Are We Together in Race?

 A personal essay by Ary Young

“Prejudice is a burden that confuses the past, threatens the future, and renders the present inaccessible.” Maya Angelou

It was a nice winter day in the small town in Idaho bordering Oregon. There was freshly fallen snow that glistened and sparkled in the sunlight. My family and I were visiting my grandparents for Christmas. We have been going to Idaho to visit for Christmas’s for as long as I can remember. This Christmas was different though it felt very similar to the rest at first. Yet, I kept thinking something feels different, maybe something I haven’t noticed before? I thought about this as I walked into my grandparents’ old home with yellowed vinyl flooring that was peeling up. Still I felt an uneasiness with every step. What seemed so different this Christmas?

Is race our division?

We were sitting on the old red leather couches talking with aunts, uncles, cousins, and of course my grandparents. It seemed like a normal discussion; everyone inputting a thought or two here and a thought or two there. I sat on the couch next to the wooden tv stand facing my grandpa’s rocker chair. My grandpa was sitting in his rocker with his white wispy hair that seemed to be floating away. I was glad to be sitting and talking with everyone; it felt like I was an adult participating in the adult conversations. 

As we all were sitting and talking in my grandparents' living room, the topic of race popped up. I do not know why there is an issue with a difference in color. I was lost in deep thought, contemplating the reason of racism. Were we not all equal no matter what the color of our skin was? We all were made the same, we only differ in shades. I was abruptly brought back to the conversation when I heard the joke that set off almost the whole room into a fit of laughter.  My grandfather, the culprit of the racist joke, was sitting in his rocker like throne as he laughed with the others. 

It disgusted me to think that my own grandpa found this comment to be funny. Why would anyone think of another skin color in such a way? I thought of question after question trying to make sense of the situation in my head. Is it wrong of me to lose respect for my grandfather after this comment? Is there a justification for his comment, or should I not justify his comment? Why are my other family members finding this funny? What should I do?

The conversation continued onward, including more and more racist comments. Though most of the comments were sly and snuck into the general conversation. I finally spoke up saying that these comments were not nice or appropriate. At that moment, everyone looked at me confused. The conversation then ensued with the same comments. Was it as if I was not there? I guess being the age I was my opinion does not matter as of yet. Was I one of the only people in the room who learned that we are all loved, and we shouldn’t judge others? The feeling of standing up for something that I believe to be wrong and being shut down was an irking feeling that left me confuzzled. 

Of course, after these moments, I could scarcely focus on anything else for the rest of Christmas week. My extended family went back to their houses a couple pastures away from my grandparents’ farm. As the week progressed, I noticed more and more racist comments that my grandfather would say. Had these comments slipped my mind before? Has he always made these comments, and I have never heard them? My grandfather would refer to those of darker colored skin tone “negros or niggers”. Both of which to my horror were said a few times in the week that we were there. Why would he talk like this? Why would he use such derogatory statements and words? 

Growing up my grandfather was a farmer. He served in the military during the war. I had known that being from the small town his views would not be as broad as those of mine or my immediate families. Maybe the way he was raised is the reason he speaks in such a crude manner. I thought through how maybe his parents taught him these derogatory comments. I do not know. What I do know is that I was unsure how to handle the comments without being disrespectful to my grandfather.

Towards the end of that beautiful wintery day conversation, my grandfather looks at me dead in the eyes and says, “You can’t marry a black man; it will cause way too many problems.” To this day, I wonder if he was referring to problems he has with race or if he thinks I would have problems. I was beginning to think that after all my grandfather may be a bigot in his views of race. 

Am I still daddy's little girl?

After this conversation with the family, my dad stepped aside with me into the small and narrow wood hallway filled with old pictures of my grandparents.  My father brought up the topic of the night- race. He mentioned that marrying someone that is black would be filled with issues and unnecessary hardships or hiccups that could occur. 

My very confused self was curious as to why this was a problem. Why does the color of skin matter for marriage? My dad did not answer my question as to why. Instead, he told me that there would be too many problems. He left me standing confused. Were both of these conversations stemming from the same place? I have not a clue of what my future holds. I just hope that I am able to break the line of racism from being passed down further. 

These two conversations both ended with me wondering how someone would think such things. From that moment onward, I wondered why people think in such harsh ways towards others because of a color. What if I get sucked into these views of unequalness just as they had? Would my posterity think the ways of old or have a much broader perspective?

Which lives matter?

It was a couple years later as I sat in my warm bedroom looking at the news when I saw that the Black Lives Matter movement had come about. I had forgotten the conversations I had with my father and grandfather on that wintery day. I admit I was confused as to why there was what seemed as a sudden start to the Black Lives Matter movement. I thought we had been doing better in not seeing each other as a color. I at first thought all lives matter so why did this movement spring up. 

I investigated the news and saw constant conflict among so many people. It made me reflect, how this could have happened so suddenly? I talked with many friends and family members about the crisis at hand, but we did not know what to do. I reflected as I learned more about the crisis and thought maybe it’s my first initial thought that caused the racism to start. I read more and more about what was happening, I found myself wondering how I could have ever thought that this movement should be for all instead of a minority.

A dear friend of mine, who has the most beautiful dark skin, was generous enough to help me understand more fully what the purpose of the BLM movement was. I was directed to a poem that encapsulated this movement, of the equalization of a color that was suppressed for far too long. 

“From the founding of the nation, America has had a rash.

It is racist, ageist, sexist and homophobic in its core.

George Floyd’s death just put the spotlight on the original sin.

The country now says “Black Lives Matter,” but they don’t.

Four hundred and one years after being brought against our will; battered, bombed, raped, abused, used, hung on a tree, or under a knee by people that can’t “see” our humanity.

When does it end?

Must one side always win? or lose? or cry, or die or lie about the truth of what is right before their eyes?

In a world of hate and pain, can Love ever reign again?

Like it did in the beginning in that great garden giving all humanity rainbow colors of life and love and love and love.

I choose Life,

I choose Light,

I will choose to Breathe unending Love,

We WILL Live in the Spirit of Love — IF we all choose that too.”

- By Valerie M. Street

I found looking back that I had changed my whole perspective from a privileged white kid to how would people treat the black community in such a way. I had seemingly forgotten how I felt when the comments were made back on the snowy day in Idaho. However, I remembered that feeling of wanting to help. The desire to find a new way of seeing others. The desire to see as many people of all different shades becoming united. I posted on social media about the ways we are all loved no matter the color we are. I set out to make amends with the past as best I could. I don’t want to be the means for the line of racism continuing onward in my family tree. I continue sharing and hoping my small efforts in this bigger than life matter may help in some way.