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Sunday, November 09, 2008
Thursday, November 06, 2008
Now That It's Over
Now that the election is over, I just wanted to share some of my feelings.
I have a difficult time putting into words how strongly I felt about electing Barack Obama. I have to go back to when I was a little girl, and watched much of the Civil Rights struggles on TV. I can remember watching news reports of people being blasted with fire hoses. I remember seeing images of big white men standing in schoolhouse doorways blocking black students from entering. I couldn't understand how one person could treat another person in that way. Those images had a profound impact on me.
I grew up in the north. I went to an all white school. My parents worked with people of color, and there were times we would have company picnics and I would play with the other children. I never thought anything about it. They were just other kids.
As I grew older I began hearing things people would say. I am horrified to recall my dad saying nasty things, and I would often stand up to him about it. To his credit, he encouraged my thinking for myself.
The summer between 9th and 10th grade, a family from Mexico moved into the neighborhood across the street from my high school. One would have thought the world was coming to an end! Parents were up in arms. Some of the kids were terrified to think they would have to be in class with one of "those" kids. Many of us thought nothing of it. In fact, the kids in that family became very popular. I tended to be one of the quiet ones, and I watched how others behaved and listened to what they said.
In my senior year we had a class called American Problems. It was a great class, and the teacher encouraged us to think. Just before Thanksgiving break, he gave us an assignment in class; make a list of the 5 things we were most grateful for. My answers were pretty common as I recall, along the lines of family. Quite a few kids actually wrote "I am thankful I am white." That astonished me. I had not included in my identity the fact that I am white. It just wasn't part of my concept. A wonderful discussion ensued in class about racial issues. I began thinking more about the topic again, remembering the images I saw as a young girl.
When I went to college I made friends with a widely diverse group. I was a complete flower child, full of hope for the future, protesting the war, demanding an end to nuclear weapons, demanding equal rights for women, demanding justice for everyone, and making friends with people quite different from those I had been associated with in high school. I read voraciously and watched the news every night. One of my best friends was a black student, a male black student. When my dad found out he hit the roof. I found that very disturbing, yet I loved my dad and didn't want to disappoint him. My friend understood that our friendship had to remain a classroom friendship. We didn't associate outside the classroom, not even in the student union. As I look back on that, I feel ashamed. He was my friend, and I feel as though I abandoned his friendship. (And when I say friend, I do mean FRIEND.....nothing else----I shouldn't even need to say that, but I know that some of you reading this will wonder!) (and why should that even matter to me???)
As time went on I became more vocal about my outlook on the world. I stood up more for my beliefs. I would debate more. (and I was EXTREMELY shy!) I more fully developed my belief that all of us, every single person on this planet, is deserving of respect just for being a human being. We all are born, we breathe, we bleed, we hurt, we feel, we cry, we laugh, we get angry, we get sad, we get happy, we love, we are all the same...............yet we are also so very different, unique. I believe that just by virtue of being alive we deserve shelter, food, water, clothing, health care.....all those things that keep us alive. Is that radical? If so, then call me a radical. I no longer care what labels others put on me. That's one of the wonderful things about aging.
The election of Barack Obama means so many things to me. I never thought I would see the day when a black person was elected to be president of the United States. I voted for him in the primary. People I love told me, "he'll never win because he's black. America isn't ready for a black president." I kept saying yes we can and yes we are. I saw in him the hope I felt with Bobby Kennedy and Dr. Martin Luther King. I saw in him a strength and leadership that doesn't come along very often. I saw an intelligence that was beyond that of most anyone I can think of.
I would get emails from people full of the hate-mongering and fear-mongering permeating our country. I would usually respond back with factual information, and implore them to seek out the truth. It probably didn't do any good, but I felt better for doing it.
When the announcement came Tuesday night that Barack Obama won, I was so full of joy and pride. I was happy my candidate won (which hasn't happened often!), but I was happier that our country got past the racial barrier! What a glorious time to be alive!
