The tricky thing about being a white, middle-aged man is honestly reconciling how racist I am.
I struggle with this on, probably, a daily basis. It comes up more and more now with all of the recent discussions and protests around the campaign – not to mention the baffling polarization that Black Lives Matter seems to produce once the phrase hits Facebook and other social media.
OK, now that I’ve pushed at least 3 hot-button topics in a matter of moments, I’d like to clarify what I mean when I say that it’s tricky reconciling how racist I am. I don’t think I’m racist at all. That is to say, I do not want to be and I work very hard at not being racist. Is that the same?
I was raised by two loving parents, but one of them was an overt racist. We, in fact, moved when I was 9 years old from a reasonably integrated small town outside Annapolis, Md., to the North Shore Suburbs of Chicago. I learned not long after this move it was so we could get away from the black people.
Growing up, I was quietly indoctrinated with the prejudice that I now actively work against in my daily interactions. I profess aloud that I’m “allergic” to hypocrisy yet simultaneously fight my own contradictory behavior.
Like right now, I want to shine a light on all of the African-American and multicultural friends I have had (and still have) so I can demonstrate that I’m not like my racist parent. But, I’ve learned that’s a pretty racist proclamation.
It’s a tricky thing, being a white, middle-aged man -- but I’m trying to do it better.
I’m John Daniel, and that’s my perspective