In Which We Discuss Racism

I've read Black Like Me recently, which is a bit odd, since I read it within a few days of getting it (unusual for me, at least). It's a tiny little thing, only about one hundred and sixty pages. It's the diary kept by John Howard Griffin during what one might called a political experiment in the American deep South in the late fifties. Griffin was a white man who decided to, essentially, dye his skin black in order to see how racism changed his life. He didn't change anything else about himself, just his skintone. He vowed to always be honest about what he was doing, should anyone ask, and he didn't change his name or any of his history.

Bearing in mind that this happened in 1959, perhaps the racism he encounters isn't so shocking. It's a pretty interesting read though, encompassing the ideas people had at the time - ie, black people are poor because that's all they're good for. Griffin pointed out that, if someone spends all their time working for barely enough money to eat, then they're going to want some cheap and cheerful entertainment. If, all the time, you're fighting for the next meal, you're not going to be too concerned with the finer things in life. It takes too much work just running to stay in the same place (Alice in Wonderland ref).

One thing that struck me about the social situation he described, though, was the strong sense of community. Black people didn't hate each other; when he was black, Griffin was instantly adopted, and offered advice, help, and shelter, something he couldn't get from the white people who now wouldn't offer him the time of day. And, of course, vice versa, white people bonded together against black people.

It's a pity that's not something we've kept. I'm not black, so this may sound racist, but it seems like lots of gang warfare is between black people, against each other. Which is kind of a step backwards. Of course, round here, it's mostly Asians, which is also ironic. After Partition (when India split into India and Pakistan), a lot of Indian and Pakistani people emigrated, mostly to the UK and Europe. They tended to help people once they got here, adopt them as family and give them a hand. Second and third generation aren't so aware of that, and lots of them have started with the whole gang warefare schtick.

I'm not one for judging people on their skin tone, but I think when you could look at someone, and see instantly that they were like you, that they'd suffered the same prejudices, and that they'd appreciate any help you offered - well, I don't think that was all bad. We just need to focus it on something else, some other feature, but I've no idea what that could be.

I wonder if Barack Obama's read it?

I'm mixed race, for those who don't know - half Indian, half English, Irish and Welsh. When I meet new people, usually at least one of them will stare at me for a while before going "...so, what race are you?"

It's not something I can hide. I can't pretend to be English, even though I was born here and raised by my English mother, because someone always asks what my blood is. I can't be fully Indian, since I've got no idea what my family are talking about most of the time, especially since my aunts, father and grandparents are bilingual. Racially, I feel alone, which is why, I think, that sense of community affected me.