Jackson Free Press

Somehow a white co-worker and I found ourselves talking about race relations. Sitting comfortably in my downtown Jackson office a year after the controversial state-flag vote, we joked about Mississippi rednecks and the Confederate flag-emblazoned halter tops we hoped to add to our wardrobes.

Turning suddenly serious, my friend remarked that I must think often about racism: "You're too smart to have to deal with this," she said. "I'm surprised you and your husband are still here." At first, I found her comments patronizing. But on second thought, I realized that she was expressing the indignation that I'd forgotten how to voice.

I recall taking an evening stroll through our South Jackson neighborhood with my husband last summer. Among the neatly appointed homes, laughing children and the sweet smell of honeysuckle was a huge Confederate flag draped on the wall of a white neighbor's garage. This did not shock us, though; an elderly white gentleman across the street sometimes stands at the edge of his driveway and stares at us but has yet to lift a finger to greet us in two years. (That might be best; no telling which finger he would lift.) Little incidents like these are just a way of life for me.

I know the South doesn't have a lock on racism. A friend of El Salvadoran and Italian descent who grew up in multicultural Washington, D.C., emphatically declares that Mexicans are opportunistic, and Puerto Ricans are unrelenting bullies. My own dear mother admitted to feeling uneasy in the presence of a Middle Eastern man on a bus in Missouri a few weeks ago. Racial profiling continues to surface in northern, eastern and western states. And "ethnic cleansing" is a term we all know far too well from world news reports.

Recently, my husband and I toured the Martin Luther King, Jr., Historic Site in Atlanta, which chronicles King's life and the Civil Rights Movement. My husband pointed out a young white woman silently crying as she viewed a video. Standing there, dry-eyed, watching her, I realized that I had become a bit numb, deliberately holding back the tears this woman was bravely shedding. I imagined that some illusion about the goodness of mankind had been shattered for her there. Part of me ached for her, and another part smiled wryly at her naivete.

See, I've never lived under that delusion. Don't get me wrong: I love America, and I wouldn't live anywhere else. My father served this country for 25 years in the Army, fought in Vietnam and still bears the scars. I am proud to be an American … and a Mississippian.

But I have felt America's evil. I've seen the legacy of racism smoldering in my father's eyes when he reflects on his days in the military. I listen to my husband wonder aloud what he did wrong as his white MBA classmates land six-figure jobs while he plods away at a nonprofit agency. I consciously dress a little nicer and walk a little straighter when I shop at certain high-end stores in white neighborhoods so that I am not followed around.

Without warning or symptoms, these experiences eat away at self-esteem and self-worth, replacing them with a sour, musky hatred. The pain is real, the damage is done, and — come to think of it — maybe I am angry.

What is a black girl to do?

Some older black people say my generation has gone soft. That we are consumed by that "bling-bling" mentality of fast cars and flashy jewelry and fine honeys draped all over everything. That we define ourselves, not by our human worth, but by meaningless titles and brand names, whether in our professions, fashions or automobiles. We've forgotten where we came from, they say.

I can't deny these accusations: Just turn on any television or radio. The sights and sounds of ghetto fabulous or bourgeois chic Black America are inescapable.

But a quiet majority of young black professionals is slowly chipping away at the walls of ignorance and dissatisfaction that have infiltrated our society. Sure, we enjoy designer clothes and jazzy cars, listen to hip-hop music and even use the occasional "nigga" — what Toni Morrison calls a "survivalist strategy" — when referring to friends. However, these habits do not define us. We can keep it real without sacrificing our mutual funds, post-graduate studies, book clubs or golf dates.

Sounds like we're imitating white folks, eh? Hardly. We're claiming and redefining success. We're the new power brokers, philosophers and policy shapers, building equity for the future of America. We're laying an economic and social foundation for our younger siblings, cousins and all those in the next generation who look to us when the music videos cease to answer their burning questions.

No, I don't plan to march in the streets like the civil rights workers of the 1950s and 1960s. Nor will my friends and I sponsor sit-ins and distribute flyers. The time is not ripe for such a strategy.

But it is time for understanding. A certain wide-eyed wonder and fascination with black culture is emerging across the country among people of all races. Riding the momentum of this movement, we are educating and shifting the psyche of white America one co-worker and one neighbor at a time, through the extraordinary, and the ordinary, experiences we share every day.

Take the conversation I had with my colleague: I gladly shared my insights about being black in Mississippi and why I don't wear my indignation on my sleeve. She confessed an honest lack of perspective but offered a willing spirit, ready to grow.

To my Caucasian sister, racism is a dirty word that mars the sanctity, the greatness and the spirit of freedom that is America in her eyes. A stain on the lily-white ideals of human decency.

Attitude makes all the difference.

Jennifer Spann is a writer living and working in Jackson. She is happily married and delightfully childfree.

Previous Comments

ID

68308

Comment

Well done Jennifer! I look forward to reading more and more and more of your works. Make us ALL proud! Vandy R. Hopson, Sr. Jackson, MS

Author

Vandy Hopson

Date

2002-10-14T12:22:43-06:00

ID

68309

Comment

Thank you, Jennifer, for this thoughtful and honest essay. Many whites are ready for some forthright but respectful mutual discussions; sometimes we are afraid to broach them, it appears that blacks are also afraid to sit and honestly discuss things with whites (and I understand why in both cases). Here's to the new year, and the hope that 2003 will bring an ability to speak with one another so that we reach a clearer and more equal understanding so that we can move forward together.

Author

C.W. Roberson

Date

2003-01-02T23:03:18-06:00

ID

68310

Comment

Thank you, Jennifer, for this thoughtful and honest essay. Many whites are ready for some forthright but respectful mutual discussions; sometimes we are afraid to broach them, it appears that blacks are also afraid to sit and honestly discuss things with whites (and I understand why in both cases). Here's to the new year, and the hope that 2003 will bring an ability to speak with one another so that we reach a clearer and more equal understanding so that we can move forward together.

Author

C.W. Roberson

Date

2003-01-02T23:03:40-06:00

ID

68311

Comment

Thank you, Jennifer, for this thoughtful and honest essay. Many whites are ready for some forthright but respectful mutual discussions; sometimes we are afraid to broach them, it appears that blacks are also afraid to sit and honestly discuss things with whites (and I understand why in both cases). Here's to the new year, and the hope that 2003 will bring an ability to speak with one another so that we reach a clearer and more equal understanding so that we can move forward together.

Author

C.W. Roberson

Date

2003-01-02T23:05:21-06:00

ID

68312

Comment

I found your article very interesting and thought provoking. I would love permission to use on Blackliving - please visit.

Author

Gloria Sawyers

Date

2003-01-05T04:43:56-06:00

ID

68313

Comment

I found your article very interesting and thought provoking. I would love permission to use on Blackliving - please visit.

Author

Gloria Sawyers

Date

2003-01-05T04:44:15-06:00