The Least Racist...

Recently, a national figure made the statement: "I am the least racist person you will ever interview!" Frankly, I would have been bamboozled just by the audacity of a white person making a statement like this, let alone a person clearly of such huge privilege. I could not make this statement, despite it being my overwhelming desire to be able to, and to have it be true. Here are a few reasons why.

First of all, I am a white racist. This is a confession that is not shocking to anyone engaging in the prodigious task of dismantling racism in America. I am a white racist because I am a member of the majority race in this nation (at least it currently is), and because we live in a society that is still far from conquering racism, and one that so privileges members of the majority race--especially males--I am guilty of institutional racism. I faced no extra scrutiny or lack of enthusiasm from either my real estate agent nor my lender because of the color of my skin. Getting a mortgage was easy, even considering that I hadn't had one in over 30 years. No one even looked askance at us when we moved into our home in Adams Ridge. I have purchased 10 brand new automobiles in my lifetime, with nary a question about my ability to get financing. I have applied, enrolled in, and graduated from three institutions of higher learning with no one questioning my intent or ability to complete a degree. I have been pulled over by the police on, well, let's say a few occasions and have never been treated in any way but politely, and in a couple of the cases, was just given a mild warning instead of a citation. I have never even been asked to exit my car by an officer. I obviously have not been stopped because of the color of my skin, even by a black policemen when I was driving late at night in a predominantly African American section of the city. A number of ethnic friends of mine cannot echo many--if any--of these experiences. The fact that persons of color are more typically questioned, or doubted, singled out, or made to provide extraordinary proof of credit when making a major purchase is a clear sign of the continued institutional racism in this country, and while it is a nationwide phenomenon, it is much worse in some parts than in others. The fact that a young African American and a young caucasian going out looking to rent an apartment in the same week, in the same town have a very, very different experience is another sign. And, because I am part of this privileged, majority race--due to no merit on my part--I am a white racist, and will be until we tear down all of these institutional walls "erected" simply by skin color.

Let me tell you another reason why I am a white racist, and it has nothing to do with the institutional racism of the wider society. I was raised that way. I grew up in a small, Northwestern Pennsylvania town that was about as diverse as a bag of Stay Puft marshmallows. We had only two African American families in town, and two persons of color in my whole high school, a girl and a boy (and with 392 in my graduating class, it wasn't exactly a small school). Both of these persons of color were wonderful individuals, loved by most of their peers, or so I thought. It wasn't until years after high school that I learned of the kind of scorn and oppression they faced from many in the student body, and most especially when they excelled in some area. I do remember how many of us used to tell the girl (I'll call her Jessie) how we appreciated that she acted so white, fitting in and not bringing up the whole "civil rights" thing all the time. (I can't believe we did this, even as I am writing it now, but this is, after all, "true confessions.") I'll also never forget how shocked we all were when Jessie, toward the end of our junior year, began to assert her racial heritage. I guess that is when I began to have my consciousness raised as to just how racist my attitudes had been all along. How sad that this really didn't "start" until my 17th year! There's more...

Except for one white, male teacher, I don't ever remember having our small town racism being challenged by the faculty of our school. This one teacher who did confront all of us was a social studies teacher who had attended a vastly diverse college, and who had developed numerous friends of different ethnic and national origins. He met our parents at visitation nights and at sporting events, and heard us parroting their racial prejudice all week long at school. In numerous ways, he attempted to disrupt the small town cycle of racism and to stimulate our brains to recognize it for what it was. I remember a time when he held his own "assembly" by calling together his class sections and having an African American friend of his speak to us. This gentleman intentionally began "acting" the part of a black "activist," accusing us of oppressing black people and maintaining and perpetuating the stranglehold white people had on power and privilege. He was playing a "part" in this little drama, and it worked. The roomful of white kids almost went "postal," defending ourselves with verbal catcalls and slurs aimed back at him. We guys were the worst; a few of our more sensitive and enlightened female classmates began to turn on us, calling us bigots and jerks. (Honestly, I don't think we were using the term "racist" much in our peer group at the time.) The women were right--we were bigots and jerks. And when that speaker stepped out of his incendiary "act" and began just to talk with us about what had happened and why, I remember feeling ashamed--very ashamed--but not wanting to admit it, especially among my white, male friends. I still, to this day, get sick to my stomach at the thought of how I thought and acted on that Thursday afternoon back in 1971. There's more...

