Scene I --
I was standing at the computer terminal talking to a co-worker. I asked him he did during the day when he was not working at the store in the evening.
"Are you going to school?" I asked.
"Not yet," he said dryly. "But I am doing self-study."
"Oh, what are you studying?"
"Myself," he smiled.
"Oh, you mean self-study!" I exclaimed as I understood what he meant.
"And how is that coming along?"
"The more I get to know myself, the more I realize I know so little about myself."
"Hmm, interesting," I said thoughtfully.
Another co-worker was standing next to me, smiled and agreed while he was taping up a box. And another co-worker was typing some data at the computer next to us, intent at finishing her work before leaving for the day. Then a tall handsome black man in a pale yellow button down shirt walked up to us holding a pack of light bulbs.
"You can pay for that at the register," I said.
"We don't have registers here. They're over there," said the co-worker I was talking to as he was pointing in the direction of the registers.
He just laughed and said, "Look at the four of you guys goofing off around here."
The co-worker who was typing stopped, looked at the gentleman, and made a face.
"And look at her, just like a mean black woman. Hah!" He just laughed and walked off.
Then three of our co-workers walked up to us with grins on their faces.
"What was that about?" one shouted in laughter and amazement. "Man that was crazy!" the other said as he shook his head with a grin.
Scene II -- Five black men, one black woman, and me, whom I can only identify myself as part white and part asian.
"As I was saying, self-study! Look it's not you. That's just his perception of himself."
"You know black men just don't like a strong black woman and that guy is an example of one of them who would be first in line to get one of those women I told you about earlier, a stupid white lady!"
"What?" I said trying to put together the pieces I had heard from a conversation earlier that afternoon.
"That's right, I'm sick of those crazy educated white ladies comin in here who have nothing better to do with their time than spend all that money and aggravating the hell outta me! Didn't I tell you that was the topic for the day?" she said with a grin on her face as she stared straight into the eyes of one of the laughing guys.
"Look I don't exactly consider myself white, but they aren't the only people who come into the store and aggravate us," I said.
She looked at me and said, "They crazy, alright?" she laughed. "See, we don't put up with any a yall's shit," She pointed in laughter. "Cause we strong and yall don't like that!" Then she walked off.
Scene III -- Four black men and me, an aspiring open minded feminist.
"See black women don't put up with abuse. They're strong. They always have been."
Okay they have attitude, tell me something I don't know! Black male comedians joke about that all the time.
"And look at European women. They choose to be passive and get pushed around or controlled."
"Women are women," I said. "Not all women allow themselves to get pushed around. Look at women in other countries, in Asia for example."
"Those women have no choice, the women here and in Europe do."
"What about the women from those countries who come here? They have a choice."
"Not most of them, not if they are married to a man from that country. Remember The Donna Reed Show?"
"Yeah," I said wondering where this was going.
"Well women then were really living like Donna Reed. It was just a show."
"That was then and this is now."
"Women are still acting like that. But black women weren't acting like that then and they aren't now."
The guys started to nod their heads in unison. "He's right."
"What are you saying, it's a genetic or cultural thing? Well maybe they're brought up that way. How could it be genetic?"
"Well, look in Africa. . .They have more matriarchal societies."
One of the guys from Gambia looked quizically at me.
"Yeah and egalitarian agricultural societies. Women's tasks aren't worth any less or anymore than men's tasks. I know this already," I said firmly. "But I still don't see how it could be genetic."
Scene IV -- A brief lesson in African and Gender studies
"Well look at the fashion industry, those women are skin and bones. They look that way because the men who design the clothes are homosexual men."
"And so they look like waifs or skinny boys." I had heard all of that before. Then he hit me with something that made me feel stuck.
"Have you guys seen the E entertainment channel?"
"Like wild with E?" the Gambian asked with laughter.
"Yeah, there was a special on women and ass," he whispered. Then he pointed further into the circle to come closer.
"Did we hear you correctly?"
"Did you say, A-S-S? Yeah right!"
"It was on VH1 as well."
"Oh you mean like Jennifer Lopez?" I said, knowing that she was synonimous with having "the ass."
"And look at Britney Spears. Everyone knows that ass means power."
What?! I started to get uncomfortable.
"And who was that actress with the big lips, Julia Roberts?"
"You mean Angelina Jolie?"
"Well, Julia Roberts was before her. And remember how people wanted big lips, collagen implants?"
This was not making sense or was it.
"The ass is power!"
