Racism and Ignorance

Racism and Ignorance

My Mother was a racist. I have a feeling that her parents were racists too and I just supposed they had passed it down along the line. She wouldn’t admit to it but I did hear her talking to her mother on the phone when I was young a couple of times and I got the idea that my Grandmother didn’t like her new neighbours as they were black and not her sort.

Even though we had never had black friends or even knew any people with different colour skin to us, I knew what my mother’s feelings were towards black people. And I couldn’t understand it.

We lived in a small village and it was almost all middle class white folk. Farmers, business owners and retirees made up the majority of the people who lived here. There was no diversity, nothing too radical and sometimes it was quite boring really. Luckily I didn’t live here anymore but just visited.

There was never much talk about black people or racism. I mean of course we read about things that happened elsewhere that pertained to different races and problems that were experienced because of it. But really if it’s not happening around you or where you can see it then it doesn’t seem that important.  We did brush over it in our history class in my final year of High School, the terrible times of slavery in America and other countries but it was learned and then pushed aside from our minds. I think I was a bit too immature to realise the severity of what had happened.

No-one in the village would have known my mum was a racist but our family did. When I was home and she and I went together to the city or ‘the big smoke’ as she put it, it reared its ugly head.

I could see her looking at black people or people of different nationalities with a distasteful look on her face. She scrutinised what they were doing like a detective looking for clues.

“Look at him” she would say to me “Why would you dress like that?”

“Like what” I would say to her. “That good looking dude is dressed no differently to the way Jack dresses”.

“Jack doesn’t dress like that” was all she could come up with. The fact that my brother Jack had most of his arms covered in tattoos and a nose ring made no difference to her – that was far more pleasing to the eye than a well-dressed and attractive black guy. It was the colour of the skin that mattered to her.

“You are just a racist Mum and it’s not right”.

“I am not – I just don’t understand why there are so many living here”. Where have they all come from?

“Well I would say that the majority of the black people who live here were born here and have as much right as anyone to be here. They are no different to us. Just because someone’s skin is a different colour shouldn’t matter. I just don’t understand you mum.”

 She was really starting to annoy me once again. It happened every time we came to the city, and I always regretted coming once we were here. It sounded good in theory – wander around, get a bite to eat and do a bit of shopping. But the atmosphere usually ended up icy and terse.

I took a deep breath and decided that we weren’t going to spoil another trip – well actually not ‘we’ but ‘she’. “Ok Mum, where’s a good place to eat today?”

“Oh that looks like a good café. Let’s see what they’ve got to eat”.

We wandered into the café and sat at a table near the window. It was a funky little place with photos on one wall of the ‘famous’ people who had obviously eaten at it and with bright and colourful plants dotted around.

“Ok Mum, what would you like?” I asked her, eyeing off the prawn salad and chips for myself.

We made our choice and ordered.

“It’s lovely here isn’t it?” Mum said to me looking around.

 It was quite busy so we chatted away quietly while we waited. Our main discussion was about my going back to Uni in three days, after the mid-term break.

I did like coming to visit my parents and brother in the village but was always happy to get back to a noisier atmosphere and the socialising. I mean there was nothing wrong with being a lazy slob for a couple of weeks, being waited on and sitting reading, and looking at  a view that most people paid to see whilst on holidays. But I missed my friends when I was away and I was actually looking forward to getting back to University itself.

“Oh my goodness” came from my Mum’s mouth as her plate of food was out down in front of her. I thought it was because the plates were actually quite big but then I realised…

“Would you like black pepper?” sounded a smooth Jamaican voice.

I looked up to see a gorgeous smiling black face and he was looking straight at Mum!

“Umm no thank you” she stammered as she grabbed her glass and took a gulp of water.

“Ooh he was nice” I said, more in defiance of what I knew was coming rather than fancying him.

“Look Susan” she said. “I don’t really mind, but to serve the food. I mean it’s one thing to work in the kitchen but to be out the front, well….

