Some Unpleasantness
Tonight was a tough night for me. It was not only tough because I went out running in 20 degree weather without my gloves. It was tough because of the conversation I had afterwards with Luda.
You all know that Luda has been an amazing find in my life. Her approach to my fitness and health has been exactly what I needed. We’ve really been working well together these past 3 or so months. I’ve got the dropping clothing size to prove it.
Tonight’s session started out simply enough. She in her motherly way, chided me for running at night. I countered that I liked running at night. I live in a little neighborhood complex of about 100 homes, so there isn’t much traffic. I also wear a reflective vest and leg wraps.
“Something could happen to you,” she continued to scold.
I then told her that my best friend Lisa also used to chastise me for running at night. In my old neighborhood, there was a lot of farmland and no sidewalks and that made nighttime running a little dicier.
“You live out there with all those ‘Deliverance’ folks. They could come up and grab you. None of us would hear from you again!” she often complained. (Lisa hated the suburbs with a passion.)
I then told Luda about the night I got home from work around 9:30 PM and decided that I needed a good run. So I put on my gear and went to jog my usual route. In short order, I was passed by a Mount Laurel police cruiser. The cruiser pulled over about half a mile ahead of me. I jogged on past him, and before I got very far, he pulled out and drove past me again and pulled over.
Yeah, I know what this is, I thought. He’s waiting to see what house I’m going to break into. This pattern went on throughout most of my 4 mile run. Finally at my last leg uphill on the shoulder against traffic, he went off to do some real police business I guess secure in the fact that there were no longer any houses I was in danger of robbing. So I jogged on home.
It actually was kinda cool. I had a police escort, though not for a good reason. Yet at least someone was keeping an eye on me that night.
After hearing my tale, Luda said, “maybe it was for a good reason.”
“As a black woman in America, I just can’t buy that. Paranoia is my middle name.”
Then Luda made the statement that would be the downfall of my evening.
“I believe that black people have it easier than white people here,” she said matter-of-factly.
Hello? I was a little taken aback. “How do you figure, Luda?” I asked evenly.
“Well my son was beaten up by black boys who wanted him to sell drugs. He’s a good boy and they attacked him.”
“I don’t know if you realize this, but drug dealers and gang members routinely attack any color kid who is not part of their set.”
“But no, we lived in a nice neighborhood in Philadelphia, and then when the blacks and Spanish moved in, they stole our lawn furniture and my son’s bike. How do you explain that?”
“So you think that blacks are obvious criminals and thugs?” I tried to keep my tone modulated, but inside that pain and hurt that came from having to defend my race so often throughout my life came to the fore.
“That is my experience. You see it on TV. If it wasn’t the case, then why would they show it? More blacks and Spanish are criminals….”
I tried to stay patient and Zen, mostly because I really like Luda, but she was really pushing my buttons.
“Next you’re going to tell me that there are more blacks on welfare than whites.”
“That’s true! It is so hard for whites to get on welfare but easy for blacks.”
“Wrong,” I said loudly. “There are more whites on welfare than blacks for the simple reason that there are more WHITES in this country than blacks! You want the data, I can show you the data. You only think there are more blacks on welfare because of the media propaganda!”
I knew I had to calm down. I was starting to have trouble breathing. Luda then went into her, I don’t prejudge people spiel, but it was clear that she did have prejudices.
“So what about me? Am I a criminal? Have I stolen anything from you, my neighbor, anyone?”
“No, you are a nice person. But most of the black people I meet are not like you.
And there we had it. The message I had fought against for most of my sentient life: you’re not like other black people. Other blacks are criminals, vandals, and ignorant fools, but you’re different.
I wanted to just drop to the floor and cry right then and there. But I didn’t. I tried to explain about bias and prejudice. “What do you think it’s like,” I asked her, “to have people assume that I’m some thieving welfare queen right when I walk in the door? Do you have any understanding what it feels like for people to make negative assumptions about you just based on the color of your skin? Can you imagine how hard it is to raise a black child with people believing that s/he is stupid, ghetto, criminal, slutty, or lazy? Can you imagine how painful that is? I’m about to adopt a black child (biracial is de facto black in the minds of most bigots). Can you get how much I am already worried about what s/he will face?”
I thought maybe she was getting it. Yet she came up with a simplistic solution.
“Why don’t you adopt a white baby?”
“I will never adopt a white baby,” I hissed. “I’m not white. The only thing people would think if I adopted a white baby was that I’m the nanny. I am an intelligent, successful, conscious black woman. Who better to adopt a black child? Who better?!”
“Well then you adopt one and raise the baby good.”