Scene V -- The Last Act
I was sure I wasn't getting heard and I felt crazy, hurt, and despondent. I didn't understand and I couldn't express myself clearly. Sometimes I felt left out of their conversations, so I might listen or join in. I think they started to realize that I was pretty open-minded, out spoken, and wasn't ignorant to world events and African geography. I was never too keen on the group dynamic, but I can usually get out something good when I talk to them one on one. Suddenly, when it came to race issues, I was let in on what they were really thinking or talking about when I nor my white co-workers weren't around.
Having lived in Korea for a short time, I was shocked to discover what some of my family felt about Americans. It wasn't nice. They were smelly, loud, and had strange manners. They were distasteful to them. Trying to keep an open-mind at all times, I agreed and minded my business. "So Americans can be gross, as long as you aren't thinking that about me!" I thought. Looking back, I wonder if the Koreans really feel that way, if Americans realize they are looked at that way, and if I'm considered one of the gross or strange ones by my family in Korea. Somehow I briefly felt like part of the Korean group.
Sometimes I think it is good that I never felt like I quite fit in. As an artist or writer, do you really want to "fit in?" I like to feel that "fitting in" part for a brief moment, because I feel like I see a bit of insight or get a different perspective. Now I start to wonder how my co-workers really see me, as weak, too nice, or as a strange white girl.
Many people probably wouldn't care. But then, I'm not many people. I care and those words really made me think and wonder. I felt unsettled and bad. Perhaps what they said wasn't anger towards me, because they don't see me as either white or black or even Korean. What made it acceptable for them to say racist things around me in a public place? And why was I defensive?
I was telling the story to my white boyfriend, who was outraged, but said, "Why are you bothered by this?"
"I just feel sad. Something's wrong!"
I thought about it for a minute and I was angry. I realized that they were angry too. They were judgemental and I have been too. I couldn't understand why this was existing and why it wasn't changing. I couldn't understand why people who don't know each and who see that they have a few different characteristics believe that others are below them or better than them.
All I can think about is how everyone is the same. We don't know the Muslims in the Middle East unless we have close friends, family members, or are Muslim. All we see is what the media provides for us. We see pictures of women in burkas and children living amongst rubble and we pity them and think the culture must be evil for inflicting that kind of injustice on women and children. We see Iraqis or Iranians protesting and shouting "Evil America!" They don't know what America is like, unless they have been here or have family here. All they know is they've been taught to hate and resent what they do not know. They are told this by leaders, in schools, media, and books. This is what they know from the time they were taught the difference between blue and red, good and bad. All we know is that we hate the feeling of fear and vulnerability. We hate that others have the control to bring fear and death.
Anger, sadness, and fear are spreading. People here don't know when they will be laid off. They don't know if they are going to get shot because they were standing on a street corner waiting to cross the street. They don't know if someone close to them will be attacked or raped. They don't know if the building they work in will collapse because of an explosion. Everyone feels like their world is crazy or they are losing control.
For the past year, I have complained about a million things. I complain about not having enough money, not having the job that I want, not feeling like working out at the gym, and a gazillion other petty neurotic things. I felt like my world was falling apart. I couldn't figure out why I felt out of touch and unreal. I didn't understand why my roommates were out of touch, angry with me, or never had enough money. I didn't understand why my friends hated their job, never had enough money, and their significant others were leaving them or treating them like crap. I couldn't understand why my boyfriend has had to suffer with severe back and leg pain from an injury. I don't know why it feels like things feel different in the past two years. Everyone is feeling it, like I am not the only one. Suddenly, we're experiencing this strange dread, hope, and fear.
I wanted to separate myself and hide. I wanted to be different, to be the good one, the kind one, the adventurous one, the risk taker, the problem solver, the one who could change things and give someone something to think about. I'm starting to realize who strange and skewed our perceptions of ourselves and others around us really are.
It is like what Don Miguel Ruiz says, a dream. My boyfriend said the other day, very few if any people really see things or people for what they really are. Few people really see. I never understood the connection to the universal consciousness, but maybe I'm getting a glimpse of what that really means. We're all the same, but we just don't see that. We think they are trying to hurt us. It is not us they are hurting, it's themselves. Finding oneself and accepting is the first step. Then we can accept everything around us and not get hurt, or fear, or worry about pain, loss, or death.
I was standing at the computer terminal talking to a co-worker. I asked him he did during the day when he was not working at the store in the evening.