I just couldn’t be bothered with her nonsense. I knew I was leaving in three days and didn’t fancy a full blown argument before I left, which I’ve had many a time, so I just ignored what she said. Although I was really annoyed with her and wondered how I could educate her about racism, I just left it for the time being. We ate our lunch and headed home on the train.

Even if the train was only half full, we had to sit next to each other. Mum didn’t want anyone ‘distasteful’ sitting next to her, let alone touching her. I wonder if she thought colour was something you could catch.

I sat staring out of the window on the journey home and wondered why my Mum felt the way she did. Ok maybe her parents were prejudiced because of something that had happened to them or that they had experienced, but that was them. And it was still wrong. Prejudice shouldn’t be passed down from one generation to the next like allergies’ or diseases. The sad part of this for me was that my Mum was such a kind and giving person. I know she cared about others. She cooked for the sick and hungry. She volunteered in the local hospital two or three days a week. But I wondered what would happen if she turned up for her volunteering and there was a West Indian or a Chinese person in a bed – how would she feel about making them a cuppa or reading the newspaper to them? Not too happy I expect! Of course I loved my Mum but this part of her personality I couldn’t understand.

The next three days whizzed past and it was back to University for me. I said my ‘goodbye’s’, hugged everyone and I was gone.

Life settled back into a routine, study, babysitting for one of our lecturers small children and when time permitted, out for a drink with my friends at the local pub. It would be four months until I could go back home again to see the family but being so busy, the time was flying by.

One winter’s night when we were all at the pub, I met James. He was studying to be a Doctor but as the degrees we were studying for were like chalk and cheese, I had no reason to ever be at the same lecture as him. I had never seen him before even though we had both actually been there for over three years.

He was fun, and made me laugh continually. What I really liked about him was the fact that although he was very smart, he could laugh at himself and not take life too seriously. His love for his fellow human beings was evident in the ‘volunteering’ roles that he took on, even with his workload. Every Friday night he went out with the soup van into the ‘seedier’ parts of town to give a hot meal to the homeless people. He really enjoyed it.

We got to know each other well and told about our childhoods and our families. The only part I omitted was easier not to tell about. How do you explain that your mother is a racist? I think I was a bit embarrassed in admitting it to anyone and especially as James told me his family were like him and had empathy and love for all colours and creeds. I’ll face that problem when I have to.

Well I had to face it now. James and I had been going out for a few months and realised that we had strong feelings for each other. We decided that we should meet each other’s families. James had apparently, in his happiness, told his family quite a bit about me and they were very eager to meet me. I on the other hand, even though happy, had hardly mentioned anything about James as I was not so eager for my family to meet him, well just my mum. In fact I was dreading it.

But as I wasn’t one to shirk away from a problem, I rang my Mum. I told her that I would be bringing someone home at the weekend for them to meet and gave instructions about ‘not being rude and judgemental’. I didn’t mean my Dad as he hardly said much anyway. I could rely on him though to make a newcomer welcome, shake their hand, and have a short chat. My brother would wander in, if after 11am and he was up, and make anyone feel welcome, although after ten minutes, you would wish he would just ‘shut up’. “You don’t have to tell us to be nice to someone Susan. I’m sure we will like your friend just fine. What did you say his name was, John?”.

“No it’s James”, I told her, already worried about the visit!

I hardly said a word on the way home to the village. I have to admit that I was nervous about bringing James to meet the family. I hadn’t done this before as I’d only really had a couple of boyfriends before him and they weren’t really serious. This was new waters to charter.

“Ok’ I said to myself, “What’s the worst that can happen? Maybe they won’t like James. I really want them to but if they don’t, I can’t help that”.

We pulled up at front in the driveway and with bags in tow made our way to the front door. Before I had even rung the bell the door opened. There stood my mother, beautifully ‘decked out’ as usual but as I looked at her face, the big smile she had on it disappeared and I watched her mouth register what her eyes had seen and out came, “You’re black”. She stood in utter disbelief that someone would bring a black person to our house, and to make matters worse, it was her daughter with her new boyfriend!

