<http://www.blackcommentator.com/71/71_wise_sex.html>
"Sex across the Color Line" by Tim Wise
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They [the adoptive parents of a rail-roaded Black kid) seemed to honestly believe that people were more decent and the society in which they lived more decent than they, or it, really were and are. That kind of preciousness is bad enough when parents allow it to blind them to the problems of their white children, but at least then it isn't likely to end in those children's destruction. However, for a black child to be raised amidst that kind of cheery naivete is to play fast and loose with his or her life. At the very least it teeters on the brink of neglect.
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wow.
This article splits my thoughts in two.
On the one hand, I believe the author's assertion that Black children must be taught a form of behavioral self-defense - a kind of intelligent paranoia in the face of persistent racism - to be over-the-top.
But, on the other hand, in truth, I know he's right. Accepting this is making me very sad and brings on a low-grade fever of anger that anyone should have to bear such a burden, especially children.
As Mr. Wise writes, it's typical for Black families to instruct (with differing levels of sophistication and success) their children in the ways of the world and instill a self-preserving wisdom.
My family for example taught me how to avoid (or at least, lessen the probability of) abuse or death at the hands of off-kilter white folks - for example, cops - some of whom seem to be on the verge of freaking out at any moment over the actions of non-White persons (the duskier the worst of course but fair skinned Asians get their turn on the suspicion merry-go-round too - remember Dr. Wen Ho Li?).
For me, the post Sept 11 world is, at the level of ordinary folks sending patriotic emails and making tough talk about squashing *hajis* or *sand n-words* one huge (and depressingly typical) freak out for that class of people who obsess over the details of the Kobe Bryant case among other, racially themed things.
I can think of several moments in my past, during the teen years in particular, when the caution and yes, near total lack of trust in the goodness of my country's dominant culture which was drilled into me prevented my skull from being cracked open.
There was, for example, the time when...
It's the height of summer and I'm 16. I'm walking, along with some good friends, down a popular street frequented by young people, bohemians (real and fakir) and assorted American-style bon vivants.
Police are everywhere. There were some minor incidents involving kids from a nearby slum so the owners of the clever shops have demanded extra police coverage.
The police are not happy.
At one point, a friend, known by everyone everywhere it seems, pauses to greet and chat with someone. We all pause to let him talk.
A nearby cop, let's call him Sgt. Buzzcut, notices this - a group of Black and Hispanic kids talking on a corner - and decides that we've got to move along. He walks over to us, one hand on his nightstick, ready for shit to be set off and says, *move along.*
At this point I make a mistake; placing my palms together and bowing slightly in the Namaste gesture Hindu Indians use I turn towards Sgt. Buzzcut.
I'd been recently introduced to Namaste by an Indian classmate who instructed me as to its meaning and urged me to use it, gently, when greeting his lovely family (*they'll appreciate it* he said).
So I was a big fan of Namaste, it seemed very beautiful to me.
Sadly, Sgt. Buzzcut didn't think of peace when he saw me making the Namaste gesture, he only thought, apparently, that a smart ass Black kid was not respecting his authoRI-tay.
Everything that happened next occured in the twinkling of an eye. Sgt. Buzzcut rushed over to me, unsheathed his stick, grabbed me painfully by both arms, went nose-to-nose and hissed, through clenched teeth *I don't want any more of your shit n-word you hear me?*
And this was the moment you see, when my family's training kicked in for real. In such situations, there's a right way and a wrong way.
Wrong way -
*Get your hands off me! You're violating my rights! Fuck you!
...
All the sorts of things the White dudes I knew at the time would have said.
Right Way -
A simple, wordless nod, a total eating of crow, a raising of the white flag, a standing down of forces.
...
Sgt. Buzzcut, satisfied that his authoRI-tay was now respected, released me from his grip and the promise of a split skull. My friends, witnessing this with rage, were ready to throw down but we all remembered our training.
I suppose this is the sort of knowledge the adoptive parents Mr. Wise discusses did not (and could not, without re-thinking their world) give to their Black child.
DRM