ct Archives - Page 2 of 6 - The Race Card Project

Just what do you people eat?

November 29, 2021November 29, 2021 ct, eat, elderly woman, food, Jewish, Judith A Harper, MD, New Haven, Pikesville, you people

Judith A Harper,
Pikesville, MD.

Years ago our family integrated a Predominantly Jewish neighborhood in New Haven, Connecticut. I am African-American. While walking our German shepherd, I was approached by an elderly woman who asked if she could ask a ‘personal’ question. It was the question submitted. For a moment, I was speechless, but then replied, ‘food, just like you.’ It has always intrigued me that people can live such insulated lives as to not realize that we are more alike than different.

Retail manager. Shoplifters mostly black. Why?

November 11, 2021November 11, 2021 Clinton, ct, manager, shoplift, shopping while black, store

Isabel,
Clinton, CT

Tired of blacks pulling the race card when I’m doing my job. The saddest part tho, is how grateful I feel when I can interact with a black customer who is friendly and honest. Sorry.

Who Will Your Children Play With

July 3, 2021July 3, 2021 bi-racial, children, ct, friends, interracial marriage, Linda Hunt, Play

Linda Hunt
CT

I am in a 40 year bi-racial marriage and very early on when my children were small, my grandmother made the comment above. I said they will play with whoever they wanted as long as they were decent.

Red hair? You must be Irish.

May 10, 2021 Ashkenazi Jewish, blue eyes, ct, define, Eastern Europe, green, irish, Poland, Red Hair, Romania, Russia, Saint Patrick's Day, Ukraine, Vered W

Vered W,
CT

I have bright red hair, pale skin, and blue eyes. Everybody thinks that I am Irish. I am Ashkenazi Jewish from Ukraine, Russia, Poland, Romania, and other parts of Eastern Europe. I am not one drop Irish, despite how much I have been asked. Whenever people see me they say something about my red hair: “Where do you get it from?”, “Are you Irish?”, on Saint Patrick’s Day I have even been asked why I am not wearing green. Sometimes I just want to get into a conversation about genetics and how red hair works – “I get it from both sides, it is a recessive gene” – and other times I just say that my dad has red hair. For these people that are convinced I am Irish, I hope encountering someone with red hair who is not Irish will teach them that they have it wrong and one characteristic about someone does not define who they are.

In the same place, different reason

October 28, 2020October 28, 2020 ct, different, same, Victor Sampson, Waterbury

Victor Sampson,
Waterbury, CT.

Who does your little girl’s hair?

July 3, 2020July 3, 2020 adopted, African American, ct, Ernest Fabrizio Garcia, genetic, hair, New Fairfield

Ernest Fabrizio Garcia
New Fairfield, CT

Neither of us are African-American, but our children are. There seems to be a conception that doing black hair well is partially genetic.

Why aren’t we persecuted any more?

June 23, 2020 ct, identity, Jewish, Linda Bronstein, Race, West Hartford, WWII

Linda Bronstein,
West Hartford, CT

The Jewish people have been the target of hate for thousands of years, in just about every country in the world. My parents’ generation in America faced restrictive quotas when applying for colleges and jobs, and “restricted areas” when looking for homes to rent or buy. But in post-World War II America, Jews suddenly became white folks (although anti-Semitism is by no means dead). Who did we sell out or leave behind in that process? Was it necessary to trample on the next downtrodden group in order to climb the ladder of privilege? And as for me, when I responded to an outpouring of divine love by following the Jew from Nazareth who embodied it, I was embraced and valued by the ones that my parents thought would turn on us in a heartbeat if we pushed our luck. Race and identity are more complicated than the color of one’s skin.

We’re Here Walking Each Other Home

June 18, 2020June 18, 2020 "We're all just here walking each other home.", 1980's, ct, culture shock, fishbowl, Gulfport, identity, McKinney, MI, New Fairfield, R. Flowers Rivera, TX, walking, walking home

R. Flowers Rivera,
McKinney, TX.

The most aware I’ve ever been of race was when my family moved from Gulfport, Mississippi, to New Fairfield, Connecticut, during the 1980s. At that time, New Fairfield was a town with a population of about 10,000 in which there were three Black children, all of whom were in my family. I was the only Black person in the high school; my sister was the only one in the middle school, and my brother in the elementary. Beyond the regional culture shock, this move cemented my identity as an outsider, one who would perpetually find difficulty belonging, but who yet had a heightened sense of empathy for anyone who was different. Those were grueling years, living in what I perceived to be a fishbowl because of my intrinsic desire to excel combined with wanting to represent my race well. I like to think I’ve moved beyond such binaries—but I know better. Now, what I’ve come to both as a writer and a teacher is that I’m here to witness for other people, to let them know I see them as they are, to help negate what can result in a sense of erasure. because as Ram Dass states so beautifully, “We’re all just here walking each other home.”