When our all-white high school sports teams played teams from more diverse towns, racial slurs became part of the unofficial "cheerleading." And many of the parents were in on it, too. Most of us in that small oil industry and manufacturing town grew up in conservative, white families where racism was taught and defended--sometimes intentionally, sometimes not so much--but it was still the norm. "Oh, Mr. So-and-So who works down at the Post Office is so nice--too bad all of them aren't like that"--statements like this could be heard around almost every supper table in my town. The N-word was seen as "impolite" at best, but often used in casual conversation. You could have grabbed any five students from my school and asked them to make a list of attributes of "negros" (again, the term African American wouldn't make the lexicon of that town for a decade or two), and a codified list of stereotypes would have been forthcoming. There's more...

When I was in junior high, not too many people I knew had kind words for Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Even in my home church, he was largely ignored, except by a youth pastor, who came fresh out of Yale Divinity. Encountering him and paying attention to his take on Dr. King and the civil rights movement was another consciousness-raising event in my life. Rev. Mike sniffed out the foul smell of racism ten minutes into hitting town, and he began a methodical "attack" on it aimed at us youth, figuring our elders were a lost cause. While Dr. King was often seen as a "rabble-rouser" by people in this small Pennsylvania town (and our only contact with him was via TV), I remember listening to our youth pastor and then to some of the speeches of Dr. King and hearing the same message of love, redemption, forgiveness, and transformation from each. I can remember thinking "I hear no violence in this man, only a plea for acceptance and love" when Dr. King gave his "I Have a Dream" speech. Still, the power of my upbringing kept fighting against the rising tide of personal "enlightenment," and it was so easy to "backslide." There's more...

There is nothing I want more in my life to no longer be a white racist. But it is an uphill battle, and one that requires daily attention. Obviously, if I want to help dismantle white privilege and institutional racism, I must join with others, be a part of organized efforts, and become much more political than I am comfortable with as a pastor. But the harder part of my racism is that deep, personal "tape" that keeps playing in my soul, the one "programmed" there by family, my small town upbringing, my school, and my peers, to whom I acquiesced way too often. I have to fight the stereotypes that, while they are fading, are still holed up in some tuck in my gray matter. Years ago, while traveling in Scotland with one of my seminary professors, a Scot himself, he came out of an establishment livid, exclaiming: "THREE DEGREES and a Ph.D. and when I open my mouth here, I'm still the son of a coal miner!", meaning he still spoke with a dialect that gave away his origins. Likewise. Three degrees, a doctorate, thirty-plus years of ordained ministry, and tons of prayer to "let this cup pass from me," I can still harbor a racist thought if just the right conditions prevail. There's more...

The more is grace. Thanks be to God, grace has been transforming my life in many ways, and standing up against racism--institutional, denominational, and my personal "infestation"--is one of the ways that is happening. While this column might sound like self-flagellation, it is more about wanting to bare my soul and honestly share my personal struggle in an effort to engage the reader to do the same. I am a long way from being able to say ANYTHING like "I am the least racist person you will ever see." And so are you, if you are part of the majority race. If your defense is a statement like "I am not a racist--I have black friends," or "I don't care if people are black, white, or purple, I love everybody," then you have an even longer, tougher challenge ahead than you understand. The good news is that there is a spiritual renewal starting to move across the land, and it is focusing on dismantling racism as one of her priorities! As Dr. King said, "Darkness cannot drive out darkness, only light can do that. Hate can't drive out hate, only love can do that." May it be so in our lifetime, Dear Ones. Signed, a recovering white racist...