I had never
experienced prejudice up close and personal. Before India, I hadn't even seen it
through a bus window. I was raised in a primarily white southern town by
parents and grandparents who considered the few African-Americans who lived
down the road part of our own family. So much so that my parents entrusted my
physical and emotional development to their care. For the first six years of my
life, I think I probably spent more time cuddled up to the 44DD bosom of my
sitter Lerlene that I did in my own mother's lap. To put our relationship in
perspective, Lene sat proudly next to Mom in the mother's row at my first
wedding.
But just
'cause I hadn't seen it looking out my bus window doesn't mean it didn't and
doesn't still exist. My girlfriend Mary Jo has experienced prejudice since New
Year's Day, 1954 - when she was not allowed to stay in the nursery at GatesvilleMemorialHospital
simply because she was born black. Her mother, without a car or taxi, walked
home with her New Year's Baby in her arms. The prizes and gifts reserved for
the first baby of the New Year were given to the white mother.
Of the six other
adventuresome women accompanying me on the trip, three were African-American.
As some of us marveled at our "rock star" welcome in the slums and city
streets, my "sisters" commented that they knew exactly why the children reached
out to touch us. My African-American girlfriends had been "on the ground" with
prejudice their whole life and knew immediately what was happening. "It's
because you're white," Froswa said. Not disgusted. Not hurt. Not mad. Not anymore. She just made a statement
of fact that left me confused. Froswa, Traci, and Star quietly explained their
life-long, front-row seat at the play of favoritism and hate. But I still
couldn't relate until it was me who
was on the ground.
A few days
later, shopping in Chennai, our merry band of Americans joined throngs of Diwali
shoppers. Diwali, known as the Festival of Lights, is similar to our Christmas.
So, there we were, the night before Diwali - out shopping with 1.2 billion
Indians who were looking for the perfect Diwali gift for their loved ones.
As we
entered the open air market, strung with lights, the excitement hung in the air
like NorthPark Mall on Christmas Eve. A display caught our collective fashion
eye as we strolled into a shop that had the most beautiful shalwar kameez (traditional
Indian ensembles) we had seen during our excursion. As I shopped on the south
side of the corner store, I visited with the young English-speaking merchants.
Intrigued by the brightly colored merchandise, I had meandered further into the
store when an elderly man, standing behind the counter, began speaking to me in
Hindi. Animated, he motioned for me to move; I thought he wanted me to look at
the clothes on another rack. But he continued to flap his hands and arms wildly
and his voice grew louder. His expression turned angry. I looked around,
confused, trying to understand what he wanted me to do - until a man, standing
outside the shop, looked me in the eye and said, "He wants you to get out of
his store."
I was
shocked. Why? What had I done? It became glaringly clear.
I was hated
simply because I am an American. I am white. I am Christian. I am a woman. All
I could think as I walked away - embarrassed, by the way - is that 'I know he
would like me if he would just stop hating me for a moment and give me a chance.'
Left.
Right.
Jew.
Muslim.
Gay.
Straight.
Black. Hispanic.
Male.
Female.
Rich. Poor.
Standing on
the ground, I now know what hate really feels like. And, as perverse as it
sounds, I wish the same for you. For until each and every one of us has experienced
the gut-wrenching feeling of being despised for simply where, to whom, and
what we were born to be, we will not overthrow the evils of prejudice.
Let my heart be broken
by the things that break the heart of God.
-Bob
Pierce, founder World Vision
Better for
being bounced,
Ellen
Posted by Ellen on February 6, 2009 5:51 PM
| Category: On the Ground
