Coming to Terms With Race Down Here in the South

A few years back, in the late 1990's I accompanied friends to Town Hall in Manhattan to see Cornel West and Henry Louis Gates, Jr. have a conversation about race. I had read (and taught) Race Matters which I thought was profound and original. I wasn't familiar with Dr. Gates, except for maybe a couple of op-ed pieces in the New York Times.

I was immediately impressed by Dr. West's delivery; he has become something of a celebrity now, as one of Bill Maher's favorite panelists on his HBO show, Real Time with Bill Maher. He speaks with a cadence that makes you think of jazz music, often riffing, but always returning back to his point, the way a jazz musician keeps the melody as a through-line through every tune.

Cornel West had recently started working with Dr. Gates at Harvard University, where the two joined forces as a kind of Dream Team of African-American Studies professors. Their traveling interview show was the modern-day equivalent of a barnstorming tour, and I was captivated.

It wasn't just the way in which Dr. West spoke that made me feel that way. He said a number of things, as did others that evening, that challenged my thinking and made me grow as a citizen of the world. As an example, at one point Cornel West looked out into the audience and asked us to raise our hands if we were racists. He did it in his kind, warm fashion, but it was still jarring, and no one quite knew what to do, especially because his own hand was up in the air as he asked the question, suggesting that he considered himself a racist.

He explained that in his mind it is impossible to come up in a racist society like ours and not be a racist.

"But you see," he said, his finger in the air, his eyes widening, and that gap-toothed smile peeking out from an overgrown beard, "I am, however, a recovering racist. Can I see the other recovering racists in the house?" Of course we all put up our hands. After this kind of back and forth went on for a bit, Dr. Gates opened the discussion for questions. A young African-American man got on the mic and said, "I'd like to hear what the two of you think about Charles Barkley and the fact that he's supporting Republicans on the campaign trail. These are the same Republicans who prevent Dr. King's birthday from being recognized as a holiday in Arizona. As a man of color, I'm offended by this."

At that point, another of those exciting, surprising and unforgettable moments came up, when filmmaker Melvin Van Peebles stood up (he was only a couple of rows in front of us) and said, "I'd like to address that young brother who just asked the Barkley question. You see, that's racist. By saying that Charles Barkley has to be any kind of way, due to his blackness, you're being racist. Any man should have the right to be and say whatever he wants, whether it fits into what you think he should be or not."

There was a deep silence then, the kind that comes when someone has said something that has made a whole room full of people think. That evening, and the ideas that came forth from it, changed me, made me better, and gave me valuable ammunition as a teacher.

I'm thinking about it now, because last night, sitting and eating a nice meal at a place called the Inlet Crab House in Murrell's Inlet, I looked up and saw a sticker on the wall that said, "I Don't CARE If That's What They Did Up North" with a picture of the Confederate flag on it. It was small enough to be "subtle," but I was still startled by it and it served to remind me where I was and to realize, sadly, that I would probably not be comfortable bringing my wife and kids to this place. Of course, no one gave me a second look. I looked just like them. I could have voiced my distaste and I could have left. Instead, I stayed and finished my meal, and the key lime pie was the best I've ever had anywhere.

I'm not saying any of this makes me, or South Carolina "evil." It doesn't. I'm just grateful that my eyes are open to these things, and that I can be self-reflective and constantly strive to fight against those tendencies that this society ingrains into all of us, almost from birth.