When I was ten my brother and I often talked in Spanish with each other because we were still learning English and it was more comfortable. One day one of our older school mates, who’d probably overheard us at the bus stop, called me a spic. I did not know what the word meant, but I knew that it was probably an insult by the derisive way in which he’d spit it out. He was my pastor’s son. He was African American.
The reason why I share this story is because, in conversations about
racism, the aggressor is almost always white and the victim is almost
always Black. That’s not always so. African Americans can be very
racist to other ethnic and racial groups, but they don’t see it because
they think they have a monopoly on racial victimhood. Having ancestors who
suffered slavery does not give anyone license to be unkind to others.
I’ve now lived in Asia for more than six years, whenever I go back to the U.S., someone always thinks it appropriate to break out the they-eat-cats/dogs comment or the short dick jokes. Don’t. That’s racist. You can’t be all hyper-sensitive about every perceived racial slight, but be careless with your words about people from other groups. You cannot have it both ways. Do better.
February 2020
I’ve now lived in Asia for more than six years, whenever I go back to the U.S., someone always thinks it appropriate to break out the they-eat-cats/dogs comment or the short dick jokes. Don’t. That’s racist. You can’t be all hyper-sensitive about every perceived racial slight, but be careless with your words about people from other groups. You cannot have it both ways. Do better.
February 2020
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