I am to blame
When terrible things happen, we often feel powerless and search for any opportunity we can find to restore control to our own hands. Events like hurricanes happen so far away, and we watch and hear about pain and suffering and grow angry on our sofas and behind our keyboards. We want to find people to blame, people to oppress. We need objects for our anger at the fact that we have no control over the amount of suffering in the world. The bell does toll for us, and we feel the pain. However, we have become so fearful of pain that instead of weeping with those who weep, we look for others to wound.
What is the point of all of this? I don't want to echo more left-wing sentiment on Katrina. I don't want to blame the government for their slow reaction. I don't want to cry racism. Yet I know that these things are true. Racism created the conditions that the poor in New Orleans lived in. Racism created their prisons, and when the waters rose racism prevented their escape. Yet I do not recognize these things. I accept them and even promote them. I more than willingly support institutionalized racism by my action, by my inaction, by my attitudes. They are so ingrained into my consciousness that I must concentrate deeply to recongnize them.
When I walk through my neighborhood at night, I am wisely aware of my surroundings. The crime rates in my neighborhood necessitate at least some awareness on my part. However, picture the scenario: I am walking around a dimly lit corner and I spot a group of young men hanging out on the sidewalk in front of me. If they are young black men, my level of awareness will raise even higher. If they are young white men, I will probably maintain the same level of awareness. I would love for this not to be the case, but it is. I can think of many more examples and so can you.
So I cannot deny that racism is alive and well and I am one of the culprits. There is a stain on me that I choose to ignore, most of the time.
What is the point of all of this? I don't want to echo more left-wing sentiment on Katrina. I don't want to blame the government for their slow reaction. I don't want to cry racism. Yet I know that these things are true. Racism created the conditions that the poor in New Orleans lived in. Racism created their prisons, and when the waters rose racism prevented their escape. Yet I do not recognize these things. I accept them and even promote them. I more than willingly support institutionalized racism by my action, by my inaction, by my attitudes. They are so ingrained into my consciousness that I must concentrate deeply to recongnize them.
When I walk through my neighborhood at night, I am wisely aware of my surroundings. The crime rates in my neighborhood necessitate at least some awareness on my part. However, picture the scenario: I am walking around a dimly lit corner and I spot a group of young men hanging out on the sidewalk in front of me. If they are young black men, my level of awareness will raise even higher. If they are young white men, I will probably maintain the same level of awareness. I would love for this not to be the case, but it is. I can think of many more examples and so can you.
So I cannot deny that racism is alive and well and I am one of the culprits. There is a stain on me that I choose to ignore, most of the time.
2:12 PM
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