“Mum” I shouted but James took my arm as if to reassure me and replied in his deep voice “Yes, and you are white, so that means neither of us are colour blind”.

My brother, who was standing behind my mum cracked up laughing, held out his hand and introduced himself.

Then my Dad, who could always be relied on, did the same.

We all just stood for a few minutes not actually knowing what to say next. My mum still seemed lost for words. It was James who broke the ice by asking if it would be possible to use the toilet.

“Of course,” answered my dad and then added that we should take our bags upstairs to our rooms, use the bathroom and then we should all have a cuppa.

When we were upstairs I asked James if he felt comfortable being with my family. Although we had only been here for such a short time I was wondering if my mum’s initial reaction to him had been upsetting. He didn’t seem to mind really and said that he was looking forward to dinner together tonight. I’m glad he was because I certainly wasn’t!

I was determined to try and relax as much as possible at dinner. I thought that if my mother started her antics and showed her ‘worst side’ then I would take deep breaths and try to laugh it off.

I didn’t know how long that would last but I would give it a try

This was much more difficult than I thought it would be.

“So where did you two meet?” my mother asked James. But before he could answer she added “Do you work in a café?”

“Actually I’m at the same University as Susan”.

“Really” sounded my mother’s very surprised tone. Her eyebrows shoot up in disbelief and she glanced around the table probably hoping for some support, but got none.

“What are you studying?” asked my Dad.

“Medicine” came the reply. “ I have one more year after this one and then depending on which road I take, as in psychiatrist, neurosurgeon, anaesthetist, it will be quite a few years on top of that. But that is my passion so it doesn’t matter how long it takes”.

“How do you keep yourself busy?” James asked my mum. I could see that he was trying to befriend the only person in the family who showed any negative vibes towards him. And I thought “Good luck with that”.

“Oh I do charity work mainly. I run an op-shop in the village. I make meals for needy families, that sort of thing”.

“Yes I find helping people less fortunate than myself very rewarding” offered James.

I had the impression that my boyfriend was on a mission, to over dinner, make a breakthrough with mum. It was like watching a tennis match with the rest of us at the table looking from James to mum. We all knew who we wanted to win the very long rally!

“Oh, do you help out somewhere James?’. This was a minor breakthrough – she used his name!

“Actually I do a soup run one night a week. There are so many homeless and hungry people. I would love to do more but unfortunately I don’t have the time at the moment. Not like my mother who runs a soup kitchen where she lives and has been doing it for years. She and dad still foster children, just emergency relief now, but I remember when I was young that at times we had as many as four extra children living at our house along with my three sisters and myself”. My dad is a doctor too and takes it upon himself to treat a lot of less fortunate people for free……any colour or creed”. Now that was an ‘Ace”!!

My mum had a look of concentration on her face as if her mind was processing what she had heard. “Well I think your parents sound like very kind and caring people. The world needs more like them.

I guess she must know what colour James’s parents are I thought in amusement!

As the evening wore on it felt more relaxed, and I think my mother may have had quite a few things to think about now. I’m not saying it would be a ‘bed of roses’ with my mother straight away but I did believe we had changed a few of her misconceptions about people and race. Prejudices and ideals aren’t changed overnight but gradually. But just to have a conversation and find out what people are like is a good start.

After a couple of wines my dad starts to get sleepy and my brother had been on his phone playing some sort of game so it was just the three of us chatting really.

“That was the best roast dinner I have had in a very long time” James said to mum and I saw a sparkle in her eyes as she thanked him for the compliment. He reached over and took my hand which was resting on the table and my mum actually smiled when she looked over at me.

“Umm you, you’ll have to come again” she stammered as if the words were a little bit difficult to get out, “and try my roast pork next time. Won’t he Susan?”

“Absolutely mum” I replied, thinking that James had just won the match.