"Are you going to school?" I asked.
"Not yet," he said dryly. "But I am doing self-study."
"Oh, what are you studying?"
"Myself," he smiled.
"Oh, you mean self-study!" I exclaimed as I understood what he meant.
"And how is that coming along?"
"The more I get to know myself, the more I realize I know so little about myself."
"Hmm, interesting," I said thoughtfully.
Another co-worker was standing next to me, smiled and agreed while he was taping up a box. And another co-worker was typing some data at the computer next to us, intent at finishing her work before leaving for the day. Then a tall handsome black man in a pale yellow button down shirt walked up to us holding a pack of light bulbs.
"You can pay for that at the register," I said.
"We don't have registers here. They're over there," said the co-worker I was talking to as he was pointing in the direction of the registers.
He just laughed and said, "Look at the four of you guys goofing off around here."
The co-worker who was typing stopped, looked at the gentleman, and made a face.
"And look at her, just like a mean black woman. Hah!" He just laughed and walked off.
Then three of our co-workers walked up to us with grins on their faces.
"What was that about?" one shouted in laughter and amazement. "Man that was crazy!" the other said as he shook his head with a grin.
Scene II -- Five black men, one black woman, and me, whom I can only identify myself as part white and part asian.
"As I was saying, self-study! Look it's not you. That's just his perception of himself."
"You know black men just don't like a strong black woman and that guy is an example of one of them who would be first in line to get one of those women I told you about earlier, a stupid white lady!"
"What?" I said trying to put together the pieces I had heard from a conversation earlier that afternoon.
"That's right, I'm sick of those crazy educated white ladies comin in here who have nothing better to do with their time than spend all that money and aggravating the hell outta me! Didn't I tell you that was the topic for the day?" she said with a grin on her face as she stared straight into the eyes of one of the laughing guys.
"Look I don't exactly consider myself white, but they aren't the only people who come into the store and aggravate us," I said.
She looked at me and said, "They crazy, alright?" she laughed. "See, we don't put up with any a yall's shit," She pointed in laughter. "Cause we strong and yall don't like that!" Then she walked off.
Scene III -- Four black men and me, an aspiring open minded feminist.
"See black women don't put up with abuse. They're strong. They always have been."
Okay they have attitude, tell me something I don't know! Black male comedians joke about that all the time.
"And look at European women. They choose to be passive and get pushed around or controlled."
"Women are women," I said. "Not all women allow themselves to get pushed around. Look at women in other countries, in Asia for example."
"Those women have no choice, the women here and in Europe do."
"What about the women from those countries who come here? They have a choice."
"Not most of them, not if they are married to a man from that country. Remember The Donna Reed Show?"
"Yeah," I said wondering where this was going.
"Well women then were really living like Donna Reed. It was just a show."
"That was then and this is now."
"Women are still acting like that. But black women weren't acting like that then and they aren't now."
The guys started to nod their heads in unison. "He's right."
"What are you saying, it's a genetic or cultural thing? Well maybe they're brought up that way. How could it be genetic?"
"Well, look in Africa. . .They have more matriarchal societies."
One of the guys from Gambia looked quizically at me.
"Yeah and egalitarian agricultural societies. Women's tasks aren't worth any less or anymore than men's tasks. I know this already," I said firmly. "But I still don't see how it could be genetic."
Scene IV -- A brief lesson in African and Gender studies
"Well look at the fashion industry, those women are skin and bones. They look that way because the men who design the clothes are homosexual men."
"And so they look like waifs or skinny boys." I had heard all of that before. Then he hit me with something that made me feel stuck.
"Have you guys seen the E entertainment channel?"
"Like wild with E?" the Gambian asked with laughter.
"Yeah, there was a special on women and ass," he whispered. Then he pointed further into the circle to come closer.
"Did we hear you correctly?"
"Did you say, A-S-S? Yeah right!"
"It was on VH1 as well."
"Oh you mean like Jennifer Lopez?" I said, knowing that she was synonimous with having "the ass."
"And look at Britney Spears. Everyone knows that ass means power."
What?! I started to get uncomfortable.
"And who was that actress with the big lips, Julia Roberts?"
"You mean Angelina Jolie?"
"Well, Julia Roberts was before her. And remember how people wanted big lips, collagen implants?"
This was not making sense or was it.
"The ass is power!"
