Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash
Racism is a topic I rarely touch on. There’s a reason for that. It’s because I can’t seem to stay objective and calm about it. It angers me to my core and I’d rather not present myself as a raging lunatic.
As a community of humans, we shouldn’t let any racism slide but in the grand scheme of things, one person can only reach so far. So, I take care of the ones within my reach.
As a “white privileged” Canadian woman I’m not openly exposed to much racism where I live, but I'm not blind to it. Social media and the news makes sure of that.
Canada seems like a warm pair of fluffy slippers compared to the debacles we hear are happening south of our border. Where I’m from, racial violence doesn’t lash out so randomly and so blatantly. But all we need to do is cross the border to get a front-row ticket to the shit show that is American racism.
I am by far the oldest person in my immediate group at work. Most of the staff I supervise are all my son’s age and younger.
A particularly impressive young duo in our workplace is a brother-sister pair, of mixed race. Their mother is white, their father Japanese.
The younger of the two recently returned from celebrating his 21st birthday in Las Vegas. I was mortified to find out that the first recollection of his vacation was one of a physically violent racial attack against him.
He recalled that he was at a bar with his friends and went into the bathroom alone. While conducting his business a much bigger man standing at a urinal beside him muttered something to the effect of, “F**king spic.”
My coworker didn’t hear him clearly so after zipping up, he turned to the man and asked, “I’m sorry, are you talking to me?”
The bigger, bald-headed offender then wound up and nailed him one square in the face, for no reason other than assuming the he was possibly of Mexican descent, based on the racial slur the man voiced.
As my coworker told me the story I felt an incredulous expression wash over my face and all I could say is, “Are you even kidding me right now?”
Sadly, he was not.
From that point in the conversation, it was as if my head had sunk underwater. All the words he spoke after that were muddled and muted because I was having a really difficult time unraveling what he’d just told me.
I asked him to rewind and tell me again, thinking there must have been some sort of provocation involved. But nope. All he did was stand there taking a pee and he got nailed in the face because a skinhead assumed his race incorrectly.
First of all, incorrect assumption or not, NOBODY has a right to behave that way. Do people really hold this much hate in their hearts that they feel it necessary to haul off and assault a random person based solely on their appearance?
Of course they do.
I don’t live in a bubble, I know very well what’s going on in the racist world by reading and hearing about it constantly. But this one hit home for me because there I was, sitting face to face with someone I consider a child, telling me his story.
My first feeling was the kind of hot rage that if I had been in the vicinity of the event, I might have found myself in real trouble.
That feeling was immediately followed by sheer sorrow because I know this kid. He’s just a regular guy trying to live a regular life. He was only trying to be on an epic vacation to celebrate his birthday. And then this happens?
I felt beyond insulted on behalf of him and of Canadians in general. Is that the kind of welcome we get in our neighboring country? In a vacation destination, no less?
But the most overwhelming feeling that washed over me was one of compassion for my coworker. I couldn’t help but internalize the incident on his behalf.
What if he already struggles with identity issues? This would only make it worse. What if he never struggled at all but this incident changed his perspective?
What if this blatant racist attack changed his entire outlook on his identity, or worse, what if it changed his outlook on everything?
We have no idea how others may internalize negative events that happen to them. This one incident could change an otherwise happy-go-lucky young man into an angry huntsman, whether it happens immediately or over time.
Maybe he’s able to brush it off now but will it manifest itself again later in his life?
I can’t help thinking these things because I am the mother of a young man. I know full well how negative experiences can and do impact young men, and in mama bear fashion, my first instinct is to want to shelter them all from the garbage that society forces into their lives.
It’s deplorable to think that the biggest protection our young people need is from our own species.
I never did ask my coworker about his feelings over the incident because I didn’t want to intrude into his personal space. I can’t know for certain if it impacted him but if it did, maybe it’s not my place to open that door and make him more uncomfortable.
The fact that we even need to worry about discomfort caused by racial disparity is downright shameful.
I just can’t help but wonder when we’re going to wake the fuck up and realize that we’re all part of the same race — the HUMAN race.
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