SPARTACUS'S GUEST BLOG DEBUT (LIVE AND UNCUT)

Prop note: "Live and uncut" means just that. As I promised Spartacus, there is no editing nor censorship of any kind. I get no credit for his brilliance nor blame for his errors. My first reading of this post will be post-publication. In the spirit of shoving it in and checking the results the next day, aqui se presenta su vaina (my favorite Spanish word!):

http://mysaturdayeveningpost.blogspot.com/

Happy Panamanian Independence (from Spain) Day. Every fucking day is Independence Day from the U.S.

Kelso's Nuts love you

Cultural Camouflage

First, I want to thank Kelso for giving me this opportunity to guest post on his blog. I feel like I’ve lost some type of virginity by doing so, as this is my first time ever as a guest blogger. It’s like some measure of innocence has been beautifully lost. Kelso, my hope is that you’ll tell me this experience was good for you, too. ;)

One of the tangents that Kelso and I share is that we were both born and lived on the Borough of Manhattan, New York City. Naturally, there’s always going to be some interborough rivalry because everyone from NYC thinks theirs is better. Jay-Z and Spike Lee would tell you Brooklyn is where it’s at. Grand Master Flash would chime that Da Bronx is in the house. The Ramones would have us hitch a ride to Rockaway Beach, which is part of Queens. And no one from NYC cares about Staten Island. But all New Yorkers knows what place “there” meant to Mr. Sinatra when he crooned

If I can make it there
I’ll make it anywhere….

He was talking about none other than the Isle of Manhattan.

It was on this island that I learned my sense of righteousness and civility. Yes, even in the dark days of the 1970s when tenements were burning like the Malibu wildfires and New York had a higher murder rate than Detroit, MI, there were some wonderful life lessons being taught to and learned by “inner-city” kids.

But I wasn’t always an inner-city kid. Sometime in 1978, my parents pulled a page from The Jeffersons and moved on up to Richmond Hill, Queens where I learned that not everywhere in New York was like Avenue D and 6th Street, and my white skin and straight hair were no longer symbols of derision, but camouflaging assets. I was now a white boy in a white boy’s land and was expected to act as such. Any other behavior would garnish a beating. Seriously.

This point was brought home to me recently when my very white friend, Chuck, called to say hello and shoot the shit. Chuck is always good for random friendly calls like that and it’s part of what makes him endearing. However, he literally stopped me in my tracks when for no reason he blurted, “Look at this. The niggers are everywhere.” I let the phone go silent for a few moments. I needed to think before I responded.

I then called Chuck on his comments in search of an explanation. The hesitation in his voice was a tell-tale sign that he stepped on a linguistic landmine; that some how he was being put on the spot. He was.

Me: What do you mean Chuck? Are you saying that wherever black folk settle, blight follows?

Chuck: You know what I meant, dude.

Me: Yeah, I do. Sort of. But is it your contention that the cause of blight is a black thing?
Chuck: Well look around. I work in different black neighborhoods all the time and I wonder if some of these places were once nice.

Me: Understood. But have you ever been to or seen pictures of blighted places in Kentucky, West Virginia, and Mississippi that are all white?

Chuck: What are you saying?

Me: I’m saying that maybe you’re being a bit unfair in your judgment, and I’m asking you to reconsider the thought.

I know I was letting him off easy, but I had a reason. To chastise him and call him a racist would serve no purpose but inflame his feelings. It would also be a hypocritical act on my part, I held the same posture for many years after moving to Queens and, ultimately, to Long Island. There was a time when I could easily be confused with Chuck in terms of attitude. No, this is not to say that I ever overtly hated black folks. I never did. But I used the language of that hatred, which is just as bad.

I offer no apologies for my behavior. That would be disingenuous. But as a white Puerto Rican living in Queens, I needed to make some immediate choices on this point because to identify oneself as a non-white in a white neighborhood in Queens in the 1980s was to ask for a serious ass kicking. Such was the strained state of relations back then.

Indeed, many of the Italian and Irish that I befriended in my teen years were the children of “white-flighters” who left the urban areas of Manhattan, The Bronx, and Brooklyn in the 1950s and 60s to escape the Puerto Ricans and Blacks who were migrating to northern urban centers in droves. The irony of many of the “white-flighters” who left the inner-city for greener pastures were themselves the children of immigrants who were seen as the “blighters” of their day.

I digress. Being white-skinned with straight hair allowed me to fit in nicely with the Irish and Italians of Queens who I resembled. Eventually, the people with whom I became close friends didn’t care that I was Puerto Rican. I dressed like them, liked their music, and used their lingo, even the racial ones. The cultural camouflage suited me quite well.

In fact, I’d say it suited me a bit too well because over the years of wearing this “suit” I literally became someone whom I now despise. Back then, I would have never challenged a statement like the one Chuck made as I did the other day. I never challenged these attitudes because I was afraid to. Go ahead. Call me a coward. I deserve it.

But people change and over time. I think I have. These days I’m more apt to challenge those views, particularly when it involves my own cultural heritage. At the core of this courage is that we are all human beings and that culture and language and understanding stand upon the base of our humanity and not the other way around. These days, when I encounter such attitudes, I try to use reason and logic to open a line of discussion with the person holding such views because again, what would be the point in making an accusation except to incite belligerent action? Truth be told the percentage of assholes and dickheads in the world is a constant rate across all races, genders and countries. I’m not sure what that percentage is, but I believe that by and large people in this world are intrinsically decent and good. It’s kind of like that 80/20 rule where 80 percent of all races are decent, hardworking, loving human beings have to suffer the idiocy of the 20 percent of their group who claim to be their representatives.

Moreover, I’ve come to the understanding that racism is not a genetic trait, but a learned behavior. Put in that context, it can be “unlearned” and I feel that the best way to do that is by appealing to one’s reason and sense of goodness. In the case of Chuck, I still think he’s a good guy, and were it not for his comment, you would, too. How many men do you know would call a friend from out of the blue, just to say hello and see how one is doing? This is not a common nicety that men possess – cavemen that we are. Chuck just needed an attitude adjustment and as his friend, I gave it.

Before I close I’d like to give a hat-tip to the Cunning Runt over at Little Bang Theory for validating this experience. A while ago he posted a similar experience he had with a co-worker in which he was able to “flip” his attitude about immigrants. You can read about it here http://littlebangtheory.wordpress.com/2007/10/26/bridges/. Chuck hasn’t called me since our “incident”, so I can’t say that my attempt was successful. But for once, I was able to shed my Queens and let my Manhattan shine through and do the right thing.