I stood in the aisle of the toy store. In a bright red shirt, I gazed in amazement at the toy gun that lay in front of me. I pulled the trigger and heard the pre-recorded gun noise that emanated from its plastic, vibrating body. A middle aged man asked a faint question. I turned to my left to face him. He was a dark-skinned man of middle age. He seemed a very respectable man, and talked with a certain air of clarity. He seemed confused. He asked in hazy voice, “I’m sorry. Do you work here?” When I assured him that I did not, he scurried, overtly embarrassed, to the back of the store. It struck me as odd. In a culture where I have heard from countless observational comics the confusion caused by young African Americans being asked, “Do you work here?” I found this apparent role-reversal amusing.
I try not
to think in races. I feel racism is
using race to assign distinguishing characteristics to a certain group of
people. The “classic” definition has
always been used to describe the discrimination of blacks by whites. However, as our culture has evolved, we have
seen a rise in racism towards whites. Though
this racism is not, and should not, be comparable to the countless years of
brutality caused by the hands of whites in
Often, racism is presented, tongue-in-cheek, by black comics looking to make fun of white people. Chris Rock, a famous observational comic, often notes the habits of whites in his act. Most jokes revolve around an impression of an affluent white male, speaking in a carefully enunciated and clueless tone. And while I openly admit to finding such jokes and impressions funny, I have to question the racist underpinnings in our society. I’d like to point out that I am woefully inadequate for the task of questions the racist underpinnings in our society. I have even lost the point of this column.
This column is an example of how
racism is entrenched in our society. In the
duration of writing this column, I have felt genuine remorse and nervousness. Nervous that I will be taken as a white supremacist,
that I will be labeled a de-facto segregationalist, a pseudo-intellectual
racist bastard. These fears are planted
in my head by a culture that laughs at “Whites Can’t Dance” jokes, but would
sue the comic who made a joke pointing out the foibles of African-Americans. Make a joke about fried-chicken in a room of
respectable African Americans. Your sense
of humor would not be tolerated. Stereotypes
about African American eating habits are not funny, they are derogatory and
racist. Make a joke about white people
having no rhythm in a room full of affluent white businessmen, and all of them
will laugh heartily. Each will try to
out-laugh the other, in a heated battle to appreciate the joke more than his
peers. Men will be rolling in the
floors, loudly showing that they enjoy jokes about white people and that they
are definitely, absolutely, positively, and in no way even remotely racist. I am not arguing to preserve the dignity of
whites. By all means, make fun of
whites. But also make fun of Blacks, Asians,
Hispanics, Jews, Russians, Britons, Canadians, Iowans, Blones,
Californians, and people from
Q: What do you call a New Englander
with half a brain?
A: Gifted!