I don’t understand why race still matters.

April 26, 2020 Barbara Coughlin, Berlin, ct

Barbara Coughlin,
Berlin, CT

I’m a Boomer of Irish descent. I grew up on Staten Island. From the time I was 11 (the oldest of six) our family became lovingly entwined with a black family. We all feel we had four parents. When my mother died two years ago, she was holding the hand of my other mother. And my Irish American husband and I have three Asian children. I work with people of all races and ethnic groups. Why does race even still matter. I don’t understand it.

Saw me honky, until I helped.

February 24, 2020 ct, Frank Dobis, Simsbury

Frank Dobis,
Simsbury, CT

In 1972 I worked in a steel mill. After a snowstorm stopped bus service, I gave a ride home to a 60-ish black co-worker who did not have a way home. Other black co-worker attitudes changed toward a young white boy after that. Acts speak louder than skin color.

Good for you. I hope your project helps.

How can I use this privilege?

January 6, 2020 ct, Middlebury, Susan Nappi

Susan Nappi,
Middlebury, CT

It is interesting to me that when I am asked for six words about race my heart becomes heavy. I am a middle-aged white woman. For a long while, I resisted the notion that I could be privileged. I felt anything but this. I grew up working poor in a severely traumatized family. I thought that meant I understood the trauma experienced by POC. It didn’t. I thought it meant I wasn’t privileged. It didn’t. Even though I was first gen with no one to guide me through college/graduate school, no one else knew this. I was insecure and uncomfortable but was able to choose what I shared about my identity. My life was a legacy that began with my Italian immigrant great grandparents who chose to come here of their own free will, were able to change their name to ‘pass’ as Americans, and build a better life for subsequent generations. They, too, were able to choose what they shared about their identity and bypass many of the discriminatory barriers against Italians during that time. This is not so of many other immigrants who come to this country. When I choose “colorblindedness” over acknowledgment of someone’s identity it means I wash away the experience of those who continue to be marginalized because of it. I believe our country can only be healed when we collectively acknowledge that much of what we enjoy today was built on the backs of slaves and that we have created laws and systems that continue to oppress generations of people. The way I do this is by not being afraid to examine my own beliefs and understand where I am privileged. I have to ask myself how can I use the privilege I have not earned to be of service for all? How can I stop perpetuating this suffering? I do this by looking at who is the room at the tables I sit, move aside for others, and seek to make connections to resources and opportunities for those who are not represented where I work and live. I know it is a lifelong journey to be present and honest and move beyond fear. I am hopeful that many are opening up like this.

You know why they chose you?

November 11, 2019November 11, 2019 1978, Alan Smith, Angier, chose, ct, Eastern Connecticut Council Navy League, Groton, NC, submarine training, US Navy, veteran

Alan Smith,
Angier, NC.

This was said to me by an instructor, as an 18-year old US Navy sailor, having just completed submarine training in Groton, CT in 1978. I graduated 14th of 98 in my class, and was presented with an award for excellence by the Eastern Connecticut Council Navy League of the US. This slight woke me up to attitudes that are still prevalent today.

Friends Family and the pursuit of success

April 19, 2019April 19, 2019 Colin James Decker, ct, New Preston

Colin James Decker,
New Preston, CT

I think that these six words mean the most to me and my everyday life. I also believe that my friends and family would also agree that these words not only encapsulate me but for them as well. By breaking down one’s values to the core, you can truly find out what’s important and how you want to live your life.

Parents gave me Confederate flag: protection

March 2, 2019May 2, 2019 1950's, Confederate flag, ct, FL, gas station, negro, parents, protection, Seattle, Steve Morris, WA

Steve Morris,
Seattle, WA.

