I'll go first.
The first time I realized I was racist was in the summer of 1998. Ironically, my best friend at the time was Marshall Gaskin, a big, black, beautiful man: a gentle giant and an incredible artist. We lived in adjacent buildings in an artist’s co-op just outside of Toronto. I’m grateful for having known him, for he was a major influence in my life. Sadly, he is no longer with us.
One day at the co-op, I was going through the underground parking lot and came across a young black man leaning on a car door towards a young white woman seated on the other side of the open window. Without hesitation, I pointedly looked at the woman and asked,” Are you alright”? She nodded, and I walked away.
My stomach turns at the memory of it. Who the fuck was I to presume that this woman was in trouble. The same feeling I had the next day, upon realizing what I had implied to a complete stranger.
More and more, I became acutely aware of my racism. Like the time I was in an elevator with three black men much larger than me. I noticed that I felt uncomfortable, and my heart started to pound. Faster. Faster. I thought, “What the fuck. This is racism! If these were three white guys, I would be cracking jokes.” After leaving the elevator I was grateful that I could see through the bullshit. I’ve extracted and examined most of my racist moments, and although I think I will always be racist to some minor degree, I acknowledge that any is too much.
I write this because I recently recounted a story that my mother told me to a group of friends. It was a story that my uncle would often repeat about a souvenir tin plate from Niagara Falls. I realize now that this wasn’t a story about something my uncle purchased. It was a racial slur wrapped in a story that he could tell over and over again. I never liked that he enjoyed making fun of minorities, and yet here I was … participating.
I write this because I am sorry.
I write this because I’m ashamed.
I write this for Marshall.
I miss you buddy.
Listen, we may not like it but Kenya has had gold medalists at the Olympics every year since 1980 where they were absent, and they're increasingly emigrating to compete on other nation's behalf. Yeah, genetics has a barely measurable effect on your capability in some arbitrary field, deal with it.
Holy shit you sound like a member of the rich white family from Get Out who were body snatching black people for the "advantages." Living out in the country I usually only see the loud and ugly kind of racism, but your kind of racism gives me the creeps.
So you don't believe in genetics?
Let me spell something out to you, the villains in Get Out decided by themselves that they were mentally superior to the fast runners and that they should get to decide how other human beings live or die.
That's a long fucking shot from me admitting the proven fact that Tibetans have, on average, larger lung capacity.
Now you're subtly implying transference.
I'm being completely open and honest about all of my beliefs, they one using vague or subtle language is you.