.
G. Wilkins,
Lakewood, CO
At 5’2” I was a petite young White female who adored road trips, had driven mostly alone through all of the 50 United States. Oh yes, I’ve had many adventures. Many people helped me along the way when I had car trouble.
In my 40’s, (around 1985) I made a road trip into the “Great American South”. I can’t remember why but this trip my goal was up the East Coast. I dropped a friend somewhere in Louisiana and kept going along the Gulf of Mexico, turning north onto I-95 when I met the Atlantic Ocean. My immediate destination became Washington DC. Heading north into South Carolina, I recall foot thick trees snapped by a recent hurricane which might help date this event.
Though I kept a cooler in the passenger-seat footwell, I took an exit to try to find a better lunch. There had been recent heavy rain. The slick exit ramp curved, hiding everything but the trees lining it. Suddenly I came across a car flipped entirely on its roof and a man about my age standing just looking at it. I stopped, and asked him, “Are you okay?” He gave me a dazed look. “Is that your car? Is anyone else in it?” I asked. “I need to get to a phone” he replied. (This was before the days of cell phones.) “Are you hurt? Is anyone else?” No answer. “Get in,” I said. “We’ll find a phone.” I told him to put the cooler in the backseat. He started to climb into the backseat. I said, “No, put the cooler in the backseat and ride up front with me.” He did and gave me directions to a small strip mall not far off the highway exit. He asked to be dropped off there. I did, but was still anxious about leaving him, concerned he might have had head trauma,. “Are you going to be able to contact someone?” He assured me he would. I reluctantly left him behind and continued my search for lunch. My trip home to Colorado was uneventful. But I still wonder if I shouldn’t have left him alone until his friend showed up. Why? He was Black. Ho hum. That shouldn’t make a difference should it?
NR Jr.,
Tampa, FL.
So as a paid volunteer in the US Armed Forces who has traveled extensively across the world. America has a “big” color issue. I spent 6 years living abroad and coming “home” is the worst thing ever… Let me give you the reader a take into my thus short life of 29 years and counting (pending some supreme diety/iess doesn’t call me home). I was “fortunate” to be a highly intelligent child in my school years and on into college. Unfortunately I don’t have the “right” complexion to match the intelligence. As a child I was called an oreo, picked on by other black kids, loved by white kids, even had some parents tell me “i would never let my daughter date a black person but you are different.” I thought this was a “compliment” but as I got older, it is just plain out colorism (racism is the more commonly accepted term.) Why can’t I just be me? I don’t want to be boxed in by the color of my flesh or what someone else perceives my skin color to tell them about me. I am tired of being sexualized or someone’s fantasy based from an arbitrary mindset. When living abroad I felt loved by other nations and cultures, but coming back home is coming back to hatred/ second rate treatment and lots of mistreatment. I dated women form all diff backgrounds and cultures, but from my experiences in America, I don’t have the right complexion to be a well qualified bachelor. I am a product of my lived experiences and let’s all be honest, having the brown colored skin especially the darker shade in America sucks! Now being that I am an credentialed health care provider and have pieces of papers (degrees) behind it I may get a “pass”, but that’s twice as bad.
It’s almost like exceptionalism is the new colorism. Being military also adds to that, but no one knows that when you are wearing air max 90 and a Pokemon hoodie LOL. White privilege is nice… I’m tired of being people saying I don’t date “black” people. To me who wants to limit their resources in the dating pool? My parents always told me I have to be twice as smart and I will only be worth half as much. Man they weren’t lying! I just want to be a regular guy, but being regular is subjective to your complexion. The standards for dating a black guy are significantly higher than they are for a white man. I have read lots of articles from people who are in these multicultural marriages and a good percentage of the time it’s an more affluent couple, they aren’t your average run of the mill people you would encounter on a daily basis. So they are the exception not the rule. White America (did I say that?) very much still has a problem with black males and their perception/treatment of “us” is second rate and it plays out heavily in the dating/social scene. You lucky white people… what I wouldn’t give for a day in your shoes…
Derrick Carter,
Charlottesville, VA.
Trying to understand and teach my biracial children and how they can make the future better for every race.
Richard A. Cummings,
Chicago, IL.
Morgan
Fort Lauderdale, FL
My now three and a half year old brother named Kendall was born to two crack addicted parents. My grandmother now has full custody of him and is his Mother figure. My grandma goes a few times a week to the Walmart across the street to do her grocery shopping. Benny is a young black man with long dread locks and gold teeth. Works in the produce area and always lends a smile and a good word to everyone he walks by. My grandmother met Benny and could not tell him (or his supervisors) enough how kind he is. Over some time my grandmother and Kendall got to know Benny. She told him about my brothers parents, or the lack there of. Benny told my grandmother that my brother could call him Daddy. Ever since my brother could talk he has still been calling Benny his Daddy, telling him he loves him, bringing him gifts, and even wears a wig (That my grandma made for my brother) to match Bennys dreadlocks. Benny even keeps a picture of Kendall proudly displayed on the mantel in his living room. A difference in skin pigment could never keep this pair a part. 🙂
James McCray,
Hemet, CA
I am not what society has labeled me. I am not a criminal because I am so called African American. I am not a statistic because I grew up in a single parent household, studies suggest that young black boys who grow up without a father in the home chances are he will get in trouble with the law at a early age, drop out of school and be defiant towards his mother, by the way I did not do any of these . I am not a failure I am not doing what my dad and step-mother expects from my life.
