Are We Really Past Race? Does It Matter?

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Last night my little cousin called me in tears. She was frustrated at the lack of understanding her classmates at a liberal, white, all girls college had of what it’s like to be black in America.

In a year when Barack Obama stands poised to be the first black President of the United States, there is a surprising challenge for much of black America. We want desperately to believe that he can win, not because he’s black but despite that fact. But if he does win, will America feel so redeemed that we needn’t talk about race and racism anymore?

Most black people I know really do want to believe that America is past its ugly, racist history. And I believe most of white America wants desperately to believe that, too. That much was evident, for instance, in last week’s podcast on this very blog.

As we were discussing the latest poll of how well Obama was doing in Virginia and his lead over McCain, I off-handedly remarked that I was a little concerned about the Wilder effect- the unfortunate trend we’ve seen that in polls leading up to an election, the black candidate is leading by a significant margin only for election day to show that candidate either lost or barely squeaked by with a win. It happened with Virginia’s first black governor and now Richmond Mayor Doug Wilder.

Brian Kirwin responded with a very common observation that it was so long ago, and asked if I really thought that was still relevant today. My response was a too-sassy-even-for-my-tastes “Please. I’m a black woman in America.”

You see, as much as we want to believe America is ready to put race aside, personal experiences almost every day tell us that might not be true. When I reflect on the white people right here in Hampton Roads who look with unabashed disdain upon me and my white husband, or the group of young people who yelled out and called him a nigger-lover a couple of years ago, or the good friend he lost because she didn’t approve of his choice to date a black woman… I’m fully aware that those are all isolated incidents. I’m fully aware that those individuals can’t and don’t represent most of white America.

I’m also fully aware that all of those people are good friends and family members of people who would say they, themselves, aren’t racist. But you know what? None of that matters at the moment I’m getting those looks of disapproval. None of that matters when that clerk is following me in the store. None of that matters when the white woman in the elevators clutches her purse when one of my dearest friends gets on the elevator with her, despite the fact that he’s wearing an expensive suit and needs nothing she has. And none of that matters when my smart, compassionate and beautiful little cousin calls me crying because the racism, however subliminal or subtle, is a little too overwhelming.


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