Hi, I’m Bruce, and I’m a recovering racist.
It is an astonishing dissonance in a nation allegedly based on equality, that there is a group of our citizens who are assumed, simply by virtue of appearance, to be less. Less trustworthy. Less educated or educable. Less moral.
When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state, and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of that old Negro spiritual, “Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last.”
Are you a racist? If you saw two tall teenagers together, similar in all respects except that one is black and one is white, who would you assume is the better basketball player? Do you tell racist jokes or listen to them without objection? Do you have close friends whose skin color doesn’t match yours? Do you visit their homes? Do they visit yours?
My name is Bruce, and I’m a recovering racist. I grew up white in the South of the ’50s and ’60s. Most of the schools I attended were segregated. And, despite the liberalism of my parents (Mildred, our devoted maid, did, after all, sit down for lunch with the entire family), I have rarely had more than superficial contact with men and women with skin darker than mine. Of course, there’s my marathon buddy, Jesus. But, in truth, Jesus is as much a product of the white culture as he is of the Hispanic. (more…)
Thursday, May 18th, 2000Honoring the fallen and seeking forgiveness
I walked along that long black wall, crying in the rain.
For all those men who’ve touched our lives, we’ll never see again.
I was walking toward the Lincoln Memorial in Washington, D.C., a few years ago when I spotted it. I knew I would make my pilgrimage to the Vietnam Veterans’ Memorial one day. I just didn’t know it would be today. But, to my surprise, there it was—The Wall, the black granite monument inscribed with the names of the 58,178 American men and women who died in the Vietnam War.
I am one of those who stood against this war, one of my generation who refused to serve, one who believed the war was wrong. In my youthful impertinence, I rebuked the politicians and generals who led us down this slippery slope. If LBJ or Tricky Dick wanted a war, I thought, let them go over there and mud wrestle with Uncle Ho one-on-one, winner take all. To paraphrase Muhammad Ali, ain’t no Viet Cong ever called me honkie. But the truth is, I also scorned the men and women who served in Vietnam. And while I make no apology for my stance for peace, on this spring day I knew it was time to atone for my lack of respect and unloving behavior toward our servicemen and servicewomen who had done the best they could do in a difficult situation. (more…)
Saturday, May 13th, 2000
