I knew very few people of color growing up in Missouri. The University of Missouri has an extensive census archive which says that in the 1970’s my county was 97 percent white.
97 percent white…let that sink in.
My little hometown on the Big Muddy was steeped in racism.
To this day you can find Confederate flags flying high around Missouri.
I wonder if these people wish the Civil War had gone the other way
(40% of Missouri fought for the Confederacy).
If not, do these people think about the symbol that this flag represents…slavery.
How that feels to their black friends.
Do they have any black friends?
Being able to put yourself in another person’s shoes and then to think about how your actions and beliefs affect that person has always resonated with me.
How would I feel if I were a black person in our white-centric world?
My hometown had Aunt Jemimah syrup.
My hometown had black lawn jockeys.
I remember seeing a kid who wore a
hobo costume for Halloween one year with blackface.
No one thought the costume was wrong, except for maybe the
3% of blacks not enjoying being compared to a hobo.
Was this meant to imply blacks were homeless? Jobless?
Inexplicably I still love my hometown and I hope that the #BLM movement might instill
a deeper consideration around race for those who are racist and not aware of it.
Being open to seeing, and addressing, our own ugliness is the only way to make a change.
For those of you who will actually consider what I wrote without dismissing
me since “you’re sure you’re not racist” check out
So You Want to Talk About Race by Ijeoma Olua.
If we get real with ourselves we all have a prejudice to something and
when we know better, we can do better.