I Am a Racist

Dear Cherished Reader:

I wrote “I Am a Racist” in April 2020 and published it on my personal website and on Medium. Now, six years later, I still believe the essay has agency, for all the reasons you will learn if you choose to read it.

I often hear nowadays, people being accused.

“He’s a racist.”

“She’s a racist.”

“Trump’s a racist.”

“So and so’s a racist.”

What I have yet to hear is: “I am a racist.”

So let me be the first.

I am a racist.

Yes.

I see the ugly thing, creeping around my soul like a roach in the kitchen. I squash it, but some time later, there it is again.

I know there is a nest somewhere, eggs hatching, a source deep within me, hidden away where it’s easy to deny. That is where I’ll find the library of my false beliefs, the lies I tell myself over and over, so often they become grooves cut into my gray matter, like fissures in rock where the water runs down, cutting deeper and deeper, until fissures become swales, and swales become canyons.

When did the first racist raindrop fall? I don’t know. As a child, for sure. How many drops of poison does it take to pollute the vessel of pure water of which we are born? When, exactly, does a person become a racist, and who gets to decide?

I don’t know, but then, neither does anyone else.

I don’t believe in permanence. That’s one thing the Buddhists have taught me.

Everything changes.

We can become aware of that library of false beliefs, that nest of nasties that colors our perception of things, often for the worse. Awareness alone brings change. We can cut new grooves. My challenge as a human being is not to deny that I am a racist, for that would be as foolish as denying I have cancer when I really do. My challenge is, rather, to stop the cancer from metastasizing and poisoning the whole man.

I doubt I will ever fully eradicate my racism. Unfortunately, I suspect some vestige of it will always be with me.

But what I can do, and what I do do, is expose myself to experiences that lessen my racism. I break bread with “The Others” as much as I can — those who think, feel, and believe differently than I do. When I do, I try to listen more than I speak, which is a huge challenge for me. I travel outside my comfort zone.

These experiences, like wind and rain, smooth rock and, over time, lay low even the highest, hardest mountains… one grain of rock at a time.

So when I hear the angry crowd shouting, “He’s a racist,” I want to ask:

“Who among you is not a racist? Stand up then and take a bow… for you are surely a god.”

I’ll leave you with something I learned from a wise therapist and passed on to my children. It shows how our library of beliefs gets reinforced and how it takes intention to shatter our reality filters to break the cycle.

It is my intention to break the back of racism in myself.

Thank you for taking the time to read my essay. I really do appreciate it. I’ve written about racism elsewhere on Substack. You’ll find those essays listed below my guitar signature.

I would like to hear from you: a thought, comment, suggestion, or opinion. They are all valuable to me. Your perspectives on this subject are valuable to me. They also help me practice what I preach — to listen more than I talk. I’ve had plenty to say on the subject.

What do you think?

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