Theresa Rose is a dear friend of mine. Her writing is amazing. She wrote this essay for our rhetoric class. It's one of the best things I've ever read from a student. Read it. Love it. Live it.
My grandmother is nearly deaf, partially blind, incapable of moving on her own, bipolar, and suffers from
dementia. She frequently can’t remember the date, what she had for breakfast, and even her own children’s names. However, these are the least of her worries. The worst part of my sweet and harmless grandmother’s existence is that fact that black nurses work in her memory ward. She is one of those people that are
blind to personality and can only see colors. After every conversation we have,
I ask myself, “What makes her think this way?” Part of the problem is common
ignorance; she was born in Minnesota, a state known as “white” for more reasons
than just the climate. Yet there is something more to her incapability to see
beyond the color spectrum. Racism is a seemingly unending cycle of hate,
ignorance, and prejudice preserved solely by those who refuse to leave the past
behind them.
Upon
hearing my grandmother’s complaints, my own mother defended her by saying,
“Well, some black women do have
attitudes.” After she said this to me, I
asked myself, “What makes her think this way?” I rationalized that she, too,
was raised in “White Minnesota,” and that moving to Maryland and sending her
daughter to “BlackNamara” was a dramatic change, maybe too much for her to
handle. Moving to such a diverse area exposed my mother to new races, cultures,
and inevitably, stereotypes. Yet there is something more to her narrow vision;
she has been taught since birth that because the one black woman on T.V. had an
attitude, all black women must be self-righteous and domineering harpies. The
world would be better off if everyone was colorblind. Not colorblind in the
sense of shades of red and green, but in shades of race.
However,
it takes two to tango. This profound racism that somehow still exists in a
society that has completely eradicated diseases such as smallpox and polio is
not one-sided. People assume all black people love rap music, abhor George
Bush, live in a ghetto, and associate with criminals and thugs. Likewise,
people judge me before they know me. They assume I must love country music,
abhor Kanye West, live on a farm, and associate with cowboys and horses. I have
been known as “the white girl” in so many circles I’ve lost count. No matter
what I achieve, I will always just be the white girl, and nothing more.
Now
I ask myself, “What makes society think this way?” Is it the media? In their
eyes, all white people are married couples with 2.7 children and a white picket
fence. In their eyes, all black people come from single-mother homes and steal
cars for fun. In their eyes, all Hispanics are fresh out of Mexico (regardless
of which country they’re from) and pack a ridiculous amount of family members into
one house. In their eyes, all Asians are brought up to be genius piano
prodigies or to own nail salons. Sometimes the media acts as our own eyes and
reflects the stereotypes we’ve come to accept as truth. Then again, is all of
this pointless hatred a result of a pointless grudge? Although your
great-grandmother might have been a slave, your grandmother wasn’t, your mother
wasn’t, and you certainly weren’t. As for me, don’t accuse me or my ancestors
of owning slaves; we didn’t even come over to America from the Azores until
1920, long after slavery’s death. People are taking their grudges way too far.
One
of the most ridiculous things I’ve heard is, “Is it because I’m black?” This
question puts everyone in an awkward position. The person asking the question
is offended by something the other has done of said. The person the question is
directed at is now being accused of being racist. There is no possible way to
get out of that pit gracefully, and there is never really any truth behind the
question in the first place. Maybe 50 years ago there might have been a reason
to ask it, but not today. Everyone who asks those dreaded five words keeps
racism alive. That question is one of the many things that preserves racism
like formaldehyde preserves dead rats. Please, America, no one wants to keep a
dead rat. Can we throw them away now?
Kanatiyosh,
a Native American law student, asked where the “seeds of hate” began in the
world. He discussed the idea that “All I need to know I learned in
Kindergarden.” He, being of Native American descent, was offended, even as a
toddler, when asked to participate in the Thanksgiving Day class games, which
included making paper headdresses, dancing, and singing the children’s song
“Ten Little Indians.” Kanatiyosh then divulged that making paper headdresses
taught the children to think of all Native Americans as wild men who wore
feathers on their heads. The dancing, a form of spiritual expression for
Kanatiyosh’s people, mocked their lifestyle, and more importantly, their religion.
Finally, the singing was the most intolerable act of “pure racism” for him.
“Ten Little Indians” joyfully describes the genocide of Native American people.
Kanatiyosh concludes, “My kindergarten experience shows how the seeds of racism
and stereotyping can be planted in the minds of our children… There is Big Foot
wine and Crazy Horse Malt liquor. Crazy Horse was a Lakota spiritual leader who
was opposed to alcohol consumption, yet Hornell Brewing Co. uses name to sell
malt liquor. Dominant society preaches tolerance; however, one does not see a
Mother Teresa Tequila or a Martin Luther Malt Liquor and one must question why?
One reason is because society would not tolerate such use…”
As you can see, no one is born a racist. Whether by being
raised in a racially secluded town or influenced by pop culture, racism has to
be taught for it to continue. Infants at play don’t seek out their own race,
they play with everyone. These same children hate, judge, and kill each other
when they grow up. We were all born colorblind, but years of stereotyping and
judging others have left us with better color vision, but worse sight than
ever. “White Minnesota” taught my grandmother racism. She taught my mother. She
will try to teach me. I ask myself, “Where does this vicious cycle end?” I’ll
tell you. Racism ends with me.
-Theresa Rose
