Thus, I was surprised when I realized that I had built a mindset that allowed for a systemic racism to still exist in our nation. Here are some examples:
I used to believe that I, as a white man, was victim of reverse discrimination. Scholarships always seemed to be available for everyone but me. I did not consider the idea that they were made available to deal with disadvantages that other people had to face that I had never encountered.
I used to believe that black men were more likely to commit crimes than other races because statistics clearly showed that more of them were arrested. I did not consider that the very fact that more black citizens are arrested than any other racial group is itself a sign of racism in our legal system. I did not think that the discrimination that black men and women face in society limits options, often making crime the best means of supporting a family. I did not consider that crimes themselves have harsher penalties for people who are already disadvantaged than for those who are well off. I did not think that by putting so many black men (in particular) into prison (often for non-violent, but long sentence crimes), that we were forcing their children to grow up without a father. I did not examine the level of violence that black men and women are more likely to face when police officers are present. I did not put together these facts and realize that, when compiled, they lead to a system that deliberately targets our black population in a type of active suppression of their success.
I was scared of black men who "acted black." I was less likely to trust one in nearly any situation, unless they "acted white." As a Mid-Western middle-class white male, I assumed that the way I acted was (and should be) the norm. Anything else that deviated from that was weird, and worthy of being mocked. I used to wonder: Why don't they just act more like people like me? Don't they see how much easier life would be if they did?
I'm sorry to say that the list could go on.
What changed my mind? Experience. Specifically, I've had wonderful black students over the years who demonstrated through their determination and abilities that they did not deserve the hand that our society has smacked them with. One young man confronted me after class one day and talked with me about the troubles that he faced. Because I liked him, I actually listened. I honestly had no idea that anyone had to go through life with the fears, worries, and pressures that he did, but I immediately realized that it wasn't because I didn't see it; rather, I had chosen not to see it. Once exposed to me, I could not unsee either my students' plights nor my own inner racism.
I'd like to say that I've been cured, but that is certainly not the case. This is a battle that I have to fight all the time. It makes me uncomfortable to recognize that, and I would rather ignore it. However, I decided a while ago that I would not allow myself that kind of ignorant comfort again, and I have spoken out against racist (and anti-LGBT, anti-ethnic, or anti-other religion) actions and words since then, hoping that it would make other people more aware of the everyday low-key racism that persists so heavily in our society (and thus allows for a larger racism to flourish). Unfortunately, I also have failed sometimes because I am still a bit of a coward, especially when a person my age or older makes an offhand comment or joke. I need to keep working on it.
In the honor of the Blackout, I was going to lecture on some matters of racism in history, but I felt that would be hypocritical if I did not first address the racism I fight in myself.