RACE RELATIONS

I never wanted race to be an issue in my life. We’re all born, we live dealing with particular circimstances, then we die. That was the issue. Everything else up for common-sense debate. Maybe it helped I was raised in a ”racially” homogenous environment. It only became an issue on TV, carrying no more weight in my psyche than any other dramatic fiction. Some fictional somebody else’s problem. To what end I couldn’t imagine. Though I imagine I rarely tried.

Till I realized there was an un-common-sense loose at work even in my own particular psyche and circumstance. Which first raised its’ problematic non-debatable head as the issue of “class” Working-class, middle-class, upper-class. peasant, lord of the manor, royalty. Inferior, mediocre, superior. Made common-sense to debate and dispute that issue. Oppressor and oppressed, predator and prey, exploiter and exploited. Nothing to do with race. Unless someone chose to make it so. Then the debate becomes why would anybody do that? It was clearly identifiable even in my homogenous community. Race didn’t need to be a part of it.

There were plenty of people around I seemed to have no affinity for nor they for me. We managed not to break out into open warfare., and I never considered them prey nor exploitee merely for my own self-gratification. Should they have been deemed of another “race” I figured the same common-sense rules applied. You could be either friends or agree to differ and simply avoid where possible. Some relationships were just never meant to be. I never felt there was an “issue” involved. Live and let live etcetera… Should they choose to come after me, “race” still wasn’t the issue, just human cantankerousness and if I refused to take their bait they would soon move on to fresher fish, which they usually did. Friendliness in and of itself was enough to brighten my day. And I never considered myself exceptional in this.

It was the TV convinced me I had some real enemies in this world, who would stop at nothing to screw me over, didn’t give a damn how friendly I might behave and perhaps some preventative measures were in order. Common-sense was not always an option. If I didn’t want to become a slave and not just a peasant. Of course I realized it was “my own people” who were happy to keep me at least as a peasant, just as likely to royally screw me over as any “foreigner”. and it would be naïve to assume otherwise. I mean. if there’s this woman who could look you in the eyes and tell you she’s your queen and you either need to bend a knee or bow respectfully or there will be consequences… it’s impossible not to believe there may be foreigners in my midst, no matter they shared my complexion. I would never not trust everybody till I was told I shouldn’t trust anybody, and it was nothing personal, just business. It was all part of growing up.

I remember me dad coming home from work one day telling us there was a new “colored fella’” been hired and he was “no different from us really, seems like a decent bloke!”. I won’t forget that, dad, you put me on the right track. They were having “immigrant issues” in nearby Bradford, it was all over the TV and newspapers, far more than one bloke turning up, mainly Asian Indians and Pakistanis. The media determined to make it a “race” issue, though in hindsight it was obviously more of a cultural shock. It eventually seemed to sort it out when curry and chips became a staple favorite after a night in the pub.

Only at university did I personally experience some real “diversity”. I developed a friendship with this black guy called “Plato”, we trained together in the gym, he looked like Mohammed Ali and seemed to have a problem with girls coming after him. I might have been jealous had he not been so sweetly bemused and conflicted by it. I also developed a minor crush on this black student who resisted my solicitations and I devoutly respected her for it, so we just remained friends. Later, when I lived in London I bonded with a tall Kenyan guy with the tribal scars on his face, who also seemed to have a problem with girls coming after him. He once had to get off a train before his stop because this woman wouldn’t leave him alone. I was beginning to feel racially deficient. I’d never had that problem. Me, him and this Asian Indian guy bonded as a threesome over a common if unfashionable appreciation of Elvis. He invited us both to a reception at the Kenyan Embassy, where we had to go up and be introduced to the Kenyan Ambassador and his wife, being advised to say “VSO Kampala”, and that would explain everything, why we were there for free food and drink and a delightful time was had by all. Sometimes I think my whole life I’ve been trying to approve me dad’s delighted revelation that “they were no different than us, really!” Which pretty soon had become so obvious I’d never need it to be an “issue” again! No doubt in my mind, being a Yorkshireman I would feel more at home with a “black” laborer from Doncaster or even a Chinese-looking woman with a thick Scottish accent selling me haggis and chips then either the Queen or some Old Etonian from Surrey, or a Frenchman from the Dordoigne.

Maybe language and even the accent it’s first delivered in is our first love, comfortably defining both home and identity. Everything else is “foreign”. To be embraced or defied either as we choose or as we’re taught to find suspect. Finding yourself in a room where everyone appears to be speaking gibberish could be either delightfully fascinating or utterly dread-inducing alienating. Especially if it’s your own living-room, you might soon feel like your home is chaos, you’ve been invaded and evicted by “foreigners”. Could leave you feeling very resentful, no matter the color of their skin, and very susceptible to a hate-feed from any outlet that protests on your behalf. appears to be “on your side…because “they” know how you feel, we’re all victims here and we need to stand up for ourselves against these “infidels” who are obviously not part of the same human race“! Let’s face it, anything remotely challenging of our home-grown identity can readily be weaponized into hostility. Should somebody choose to do that. But why would anybody do that? Who benefits? Cui bono? Only those who require a platform of chaos on which to impose their own version of “order”, for which we would be so thankful you’ll barely hear a quibble from us again! Basic divide and conquer. identity politics. Race riots. Bring everybody out of their comfort zones, sit back, relax, enjoy the fight and reap its’ confiscation-fine-and-tax benefits.. Turmoil in the Middle East flooding the countries of Europe with immigrants. Anybody protests arrest them for a racist hate-crime. Nothing personal. just business. Can’t run a protection racket if there’s nobody to protect against…. Maybe paranoia just part of growing up?

Tips for survival :

Beware the overwrought melodramatic conjecture. beware the prophet who accepts donations. beware the warning signs. beware the race to the top that starts with a downward slide. beware the larger-than-life who only lives in your dreams. beware the editors who can polish you off. Beware the writers who only punctuate when it’s absolutely necessary. beware the identity-mongers who sell you only your self. Beware the leaders who appear out of nowhere you’ve ever been. Beware rushing into somebody else’s judgments. Beware the harbingers of doo who offer you a conditional way out. Beware the stand-up comedians who only want to stand out in a crowd. beware of crowds who only gather to be accounted out. Beware of narcissists who tell you you’re drowning in your own personality’s disorder. beware of celebrities and idols who falsely accuse themselves of humility. beware of divisions that can only multiply divisiveness…

I tell you this and I tell you this only : beware of uncommon denominators who would call you out for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, even if it’s your own living-room!