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Black and
White....
They call this black
and white, this print. On the surface, it may be, the medium is limited
to black areas and white areas. It's what we have to work with. But when
it comes to the content, the meanings that come through, the comprehension
of someone reading, there's room for the entire spectrum. These words
may look black and white, but things are seldom that cut and dried. They
call me, or at least my type, white, although I am actually many more
shades than that. When I work in the sun, my arms and face become a reddish
brown, and when I swim in really cold water, I turn kind of blue. Even
the parts of me that rarely see the light of day are not exactly white....
more like a buff or beige. In fact, the only parts of me that are ever
actually white are my teeth and the places where I carelessly splatter
white paint or gesso. They call him and his type black, even though
he ranges from deep chocolate to creamy cappuccino.
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| I was
in Springdale the other day, going into a mini mart. I opened and held the
door for a couple who were coming out. They would probably call these
people Mexican, although I saw them only as people coming through a door.
The woman came through first and averted her eyes, the man caught my gaze
for half a moment and said "Thank you," as he passed. In the tone was wonder
and surprise, like he never expected such a thing. I realized then what
I had forgotten: that I was white, that Those who have come before me have
left me with a history of injuries to undo, that I could not escape the
color, or lack thereof, of my skin. |
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| I realized that
even though I myself came into this world an outsider, too, an "illegitimate"
hippie child (my friend Jerry, an open minded WWII vet, reminds me they
called us love children. I like that better) and even though I have been
a gringo minority, all of that is a mystery to someone who sees me only
as a white male. Maybe I'll dye my skin green, so that no assumptions can
be made, or maybe I'll shave my head again. Of course, then, they'll think
I'm a neo-nazi skinhead. Or maybe I'll don a white shirt, black slacks,
starry eyed gaze and tell all my friends I'd become a Jehovah's witness.
In any case, They'd all assume I'm a freak (not too far from the truth).
I can't really argue with people of darker shades who say the white man
has run around acting like a real prick, and I can't disagree that some
white cops don't get their rocks off beating the holy you know what out
of them. But I can honestly say that I've experienced more discrimination
from darker folks than I have ever dished out (I've come close to being
killed for being white). |
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Where
does it end when the Arabs hate the Jews and the Japanese hate the Koreans
and the blacks hate the Mexicans and they all seem to hate the whites (and
vice versa to all)? How do we break through the walls, communicate that
this whole experience is way, way deeper than skin deep? There's got
to be some clause somewhere, that gets one out of this... some sort
of racial bankruptcy that releases a person from the debts of thousands
of years of abuse, thousands of years of adversarial relationship. |
| The only
solution I've thought of is only a personal one, and it's pretty small in
the grand scope of things, but it's this: consider yourself an ambassador,
an emissary between alien worlds, and always be conscious of the history
we are working from. |
Later note: When I was looking for pictures to go with this story, I realized
that I had no pictures of any people of color, in fact, at present, I can only
think of one friend who is black, and I don't have a picture of her. I did see
her the other day and complimented her on her hair - she's growing it out like
an afro - it looks cool. It is not that I am avoiding people of color, it is
just that I hardly ever have contact with any. Here in the Ozark hills, where
I currently reside, it's pretty much white people only, with the exception of
a neighbor originally from Iran. Although in the areas closer to cities and
towns, this area is becoming more diverse, primarily because of plentiful although
low wage jobs with the poultry industry and Wally-Mart.