And I still, to this day, do not have as part of my concept of myself the fact that I am white. I don't consider it important.
I have a difficult time putting into words how strongly I felt about electing Barack Obama. I have to go back to when I was a little girl, and watched much of the Civil Rights struggles on TV. I can remember watching news reports of people being blasted with fire hoses. I remember seeing images of big white men standing in schoolhouse doorways blocking black students from entering. I couldn't understand how one person could treat another person in that way. Those images had a profound impact on me.
I grew up in the north. I went to an all white school. My parents worked with people of color, and there were times we would have company picnics and I would play with the other children. I never thought anything about it. They were just other kids.
As I grew older I began hearing things people would say. I am horrified to recall my dad saying nasty things, and I would often stand up to him about it. To his credit, he encouraged my thinking for myself.
The summer between 9th and 10th grade, a family from Mexico moved into the neighborhood across the street from my high school. One would have thought the world was coming to an end! Parents were up in arms. Some of the kids were terrified to think they would have to be in class with one of "those" kids. Many of us thought nothing of it. In fact, the kids in that family became very popular. I tended to be one of the quiet ones, and I watched how others behaved and listened to what they said.
In my senior year we had a class called American Problems. It was a great class, and the teacher encouraged us to think. Just before Thanksgiving break, he gave us an assignment in class; make a list of the 5 things we were most grateful for. My answers were pretty common as I recall, along the lines of family. Quite a few kids actually wrote "I am thankful I am white." That astonished me. I had not included in my identity the fact that I am white. It just wasn't part of my concept. A wonderful discussion ensued in class about racial issues. I began thinking more about the topic again, remembering the images I saw as a young girl.
When I went to college I made friends with a widely diverse group. I was a complete flower child, full of hope for the future, protesting the war, demanding an end to nuclear weapons, demanding equal rights for women, demanding justice for everyone, and making friends with people quite different from those I had been associated with in high school. I read voraciously and watched the news every night. One of my best friends was a black student, a male black student. When my dad found out he hit the roof. I found that very disturbing, yet I loved my dad and didn't want to disappoint him. My friend understood that our friendship had to remain a classroom friendship. We didn't associate outside the classroom, not even in the student union. As I look back on that, I feel ashamed. He was my friend, and I feel as though I abandoned his friendship. (And when I say friend, I do mean FRIEND.....nothing else----I shouldn't even need to say that, but I know that some of you reading this will wonder!) (and why should that even matter to me???)
As time went on I became more vocal about my outlook on the world. I stood up more for my beliefs. I would debate more. (and I was EXTREMELY shy!) I more fully developed my belief that all of us, every single person on this planet, is deserving of respect just for being a human being. We all are born, we breathe, we bleed, we hurt, we feel, we cry, we laugh, we get angry, we get sad, we get happy, we love, we are all the same...............yet we are also so very different, unique. I believe that just by virtue of being alive we deserve shelter, food, water, clothing, health care.....all those things that keep us alive. Is that radical? If so, then call me a radical. I no longer care what labels others put on me. That's one of the wonderful things about aging.
The election of Barack Obama means so many things to me. I never thought I would see the day when a black person was elected to be president of the United States. I voted for him in the primary. People I love told me, "he'll never win because he's black. America isn't ready for a black president." I kept saying yes we can and yes we are. I saw in him the hope I felt with Bobby Kennedy and Dr. Martin Luther King. I saw in him a strength and leadership that doesn't come along very often. I saw an intelligence that was beyond that of most anyone I can think of.
I would get emails from people full of the hate-mongering and fear-mongering permeating our country. I would usually respond back with factual information, and implore them to seek out the truth. It probably didn't do any good, but I felt better for doing it.
When the announcement came Tuesday night that Barack Obama won, I was so full of joy and pride. I was happy my candidate won (which hasn't happened often!), but I was happier that our country got past the racial barrier! What a glorious time to be alive!
And I still, to this day, do not have as part of my concept of myself the fact that I am white. I don't consider it important.
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