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Joy is the armor of truth

Judith Angelo
Cleveland Heights, OH

I began with six words from Alice Walker’s novel about FGM, Possessing the Secret of Joy : “The secret of joy is resistance.” I’m a white radical lesbian feminist, and I associate them with my primary teachers about race in America: Audre Lorde (Sister Outsider) and Derrick Bell (Faces at the Bottom of the well). Lorde’s elegant accessible and mercilessly insightful prose at the intersection of race, class, and sex gave me a steady lens and a decoder ring, and Bell answered the despair clarity can bring with fierce humor, speculation, an outsider interpretation of civil rights history, and a story of the gleam in an old black woman’s eye describing her dealings with white folks.
Racism endures, oppression endures. Joy is not something to wait for til we are free, it is essential to OUR endurance, to achieving integrity in captivity.

Sometimes we should just listen quietly.

Lucas Sullivan,
Christiansburg, VA

Michele’s presentation on the Race Card Project had me in a tizzy for days thinking of what I could say. What could my impact be? As a white cishet male in America I have loads of built in privileges. If the only voice that gets heard is mine I will be doing a disservice to the cause of fighting against racism. Even people who don’t consider themselves racists or who consider themselves allies can have a hard time with knowing when to listen and that is a vitally important part of the conversation. So we (white people) have to be careful to not talk over people of color. In this conversation minority voices must be heard and that means sometimes what we don’t say is as important as what we do. Listening to people of color or giving people of color a voice is part of the way that we participate in the conversation. Sometimes it’s best to listen to what people of color are telling you about their truth and their reality.

#Educause

The Truth Spoken Behind Closed Doors

Anonymous,
Miami, FL.

Though I was born and Raised in a suburb a few miles south of Miami, Florida. My mom and dad are from Ethiopia and Sudan respectively. As a child, I’d say about 99% of the community were “white”. During middle and high school it shifted to about 49% “white”, 49% Hispanic and now it’s 99% Hispanic.

Over the years, there have been several occasions talking with friends, parents of friends and honest strangers, where I’ve had the opportunity to hear “The Truth Spoken Behind Closed Doors”.

During these specific conversations, friends, parents of friends, and strangers have made statements such as “you’re a smart black guy” and “you’re not like the other [blacks]”, then proceed to criticize the ‘other’ blacks, like it was nothing. A girl I was dating in high school, said her dad wanted to talk with me (we were on the phone). He wanted to speak with me because he knew I was black. After a few seconds on the phone he questions “You don’t sound black?”, then goes on to explain to me how his wife (who was Cuban) didn’t like the idea of her daughter dating a black man, but that he (Italian) had no problem with it.

What I’ve found over the years is that many people are not racist per se, but instead, perhaps those who are not black (and even blacks themselves) are somehow convinced that blacks are inherently less than. In other words, it seems people simply distaste darker skin. In order to protect their image of themselves as “good people”, it seems as though they either subconsciously or intentionally convince themselves that blacks are “bad” as to support their line of thinking.

Here’s why I say that. I put a couch up for sale on Craigslist. Three students from the University of Miami came to pick it up. They were three girls from China who just came the the United States for the first time. I’m 6’4″ and dark, they came in the house (on the bus) and asked if I can help them bring it to their apartment. So here we all are, driving in my SUV. We start talking about the weather and they remark how it’s too hot in Miami. One girl said “There’s too much sun. I don’t want to get dark”. I proceeded to ask why she didn’t want to get darker (basically a tan). She said, that being dark is bad. She said in China if you have lighter skin people show you more favor, get better jobs, etc…. mind you, this had nothing to do with black people! As a matter of fact, once we got to the apartment we all chatted a bit and they made some snacks.

I guess the question remains, Are you a ‘bad person’ if you do not like or want to be associated with those having dark skin? Are you a ‘bad person’ by making statements such as “blacks are lazy”, “blacks are (fill in the blank)”? Apparently not.

From my experience, people are pretty comfortable talking about blacks in a negative light. I know, because I’ve had the truth spoken to me, from behind closed doors.

Strength is black on both sides

Sedrick Ivey,
USA

It’s a harsh truth but we do live in a white man’s world. To thrive and succeed in life it often feels as though those who don’t fit that archetype have to sacrifice what makes them different to conform to the will of this majority. In my case being black means doing so on both sides. My outward appearance and my thoughts match and I refuse to change to be painted white physically or mentally. I will never give up who I am because it is unappealing or unmarketable to the masses.

Truth behind fear of Black men

Christian Armour,
Starkville, MS

I’ve often myself have asked myself many times before why people fear black men so much. As a young black man myself, the last thing I would want is for another individual to be afraid of me simply because of my race. However, as I explored this topic further, I’ve come to understand that people fear black men because of the dangers we pose when we decide to try and be successful in a world that wasn’t created for us to be successful in. People see us as a threat not because of our skin complexion, but because of the fact that many of us won’t conform to the racial stereotypes and lifestyles that have been put in place. The expectation is that a black man is going to grow up to become some type of criminal or unlaw abiding citizen, however, when the opposite happens and a black man chooses to try to be successful, such as by becoming an entrepreneur or working high-paying jobs that not many black men work, that is when the fear arises. The fear of black men arises when a black man doesn’t conform to who a black man is supposed to be in American society.

