This blog post is published in participation with International Blog Against Racism Week, July 27 to August 2.  Somehow I missed the beginning of the week, but I still have tonight, so here I go.

Hi all.  I'm a racist. 

I grew up in a racist country.  My parents, their friends, family members, neighbors, the media, the arts, all showed me how to be racist.

I didn't know better.  I got it when I was too young to understand.

When I was three, I remember reaching for something on the sidewalk, and my mother telling me, "don't pick that up!  What if some old n* had his lips on it?"  I don't remember if I recoiled in horror or had to have it explained to me, but from then on, things on the sidewalk were easy to pass up.

When I was a kid, I remember hearing the "some of them are the good ones" discussions, and thinking this was accurate — that there were some "good ones" among the Black population, but that didn't really mean they were equal.*

My father was a virulent racist, and used the n word relentlessly and with great anger. He was one of those people who talks back to the TV, and we all got a good earful when Black people showed up there doing anything but tap dancing and singing.

Eventually I figured out this was all wrong.  And for a while I thought, great, I understand that racism is wrong, and I won't do it any more, and it will be fine.  I'm not racist any more.

Unfortunately, while those little racist voices in my head got quieter, they never completely went away.  It didn't matter how silly or ugly or irrational they sounded.  They were still there. 

And unfortunately, they *are* still there.

Walking alone at night, if I see a Black man or a group of young Black men walking towards me, my first reaction is worry.  I have to actively say to myself, "they're just people."  Then evaluate the situation to decide whether I'm worrying because they're acting in a way that is threatening, or worrying needlessly.  Usually it's needless.

I often have to listen past a voice that sounds Black, actively listen past the Blackness, to make sure I'm judging it on what it's saying and not the dialect it's being said in.  If I were just to go on my gut instinct, I'd be rejecting or ignoring a lot of smart and insightful things people have said because they're said in the wrong voice.

These prejudices go for other races, too, but where I grew up, it was the Black man or woman who was the threat.  It sent my family to the suburbs with all the other white-flighters.

And it even applies in the "false positive" direction — a nurse with a lovely English accent treated my mother quite badly, and I had to keep telling myself that the nurse was ignorant no matter how much she sounded like Mary Poppins, keep forcing myself to intervene rather than allow my prejudice in favor of her to allow her to slide.

All this is to say that racism won't go away until we acknowledge the racism we carry around with us, and confront it, every time.  Actively look for where racism is bending your perspective. 

Getting to the point where we know it's wrong is a crucial step, but it is not enough.  Most of us have already reached that step, and guess what?  Society is still deluged with racism.  Some people think it's because Blacks and others are perpetuating some kind of myth, but that's just blaming the victim.  Study after study shows that racism is alive and well, even among those who say they've gotten beyond it. 

Racism in the individual is like a disease that we cannot really cure.  Once we're infected, we must fight it, sometimes daily.

And if we love each other, we have to help each other see it, and fight it.

After all, there's sometimes an expectation that we White people can "let our hair down" and be racist around each other.  There's a joke about how all racist jokes begin — by looking around to make sure no one of that race is around to complain.  Because if not, "we" are "safe" in making those jokes, those statements.

I think that such behavior somehow makes racism more delicious, more fun, more "exclusive" and harder to eliminate. 

So we have to police ourselves.  The place that nonwhite people can't go is those gatherings where there are no nonwhites, and that's where a lot of the bad stuff still exists.  We owe it to each other to call it out, to make sure that there is no "safe place" for racist talk.

If we can look at it not as condemning the person, but helping the person clean up her or his act, I think it will go a long way to really getting rid of expressions of racism everywhere.  If we can accept the observation not with defensiveness but with recognition and understanding, we can get that much closer to a healthy relationship with other people.

"There's a spot of racism on your tie, let's flood it with light and see if we can get it out." 

"I smell something unpleasant —I think you've got some racism on the bottom of your shoe.  Let's scrape it off and nottrack it in the house."

And for the world's sake, don't let yourself or anyone else expose children to it.  It's got to be better never to have it than to have to fight it your whole life.  Like herpes, we're better off never experiencing it first-hand.

So people, acknowledge the racist thoughts and feelings you have, and don't let them go when others expose them to you.  Do the same with sexism, with ableism, with ageism, with classism, with any other bigotry or bias you might carry.  Don't try to explain to yourself why they're "sensible."  Acknowledge that they are an irrational part of you, and vow to be aware of them every time, challenge them every time. 

Your life will be better for it.  I promise.

*  What might blow your mind a little is that I heard the same thingabout women and thought so as well.  I actually believed it was areasonable goal to be one of those honorary men.  In elementary school I agreed with a boy who was no smarter than me that girls were maybe 3/4 as smart as boys.