In the mid-1950s my father made a business trip from our home in Connecticut to Florida and back. He decided to make the trip by car, and to take my mother, my brother, and me along with him for a family travel experience. In the Deep South I witnessed undisguised segregation for the first time. I was 10 years old. At a gas station I asked the attendant why there were different bathrooms and drinking fountains. I told him my best friend in Connecticut was “a negro” (the terminology hadn’t changed yet). and I described how we did all the same things at school, and used all the same facilities. The attendant said, “Well that’s not the way we do it down here, sonny.” My parents, watching this exchange, sensed an edge — and perhaps a threat — to the man’s tone. They instructed me to address my questions to them in the future, and they bought me a little Confederate flag. I carried it everywhere, waving it around as I would have any other colorful souvenir. I was unaware of any meaning it might carry beyond its attractive surface. Years later my parents told me their side of the story, and explained that the flag was intended to smooth our journey through the South, and perhaps to provide a degree of safety. They had been more concerned than they let on, about the gas station attendant’s tone.

Just three words. Love one another.

November 2, 2018November 2, 2018 ct, Debbie Samilenko, love, Milford

Debbie Samilenko,
Milford, CT

Civility heals wounds from the past

August 28, 2018August 28, 2018 @WTyler2011, #theracecardproject, civility, ct, heals, New Haven, past, twitter, wounds

Submitted via Twitter: @WTyler2011.
New Haven, CT.

“You’re Hispanic?,” he said. “Prove it!”

June 21, 2018June 21, 2018 ancestry, Bristol, ct, freckle, Hispanic, Irmie S., prove it, Puerto Rico, Spanish

Irmie S.
Bristol, CT

I grew up in a predominantly Hispanic neighborhood. Both of my parents were from Puerto Rico but were of Spanish ancestry, which caused my fair, freckle-prone skin. I looked so different from so many of my caramel-skinned classmates. So, in Junior High School, when one Puerto Rican boy began teasing all the white kids, it wasn’t long before his eyes landed on me. Not wanting to be a target of ridicule because no one wants to be the “white kid”, I told him I wasn’t white. “I’m Puerto Rican!” “No you’re not! You’re Hispanic? Prove it!” So I quickly said the first thing that came to mind in Spanish. “Que quieres que te diga?” (What do you want me to say to you?) I suddenly earned a new friend and protector for the remainder of the school year, even amid the saddened looks from the white kids who looked so much like me.

Slavery’s legacy broke my family pride.

June 20, 2018October 27, 2021 ct, Family, Grandma, grandmother, Harriet Hamilton Austin, Jamestown, Katherine E. Byroade, legacy, pride, slavery, southern, Van Buren, West Hartford

Katherine E. Byroade,
West Hartford, CT.

When I was a child, my southern grandmother took great delight in the fact that she was a Jamestown descendant and DAR member and saw her membership in those organizations as part of her legacy to her granddaughters, ensuring our social success. She was matter of fact that the family had owned slaves in the past, but emphasized that we did not come from plantation-type families, that our slaves had been trusted house servants. At first this seemed okay to me, because it was okay to her, but eventually I understood that the domination of another person’s free will was unacceptable. I became more and more uncomfortable with the legacy of my white privilege, knowing that it was tied to something I see as reprehensible.

Earlier this year a wonderful distant elderly family member shared some interesting history with me. Our mutual ancestor, Harriet Hamilton Austin immigrated to the US around 1845 from Ireland. Here is the story that broke my heart: “I had the only record which was the original Bill of Sale to Edward Clegg who purchased that little eight year old girl at a Slave Auction in 1844. Edward Clegg was bidding for his mother-in-law,Harriet Hamilton Austin. The Van Buren Courthouse burned completely down in the 1870’s and all records were destroyed. Harriet later gave the little girl to Maria Jane Austin Clegg, her daughter. Harriet, the Slave Girl, later became little Maud Clegg’s nanny. Her name was Harriet after her original owner, a custom in those days. After Maria Jane’s death little Maud was sent back to Arkansas and it appears that Austin H. Clegg, age 16, and the Slave Girl, Harriet, took little Maud back to Arkansas. Sydney Clegg Austin became the guardian of Maud and Sydney gave Harriet her Free Papers so she could make the trip without problems. Todd told me Harriet was allowed to disembark at Van Buren but her husband was not allowed to because he did not have Free Papers. This happened in 1860. Harriett and her husband returned to Van Buren after the war.” My five times great-grandmother, then middle-aged and upper-class, comes to the US and almost immediately an 8-year-old child was purchased for her use. What was the heartbreak she left behind? Why was my great-grandmother’s need of a servant greater than that heartbreak? We are very shy in this culture about calling out the great wickedness of slavery, and we should not be, we must not be.

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