White Guy's Rant on Racism and Discrimination

Hi, I'm white and daring to talk to you about discrimination. But wait, don't click off the article yet! I think my opinion is fair and balanced- but not in a Fox News kinda way!

            At any rate, as far as racial discrimination I personally have not experienced it, but definitely have witnessed it in a general sense. As a white male it does pain me to admit that I have been in the company of other white men who have felt it appropriate to trade racial slurs about certain collective groups, or even specific people. Of course, this was done in the absence of anyone of color. Sadly, at a few jobs that I had when younger, these were often members of management who thought this way and expressed these thoughts with who was promoted into supervisory positions. I might add, it takes wisdom and tact (that I surely did not posses when younger) to be able to discuss the inherent wrong with racial preferences and stereotypes with co-workers. For instance at that time, I would not have been capable of properly articulating the fact that most views held regarding race are fabricated and that race itself is a social construct (Vietze, Jones, Dovidio, Sommers-Flanagan, & Sommers-Flanagan, 2017).

            Finally, on a personal level, growing up with cerebral palsy I have had a few incidents where I have been on the receiving end of discriminatory practices. For instance, during a job interview that required a physical, after disclosing I had cerebral palsy, I was made to go back and retake the physical, despite having passed the first attempt. This led me to cease disclosing my disability for many years thereafter. It was awkward and too difficult to explain easily. Moreover, even if was not treated differently in a negative way, I was overly helped along due to a perception of inability, which I’d argue, is almost as bad. Due to these experiences I can at least begin to see the reason why those that have the ability to not disclose something that might be...umm shall we say 'unaccepted' by the masses (such as sexual preference), choose not to do so. Naturally, this does little for those who cannot hide who they are, such as with race. However, in either case no one should be forced to deny their true selves but for the ignorance of another.   

References

Falender, C. A., Shafranske, E. P., & Falicov, C. J. (2014). Reflective practice: Culture in self and other. In C. A. Falender, E. P. Shafranske, & C. J. Falicov (Eds.), Multiculturalism and diversity in clinical supervision: A competency-based approach. (pp. 273–281). Washington, DC: American Psychological Association. 

Vietze, D. L., Jones, J. M., Dovidio, J. F., Sommers-Flanagan, J., & Sommers-Flanagan, R. (2017). Ethics and Cultural Diversity in Mental Health & Wellness. Hoboken: John Wiley & Sons, Inc.

A Lesson in Closure

                The pub door swings open, the light rushing in like a wave. The dim tavern is bathed in light for a moment until the man that entered scurries into the back of the bar, into the shadows. Tommy wishes he could do the same thing. Although, one could argue darkness is what got him into this mess in the first place.              

                Tommy sits alone at the bar. He has a whiskey that’s grown warm over time, causing the once round ice cubes to melt within the bourbon and make it slightly lighter in color.  He keeps an eye on the door. Every time it opens, letting that telltale blast of bright sunshine into the dark recesses of the pub, he glances behind him. His eyes are a constant carousel of tension, hope and disappointment.

                He uses his hand to turn the tumbler in front of him, then he swirls the liquid around inside without drinking. At that moment he wishes he would’ve sat on the other side of the bar. He could’ve seen the door more clearly, would’ve had the bartender’s television to pretend to watch.

                Tommy suffers a deep breath, the effort causing a racket that rattles up through his chest and out his mouth. He labors to stifle his coughs so he doesn’t draw attention. He grimaces both before and after the sip of whiskey that follows.

                The door opens again, but this time it’s another member of the wait staff. The kid has a cool pluckiness about him; his hair slicked back and parted on the right. It was the type of cut that was standard issue for men back in the 1950s. Tommy hadn’t seen one in awhile, it was almost enough to make him smile.  Tommy watched the kid head to the backroom, balled up apron clasped in one hand.

                “Good afternoon Thomas.”

                Tommy nearly clenched his chest due to shock. He hadn’t even heard anyone plop down next to him. “Joe-” Tommy started to turn and speak but the man raised a hand quickly, signaling him to stop.

                In an even toned cadence, Joe, the new man at the bar began to speak, “You didn’t think I was going to walk right in the front door, so you could ambush me with your crap did ya? Here’s how this is going to work. I will sit next to you for five minutes. You don’t look at me or touch me, if you do I leave. If you mention her name, I leave. If you say anything about that night, I leave. Got it?”

                Tommy nodded solemnly.

                The bartender approached Joe placing a small square napkin in front of him, but he was curtly waived away, “Ok, other than the fact that I’m a better man than you, tell me why I’m here?”

                Tommy’s face flushed, this was what he wanted, and this was the moment. The line that he had rehearsed in his head a thousand times, hell, the line he had spoken to Joe ten thousand times as well. Tommy had broken out in a sour sweat, the kind that produces the odor only weak nerves and awkwardness can create.

                “Well?” Joe prodded.

                Tommy did his best not to look at Joe as he finally began to speak. “I’m…ah…I’m dying Joe.”

                Face forward, stiff bodied, Joe barely reacted, “Aren’t we all…” he twirled his finger motioning for Tommy to get on with the story.

                “I um, wanted to see if you’d want something from me?” Tommy’s voice seemed dreadful and hopeful at the same time.

                “What could I possibly want from you?”

                “Closure?”

                Joe began to laugh, softly at first, but then the chuckle grew into a long and mighty roar. His face reddened and he nearly fell, rocking the stool on which he sat.

                Tommy’s face was as red as it could get. “I’m serious Joe. Isn’t there anything you want to say to me?”

                Still staring straight ahead, “Oh Thomas, there’s a lot of things I wanna say to you. I could let you have it; I mean really let the four letter words fly. Or worse yet, I could hit you. And ya it might be satisfying- even though according to you I’d be clobbering a dying man and all- but hey we both know you deserve it. Come to think of it, I’d bet you’d somehow see that as atoning for what you did.” Joe paused, let out a sigh, “But all that said, none of it would really change anything. That momentary satisfaction, that second of pleasure as I call you every name in the book, or stand over your unconscious body, eventually it would sour, I’d feel regret. I’d feel shame at acting against another person, let alone a friend, in such a way.”

                Tommy was stone silent, facing forward. Joe was confident from his peripherals, he could see more than a few crocodile tears trickling down the side of Tommy’s face.

                “I meant what I said Tommy. I am the better man. I won’t speak of that night- not with you, not with anyone- not ever. But I will say this, you are the selfish one, you acted in the moment, did what you did without thinking, and when it was all over you got to go on your way. Wham-bam-thank you-ma’am. And I got to do what had to be done, deal in the aftermath, all the filth and muck you created. But it’s not about what you did to me. It’s about what you did to her…” it was now Joe who was getting emotional, his own words getting caught in his throat.

                Joe paused, took a breath. “Last thing; you don’t get to come here asking for closure. You did what you did, and got off scot-free as far as I’m concerned. She lived in hell because of what you did. Day in and day out, the suffering, the pain. There was no respite, no easy days there at the end, and then she was gone.  You don’t get to seek solace for that. You don’t get closure because you robbed her of hers. And now you’ll die suffering, knowing every day you wake up and every night you go to sleep, until you draw your last breath that you aren’t forgiven.”

                Tommy was shaking, his hands clasped before him to mask the tears.

                Joe looked twenty pounds lighter than when he had sat down. As swiftly as he arrived, he departed.

                Tommy was alone again. He drained the glass of whiskey and wonders foolishly why he thought this might go another way.