This is a personal narrative. I realize that we each have our own to share. But in light of the happenings of the last few days, I began an introspective look back at my education into racism.
I grew up in a small town in Minnesota. The demographics consisted of Swedes, Germans, Irish and Norwegians. It was a trip to Atlanta at thirteen when I first saw an African American in person. Until that time, I’d only seen them on television. Sheltered? Absolutely! It was culture shock for a young Swedish girl. This was America in 1966. The war in Vietnam continued. Both the US and USSR continued in their space race to see who would be the first to land a man on the moon. Race riots continued to increase across cities in America and National Guards were needed to bring back law and order. But I lived in a separate peace, a bubble of innocence.
My father’s mother, my grandmother, was born and raised in the south. I bring this up not as an excuse but as an explanation for her prejudices. She was raised to believe that she was superior. She was raised to believe that Negroes were dirty, lazy, unintelligent and inferior. Sadly, we live what we are taught.
Which brings my story to the recounting of that first moment when I became aware of racists – and that my grandmother was one of those people. Growing up in my situation, with my liberal, god-fearing, caring parents, I had no knowledge of race. To me, some people had blue eyes and some had green, some had yellow hair and some had red, some had beige skin and some had brown. I saw no differences in people because of a color. It never occurred to me to define people because of their coloring whether it be eyes, hair or skin. Until…
The event is ingrained in my consciousness because of my mother’s reaction more than any other reason. My mother was a kind, quiet, caring, loving, calm person who rarely showed a temper. But make her angry…and watch out! I believe I was around 11 years old which would have made my baby brother around two. As babies do, he found a penny and started to put it into his mouth. My grandmother panicked – not because he might choke – no, she panicked and cried out, “Don’t let him put that in his mouth! A Nigger might have had that.” And honestly, I had no idea what that word meant. But, my mother reacted with a rage and passion that I’d never seen from her. She walked up to her mother-in-law, got right in her face and said, “Don’t you ever, ever use that word in this house again! Don’t you EVER talk that way in front of my children again!” My mom shooed us out of the room but the conversation continued in heated, albeit hushed, tones.
That one moment in my life taught me so many important lessons. It taught me about unjustified hatred. It taught me about racism. It taught me about prejudices. But more importantly, it taught me that we must not keep our mouths shut when we see and hear injustices. It taught me that it doesn’t matter who it is, if someone speaks in a way that you find offensive, you must call them out – you must place your moral bearings above all else. It doesn’t matter that you were taught to respect your elders, we must stand up for what is right.
My hope is that the flagrant violation of human rights by Andrew Breitbart and his egregious actions towards Shirley Sherrod will be a part of the American story for years to come. My hope is that it can be a teaching moment and that we can all learn by that story. My hope is that someday children will be left with the innate knowledge that some people have blue eyes and some have green. Some people have yellow hair and some have red. Some people have beige skin and some have brown. My hope is that someday blue, green, yellow, red, beige and brown will be colors that paint our world more beautiful and not used as weapons against each other. Shirley Sherrod is the true American hero. Living a life through love, caring and forgiveness is something to behold.
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