Scene V -- The Last Act
I was sure I wasn't getting heard and I felt crazy, hurt, and despondent. I didn't understand and I couldn't express myself clearly. Sometimes I felt left out of their conversations, so I might listen or join in. I think they started to realize that I was pretty open-minded, out spoken, and wasn't ignorant to world events and African geography. I was never too keen on the group dynamic, but I can usually get out something good when I talk to them one on one. Suddenly, when it came to race issues, I was let in on what they were really thinking or talking about when I nor my white co-workers weren't around.
Having lived in Korea for a short time, I was shocked to discover what some of my family felt about Americans. It wasn't nice. They were smelly, loud, and had strange manners. They were distasteful to them. Trying to keep an open-mind at all times, I agreed and minded my business. "So Americans can be gross, as long as you aren't thinking that about me!" I thought. Looking back, I wonder if the Koreans really feel that way, if Americans realize they are looked at that way, and if I'm considered one of the gross or strange ones by my family in Korea. Somehow I briefly felt like part of the Korean group.
Sometimes I think it is good that I never felt like I quite fit in. As an artist or writer, do you really want to "fit in?" I like to feel that "fitting in" part for a brief moment, because I feel like I see a bit of insight or get a different perspective. Now I start to wonder how my co-workers really see me, as weak, too nice, or as a strange white girl.
Many people probably wouldn't care. But then, I'm not many people. I care and those words really made me think and wonder. I felt unsettled and bad. Perhaps what they said wasn't anger towards me, because they don't see me as either white or black or even Korean. What made it acceptable for them to say racist things around me in a public place? And why was I defensive?
I was telling the story to my white boyfriend, who was outraged, but said, "Why are you bothered by this?"
"I just feel sad. Something's wrong!"
I thought about it for a minute and I was angry. I realized that they were angry too. They were judgemental and I have been too. I couldn't understand why this was existing and why it wasn't changing. I couldn't understand why people who don't know each and who see that they have a few different characteristics believe that others are below them or better than them.
All I can think about is how everyone is the same. We don't know the Muslims in the Middle East unless we have close friends, family members, or are Muslim. All we see is what the media provides for us. We see pictures of women in burkas and children living amongst rubble and we pity them and think the culture must be evil for inflicting that kind of injustice on women and children. We see Iraqis or Iranians protesting and shouting "Evil America!" They don't know what America is like, unless they have been here or have family here. All they know is they've been taught to hate and resent what they do not know. They are told this by leaders, in schools, media, and books. This is what they know from the time they were taught the difference between blue and red, good and bad. All we know is that we hate the feeling of fear and vulnerability. We hate that others have the control to bring fear and death.
Anger, sadness, and fear are spreading. People here don't know when they will be laid off. They don't know if they are going to get shot because they were standing on a street corner waiting to cross the street. They don't know if someone close to them will be attacked or raped. They don't know if the building they work in will collapse because of an explosion. Everyone feels like their world is crazy or they are losing control.
For the past year, I have complained about a million things. I complain about not having enough money, not having the job that I want, not feeling like working out at the gym, and a gazillion other petty neurotic things. I felt like my world was falling apart. I couldn't figure out why I felt out of touch and unreal. I didn't understand why my roommates were out of touch, angry with me, or never had enough money. I didn't understand why my friends hated their job, never had enough money, and their significant others were leaving them or treating them like crap. I couldn't understand why my boyfriend has had to suffer with severe back and leg pain from an injury. I don't know why it feels like things feel different in the past two years. Everyone is feeling it, like I am not the only one. Suddenly, we're experiencing this strange dread, hope, and fear.
I wanted to separate myself and hide. I wanted to be different, to be the good one, the kind one, the adventurous one, the risk taker, the problem solver, the one who could change things and give someone something to think about. I'm starting to realize who strange and skewed our perceptions of ourselves and others around us really are.
It is like what Don Miguel Ruiz says, a dream. My boyfriend said the other day, very few if any people really see things or people for what they really are. Few people really see. I never understood the connection to the universal consciousness, but maybe I'm getting a glimpse of what that really means. We're all the same, but we just don't see that. We think they are trying to hurt us. It is not us they are hurting, it's themselves. Finding oneself and accepting is the first step. Then we can accept everything around us and not get hurt, or fear, or worry about pain, loss, or death.
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
kurtz:
and to be the stereotypical male lurker on this board, i love the avatar in your profile. a little playfulness with the seriousness. rock on sister.
kurtz:
i have a german shepherd that would eat your wiener dog.......... and to think that i was going to move to atlanta a month ago.............