Sunday, April 11, 2010
So two white women, a rabbi and an African walk into Baltimore..
Since moving to Baltimore, I've heard a lot about race. Racism, racial tension, racially defined neighborhoods, racially motivated assumptions and / or privilege. In fact, the longer I'm here the more I see. Baltimore seems to have a psychological corner on the racism market; it's more fixated on the pain of it. Even more than DC.
Now, I hail from Idaho, and I'll just assume you know it's a fairly homogonous culture. In the west / northwest, in fact, black Americans or African Americans in my experience were regarded as demi-celebrities. They were the coolest kids, exotic, interesting, funny and sought after. No one talked about poor neighborhoods in racial terms. There was no "poor black" phenomenon. No crime associated with race specifically or broadly. So to come out to Baltimore and hear people openly talking about where to live based on racial geography, or neighborhoods I couldn't / shouldn't go to, is bizarre. BIZARRE. Blacks vs. Jews vs. rich vs. poorer vs. white vs. Asian.... BIZARRE.
Given all that, what do my mom and I do? Move to Pikesville (WOW is Pikesville Jewish) and join an all-black evangelistic church. I mean joined. We're the only two pale people there, out of 700-1000 others. Which we didn't think was all that odd until everyone around us said "Wow, you're brave."
Know why we joined?
Because it's fun, uplifting, warm, welcoming, inspiring, demanding, and we felt instantly at home there. Why does that require bravery? I'm not ignorant to the very real, painful and difficult ways in which racial perception shapes experiences and opportunities in life. I've worked long and hard on diversity boards, in refugee resettling, and many other real-world efforts to change old and damaging ways of looking at the world and each other. But I'll be damned if I know why people think I'm somehow "brave." Or that a whole neighborhood's occupants should feel alien because they're a different color of human or have had different experiences. (And usually our experiences aren't that different anyway.)
So, dear Baltimore: what happened here?
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