Brian Roberts,
Gaithersburg, MD.
I am a middle-aged American black man. I thought that if I lived my life as a solid citizen, went to the right schools, secured a good career, raised a family, I would not only provide for my family, I would set an example that would make white people less frightened by black people. I thought my example of hard work and assimilation, and that of others who followed a similar path, would improve race relations. This has not been the case. In fact, my example is used to discredit other black people who have not had the same success. What I hear is, “if you made it, what’s wrong with other blacks? Why can’t they do it?” As if racial prejudice, discrimination and institutional racism did not exist. It’s very frustrating.
Pajarita Charles,
Madison, WI
My life as a white, middle-aged, educated, and otherwise very privileged member of society has left me seeking opportunities to find the simplicity of connection that can exist between myself and those different from me, those different by virtue of race. White women and black men — two groups who our country has pitted against each other since we brought slaves to this land — stand out in such interactions. Our job – my role – is to find humanity, mutuality, and commonality in everyday interactions with those who our society has taught us are less then. How do we find that element of connection? Of respect? Of honesty? Of truth? But at the basic core, most importantly, of humanness?
I sat down at a table in the airport. No one else there but a black man eating his lunch. I was there to do the same. I looked over and asked, “How’s your day going so far?” A simple question but one that opened up a 45 minute discussion about my work, my life, his work, his life, and their connection. He spent 15 years in prison; I spent 15 years working to support fathers in prison. I asked him questions, he asked me questions. We shared. We found a place of humanness. Can this bring us to a different and better place? One that is for everyone equally? Mutuality, humanity, commonality.
Tracey Rae Palmer,
Myrtle Beach, SC.
I was told never to kiss a n***** or get close to them; they would only rob you or kill you for money. I found myself in collage in 1979 and a black man got an “A” in his class. With arms held wide and incredible excitement, he kissed me and continued to celebrate with the other classmates. I just stood there. It was not different, it was wonderful. I was scared to say anything because he may come back and … then what?
Kevin Moses,
Logan, UT.
As a 6’3″, young, Black man, at all times I am painfully aware of my presence in a room and the constant strain of worrying about being perceived as threatening is exhausting. I’m incredibly friendly, and the dissonance that comes from people assuming otherwise hurts.
Patricia Merten,
Atascocita, TX
I am white and walk around oblivious to these issues. I live with a black man. I am frustrated with how far I thought we had come and how racist we are. Women’s rights follow race rights. What is my role? What is my part? And how do I help others enjoy the freedom I have without giving up any rights and freedoms?
And I am insanely frustrated and angry with Republicans.
Kirk Ramsey,
Morgantown, WV.
No more or less than the next.
Walter T. Pearson,
Jacksonville, FL.
I’m a black man, of many various ethnicities, Fifth American generation, from a family of military veterans,including my children who are currently serving in the Afghanistan region wars. I have no relatives from Africa (that I know of),so I wonder WHY must anyone that is not white, have to be addressed as “African-Americans”….My family and I are clearly American born, but just like “Asian-Americans,Latin-Americans,Polish-Americans,Japanese-Americans….” and so on… we have to pick a specific identification….I was born HERE, not in Africa, and no longer will be addressed with an “add-on” title.
Marcus Rocio,
Moreno Valley, CA.
I’m a black man that doesn’t have a criminal record and loves everyone. I love fried chicken and watermelon but who doesn’t
Barry,
MN.
As a black man, who – though I hate the phrase, acts very “white”, I feel as though you have act a certain way to fit into society and get less harassed. I don’t act white on purpose, it’s just who I am; how I was raised. Nonetheless, this “act” shouldn’t have to be.
We all know the number 1 rule, don’t scare white people. When this happens, we die.
This bothers me. And, there is a small amount of guilt, because why am I not dead too? What made me so special to escape with a warning and my life.
Is it because I drive a nice car, wear business clothes, don’t have dreads? Because I’m middle class, don’t sound black-american, or some other litte thing. Is it because I have a white sounding name, and both work in a white rural area and live in a predominantly white suburb? Is it because my fiance is white and if people see us together then I must be “safe” one?
What makes my life worth more, than that of my brothers?
It is because I was a good little negro and didn’t scare the white man.
It is because I have to supress my pride and my identity, my fierceness, my swag, when I confront authority eye to eye, man to man.
I have to be a smiling non-threatening “friendly black” and they mostly leave me alone.
Sometimes I sick of it. I am black, and proud. “I am a man.” Stop killing us.
John May
Franklin, MA
I was a salesman of warehouse equipment . On an ordinary sales call, I would drive to a warehouse and try to meet with the boss to deliver my sales pitch. Most times I would go in a back door, loading dock, or other path that would avoid the receptionists and get me in faster. On one occasion, as I entered the loading dock, I saw two men loading freight onto pallets. One man was black, the other white. I walked right past the black guy and straight to the white guy to ask him if the boss was in. He pointed to an office across the way and I went on with my day. As I left the warehouse and past the two guys loading pallets, I said goodbye and got into my car. And then it hit me. Why did I walk past one man and over to the other, when each one could have given me the answer? I just assumed that the white guy was the boss or knew the boss, never giving thought to the possibility that the black guy could be the boss.
I never did that again. It was 25 years ago, and when I heard of your project, this immediately came to mind.
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