Drowning in generalizations; floating on truth

Alexis Ford
Ann Arbor, MI
Understanding Race Project- University of Michigan

As an African American, I have several generalizations placed upon me.
Some people just assume who I am. I am rarely asked. While a lot of
these assumptions hurt, I know the truth. I know only my own actions
and words define me. I know that I am an individual. I know who I
really am and ultimately that may be all that matters.

I’m an Arab named Dave Hall

Arab nameDave Hall,
Brooklyn, NY.

I get my name from my Yankee (English-American) father, whose ancestors arrived in Boston in 1630 but I get my complexion from my Arab-American mother. People do a double take when they first meet me after only hearing my voice on the phone. And new friends quickly learn that I am passionately insistent about discussing Arabs in truth, not in myth and stereotype.

Passing off white, hearing the truth

Anonymous,

USA

 

I am a light-skinned Hispanic woman. I straddle between the white world and the brown world. White people don’t realize I’m brown, and brown people don’t realize I’m not white. I “pass.” I have freckles, and I don’t speak Spanish. My accent is a Long Island one. I grew up in predominantly white neighborhoods, but the schools I have attended have been a healthy mix. I have found myself, on numerous occasions, being in privy to candid conversations among white people regarding race. Some conversations have been outright racist “The only reason why black people are free is because white people let them be free.”) others veiled (“There shouldn’t be Spanish signs in the US. They should all speak English!”) I have learned to be on guard when I am in social situations with white people. If there are no brown faces in sight, I keep my guard up. Many times I have been present when issues about race come up and people don’t realize “one of them” is sitting at their table. When I was younger, I used to sit there, too mortified to say anything as ethnic jokes and denigrating banter took place around me. I would excuse myself to the bathroom and cry. I would cry because I was deeply offended, cry because I couldn’t bring myself to say anything, cry because I was reminded that the secret court of men’s hearts, little has changed. Now I speak up, outing myself and making it clear such language is offensive and wrong.
My best friend, who is black, envies my position. She tells me she would love to know what people think when they think no one is listening. It is not something to envy. I am constantly reminded that all those unity days and diversity weeks at school make little difference and we live in a divided world. Brown people distrust white people and white people live with prejudices they don’t even realize. I find myself explaining the views of each side to the other. I will never be truly comfortable walking into a room with only white people. I always look for a brown face because if there is a brown face, those conversations are likely not to take place. My husband and I want to move to a bigger house in a nicer neighborhood. Our dream town in lily white. As I was driving through this town recently, I started thinking about my life there. I found myself fearful. Fearful of attending PTA meetings or going to my daughter’s soccer games and being surrounded by white people and inevitably being there when the conversation takes that turn; the turn when they think they are only among white friends. Even though I have been in this situation countless times, I will never get used to it and it will never cease to upset me.
I don’t think all white people or racists or that black people are completely right to see racism everywhere. The truth is race has been, is, and will always be a complicated issue, and I will always be able to hear the truly candid thoughts and feelings of both sides.

Appearing strong. Mending daily. Race matters.

Tony-CroppedAnthony Charles Bradburn,
Crystal Lake, IL.

As a Dominican, it’s easy to get lost in nationality. The truth is I have a rich, beautiful Black line of people before me. I am honored to stand with them and cull their strength. The truth is I have white, Spanish Imperialistic blood in me. The truth is the great Taino tribe reigned in Hispanola before these other groups arrived. More space is required to express how I feel about all of this, but at a glance–excited, scared, tender. For now, that about covers it.

Why are we afraid of TRUTH?

IMG_0812C. Denise Johnson
Pittsburgh, PA

TRUTH is… we are all part of the collateral damage of institutional racism. That’s why some of us are resistant to change and others want more change. When the foundation of your society is predicated by elitism, sexism and racism, you end up with a schizophrenic nation afraid to look itself in the mirror.

Our global motivations are innately similar.

TiffanyWysocki-color2Tiffany Wysocki,
Middletown, NJ.
Monmouth University

As I travel the world, I have found one truth: we are all innately equal in our drives and desires. We are driven by love and survival. We want the best for our families. We want to feel loved and have the opportunity to love. That’s it. That is the place we start. Not from our differences, but what makes us the same. The human condition is more powerful than our facades. If we can start from our collective human similarities, we collaborate and we win. If we start conversations and interactions with what makes us different and “other,” we judge…and lose before we begin. Change perceptions and you change reality.

You Look Like Your Dad

Krystal Lopez,
San Jose, CA.

Being Mexican that’s all I tried to be growing up, but the truth is there is a black hole that I have made with being Native American. Growing up I never knew the man I would call my “Dad”. It was always just me and my Mexican & German mother. As I got olderIi slowly started to realize I didn’t look like my mom. My face was more rounder than hers, my hair was a lot darker, and my complexion was more of a red brown. So finally I put the puzzle together, I don’t look like my mother I look like my dad.

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