Black and White isn't just a fashionable color scheme

                This blog post, originally from 2013, has been edited and updated as much as is possible while maintaining the integrity of the original idea.  Please keep this in mind.  Thank you, Dusty  

                One of the after effects of a large meal like Thanksgiving is the propensity to discuss those issues that would normally be avoided by those not on the edge of a food coma.  Tryptophan apparently causes neural mis-firings as well as sleepiness.  As usually happens when someone discovers I am from the South, they immediately christen me as the "voice of my people" and begin the volley of questions.  I haven’t lived in the South for 11 years; apparently my accent is permanent.  Of course I do talk to my sister about every other day and her combination of Southern and East Texas accents could cause Siri to sound like Ellie May Clampett; that may be why figurative magnolias burst forth and surround the words that I speak. 

                The conversational topic that was broached was racism.  Quite naturally, they meant in the South.  As I am used to this specificity, I broadened it to include, if we were forced to delve into the topic, racism everywhere.  It seems odd to me that there is racism period.  In this day and age, most everybody is bi-racial, even those who don’t look like they are.  Take me for example.  To the untrained eye, I look whiter than most Canadians.  In my extreme preppy clothes, I could even be mistaken for someone from Connectichusetts.  Until I open my mouth, that is.  Then people automatically put me on a plantation with Scarlett, Rhett and the lot.

                No one would believe that there is anything but English/Irish blood running through my veins.  Right along with the redneck blood, should that ever be considered a race.  My father’s mother’s mother was supposedly some sort of Native American, but according to my recent 23 and Me, that is simply not true.  It did share that I am 0.6% Sub-Saharan African, specifically The Congo.  My sister's DNA test showed that she was 99.5% English, with the other 0.5% being Finnish.  No Native American blood at all in either of us.  However, if you looked at some of my relatives on the Thompson side you see there is something there that’s simply "not white”.  They are dark complexioned and facial features that appear to be Native American.  Do with that information what you will.  DNA is a funny thing.  I say that to say this, there are very few people who are “all white” so to be uptight about someone’s race or nationality is, well, silly and a ridiculous use of your limited time and energy.  If you want to dislike them for their taste in clothing, music or mode of transport, be my guest.  At least I can understand that; whether or not I agree is irrelevant.  

                I also find that many Americans who aren't from the South, still have opinions about Mississippi that haven't been updated since the 1960s.  I find it surprising that many in our country still assume there are frequent lynchings.  As we have seen, since 2016, there are racists all across this great land.  I know many, many Southerners who are not racist at all, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't know any racists.  I don't agree with them, but I know them.  And I am not going to even pretend there isn't institutional racism all over the South, especially in the judicial system, but this is not something that is only alive in the South; it appears to be alive in America in general.

                What people need to realize, dear readers, is that while there might be people in the South who do not like someone because of the color of their skin, it is more likely that any actual hatred is related more to the color of their football jersey.  Talk about throwing around some prejudice.  If you want to see angry Southerners, just visit Facebook on college football Saturdays.  It is brutal, y’all. 

                As I am one of the Southerners who left the South, it has fallen to me to try to explain the realities, having lived in “God’s Country” from birth through the age of 32.  I have lived in many different locales in the last 11 years including Alaska, Ohio, New England and DC, and I have experienced stupidity and prejudice everywhere. 

                Por ejemplo (which is Spanish), Native Alaskans don’t like anyone that’s not from Alaska, including anyone who lives in Anchorage because “it’s NOT Alaska”.  There’s even a town called Unalaska, which is actually in Alaska, which doesn’t make sense, but you try telling that to an Inuit.  I dare you.

               I can personally attest to blatant racism in Cleveland, OH; the tiny enclave of blue in one of the reddest states on the electoral map.  You might think the blue is from Lake Erie, but you'd be wrong.  Cleveland, while filled with great restaurants and plentiful shopping, smells like freshly mowed dog poop.  Anyone who has ever pushed a lawn mower knows that smell; a subtle mix of heatstroke and indentured servitude. When I lived in Cleveland, there were areas of town I couldn’t frequent, including the famed BBQ Place, Hot Sauce Williams.  My assistant, Valerie (hey girl!) told me she’d have to go get me the rib tip basket, which I allowed her to do but only on special occasions…like Wednesdays.  It was the same for her.  She wouldn’t have felt welcome should she want to have dinner in Little Italy which could have doubled as a break room for extras from The Sopranos, y’all.  I was nervous but the food was too good to pass up.

                I explained to my holiday companions that I am sure there are Southerners who are racist but they used to keep their mouths shut in public; at least those who were 'raised right'.  And there are those whose dislike or distrust may run very near, but still under, the surface.  What I have found, it that most of the time it’s an aversion to spending time with rather than hatred of any particular group of people.  Educated Southerners are usually too polite to outwardly display any negative emotion, not related to sporting events or alcohol consumption, both pro and con.

                And as per usual, the conversation veered to the KKK.  Let me just say that I love me some John Grisham, but I don’t know anywhere I’ve lived in the South where there is a KKK chapter as active as those in his books A Time to Kill and Sycamore Row, and I have lived in Louisiana, Arkansas, Mississippi and Alabama.  I also lived in Texas and Oklahoma but only some people consider them Southern states, I suspect only because they’ve had so many Miss Americas.

                I don’t personally know anyone who is active in the KKK.  It’s not an actual club, like the Junior League.  I mean, those who have that much hate aren’t ones who tend to actually possess event planning skills.  They couldn’t/wouldn’t have a bake sale or run a thrift shop.    These are not the people you turn to when you need energetic assistance to implement your great idea.  Those who I know that might be racist to the extent they would take action are not actually capable of keeping their focus on anything longer than it takes to smoke a Marlboro or drink a Pabst Blue Ribbon, or whatever is the cheapest beer these days.  

                These people are typically on Facebook, but only unknowingly starring in a photo montage of “People of Wal-Mart”.  They are not always computer literate.  I daresay they are barely literate.  The Southerners I know are part of the literate South.  The South of Faulkner, Williams, Welty and, yes, Grisham.  The arts and letters of the south don’t spell HATE.  What they sometimes spell is not always fit to print but quite likely amuse while tailgating, sitting in a deer stand or floating down the river.  I have done all three with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

                I said much of this to my guests with my patented look which is a mixture of condescension and pity with a dash of Christian charity. I’ve been practicing, dear readers.  And I did remind them that this new generation, the Millenials, seemed poised to be the first post-racial society.  They don’t seem to be bothered by anything not displayed on their iPads or iPhones and even then it’s mostly met with duck lips and tongue-wagging selfies.

                I just hope that the Millenials remain otherwise occupied with the Kardashians and the re-emergence of acid washed denim and don’t ever feel compelled to actually listen to Uncle Jimmy John and absorb the hatred that he may be spouting in the privacy of his '66 Chevy truck up, on blocks in the front yard, because Lord help us all if someone that backward gets the skills to utilize an iAnything or figures out how Meetup works. 

                All we can do is pray hard and pass the Fritos, bean dip and everything from the left side of the Hardee’s menu.  We’ll keep ‘em so full of grease and protein that if they ever get a mind to wreak havoc, the gout will keep them stationary.  Gout hurts, y’all.

                And I think I’ve said more than enough for now.