I realized at that point that I needed to move away from this subject. Far, far, away. This was a place that we hadn’t needed to go. Our easy conversation had led us to a very troublesome area, more troublesome for me than for her. For now that I know how she feels about my people, my feelings for her are in a way tainted. I want to be able to compartmentalize that area away from the way we normally chat and have fun during my workouts. But I don’t know if I can.
I do know that tonight I feel off-balance and triggered. I don’t know how to get my mind around all this. Every negative black stereotype is flying through my head. All I want to do is scream, “I’m not the exception. I, my family, my black friends, and my black patients are the fucking norm and not the exception!”
It kills me to be thought of as an accepted exception of a hated race.
Help me with this one, people.
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Liana, I am so sorry. I wish this woman hadn’t turned out to be such a disappointment.
I really believe that most of us non-black folks know how wrong she is. Maybe I have my head in the clouds. But I have to believe that or it’s just too depressing.
If I were you, I’d be looking for another trainer. And I would tell her why. I’d write her a letter explaining how deeply her bigotry had hurt me. Maybe then she’d get the message.
Man oh man. I don’t even know what to say and I sure have no advice — you handled it beautifully and I’m so sorry that Luda is refusing to hear what you’re saying. I felt my stomach clenching up just *reading* this so I don’t know what your blood pressure must be like let alone with the idiot cops. I can appreciate how hard it would be to open yourself up and get what you need/deserve out of your training sessions after this but also how hard it will be to start over with someone new. It just sucks.
Who better, indeed! For the record, I think you’ll be a great mom no matter the color of the baby. I found it doubly insulting that she should dare you to prove her prejudices wrong by raising a successful black child. As though you had to somehow raise your child to her expectations. “You raise that baby good!” As though you wouldn’t have anyway. Argh!
I think you did an admirable job of keeping your cool. I was cringing as I read and I gotta tell you, I don’t think I could have been as polite as you were. The sad fact is, alot of white America will never get it. Which makes me angry and ashamed of my white skin many times. I am at a loss as to why, especially in this day and age, color should still be as divisive as it is. You have a tough road, Liana.
Wow! This story made me very sad to read. I wrestle with the whole race issue, from the standpoint that I can’t understand why it still seems to be an issue in our country.
I grew up in PA (between Lancaster and Philadelphia) and was very fortunate to attend a school that was probably about a 60-40 (white-to-black) mix. So, being around people of other races was just kind of “normal” for me, ya know? And I thank God for that, because it has helped me grow up without so much of the racism that seems “natural” to people here in the south where I now live.
Anyway, thank you for sharing this story, albeit painful for you. Like one of the other commenters above, I’m sometimes very, very ashamed of the way my race behaves in this regard. We are not superior in any way to any other race!
Thanks also for checking out my new plugin. I’m leaving this comment because your story touched me, but also so that you can see if the plugin is working for you!
I included some bold and italics so you could tell for sure. They should be showing up in your email message, as well as here on the blog itself.
steve
I don’t think I can be helpful, but I am angry.
I know racism is everywhere, but my experience says that the US is worse in some ways – it’s more blatant, and society is more segregated – there are black middle class communities as well as hispanic ghettos. I don’t know how to do anything about it, and I don’t know that you can, other than do what you’re doing and be a strong, impressive black woman that makes people think twice about their prejudices.
I am so sorry and angry that Luda just did not get it. As if adopting a white baby would solve all of the problems of racism. Ugh. Like the others, I have to say us white people can be stupid.
WOW. I am finding my self speechless. Utterly speechless. I dont know how you kept your cool. Funny thing is she thinks she’s totally right, she thinks what she is saying is true, because of what she sees on TV! Wow….
Man oh man. I just can’t believe her. Not at all. I think it’s just appalling.
I’ve lived lots of places around the country and I’ve got to say I felt PA to be the most racist (I haven’t lived in the deep south, only GA and NC). People in our Bucks County town were so incredibly closed minded. It’s been 30 years and I like to think things have changed. But obviously not everywhere and not enough.
On a different note, it’s not safe for a woman to be out jogging by herself at night. No matter what her skin color is or where she lives.
I think it’s time for another trainer.
I remember I went up to Bucks County to a winery. A cop followed us for miles. I really hate it up there. You can’t change ignorance, even in ’07.
Liana I have been trying to keep up with what’s going on with you because I truly wish you well.I had lost touch with your blog when it changed formats. I am sorry that happened to you with Luda. I am even sorrier to say, it has happened to me more times than I care to admit. Comments like: Your not like other black people I know, you have a job or you pay your bills or you not on welfare or you dont have 10 kids. What in the world can people be thinking? I was tearing up reading this. I felt that I was in your place and it still feels awful. As you say I am not a special edition of the black race. I am a normal and responsible person and I would be that way whether I was black, white, purple or green.