Real Talk about Race: Chapter Four

Friends, Frienemies, Countrymen, lend me your eyes. What I mean is keep reading, 'cause I promise this installment of our series on race relations will be the simplest yet.

In chapters one, two, and three, we've talked about fear of being lumped in with bad people who look like us, the legacy of slavery in the U.S., race and politics, and defining hate crime, among other things.

Today I wanna talk stereotypes and pros and cons of political correctness.

First, how many of us know the formal definition of "stereotype?" Dictionary.com says its sociological meaning is "a simplified and standardized conception or image invested with special meaning and held in common by members of a group."

I ask about that definition, because in the comments section of Chapter One, my friend Og honestly asked about black men and razor bumps and black men and straightened hair.

I gotta give him props. A lot of people would have stayed away from those sorts of questions for fear of sounding bad, looking bad, whatever.

But Og didn't say anything disrespectful to me or about me. He simply asked about two physical characteristics that he's seen in/on black men and that he did not understand. And the fact is, under a specific circumstance lots of black men get razor bumps when they shave their faces.

Political correctness (by some other name, please!) can serve a purpose: to keep a seed planted in the backs of our minds that we should exercise common sense and basic respect when talking to or about someone else's differences. Too much PC - which, in my mind, is almost any - is a bad thing.

So when does political correctness go from common sense caution to overkill? When you get angry about a comment or question that is rooted in fact - the exception being when you say it or ask it in a tacky, tasteless way.

Remember, just 'cause something is a stereotype, doesn't make it false. I love to eat chicken, for example. And anyone who doesn't like that can bite me.

From the beginning of our race relations discussions, I've said if we can't talk about ALL of it - the complicated and the simple - then we're doomed to maintain at least a smidgen of misunderstanding between us, even in the best of times. Best way to break barriers and avoid embarrassing situations involving our differences is to just talk about 'em.

So in the spirit of real talk, Og here's the deal with the razor bumps: Many black men have coarse, curly facial hair. While this may be aesthetically pleasing, it's a pain in the behind when it comes to shaving, because when some of us use straight, traditional razors our facial hair is cut so short that it begins to curl virtually from the second it starts to grow back. And sometimes when that happens, the hair can grow right back into the skin, creating an ingrown hair effect. It's why, when I was a kid my dad would use this smelly concoction called "Magic Shave," to to chemically lift the hair off his face, so he could get a clean shave. Magic Shave prevented razor bumps. Otherwise, a straight razor would have really done a number on his skin. It's why I don't use a straight razor. I shave with an electric shaver - the same kind they use in the barbershop to shave your head bald. It gives a clean shave, but not so short that your facial hair has a chance to grow awry.

There. That wasn't so painful.

As for the processed hair, like I said in the comments section back on Chapter One, Og, that's a much more complicated explanation. And no doubt it will vary depending on who's giving the explanation. I was always taught by my elders that black men started processing their hair back in the day - as early as 1930s, my grandmother always said - so that they could style their hair after the stars of the day. It just so happened that the stars of the day were almost exclusively white, so they had hair that was straight or wavy. In order for black men to achieve that effect with their own hair, they had to essentially put heavy perms in it. My grandfather used to call it getting his hair "conked." He said when he was young and dumb he'd get his hair conked or fried, dyed, and laid to the side. Fortunately, as he exited childhood and entered manhood he recognized that his naturally curly, coarser hair was just fine, and that he didn't need to chemically torture his scalp to look like something he wasn't and feel cool.

Now, I know I'm not the only one with stereotypes to answer or to ask about. After putting myself out there, I'd better get a helluva lot of feedback. I want to know what you'd like to know...about one another. If you have a question about Asians, or women, or whites, or Latinos, or blacks, ask it in the comments. And whichever of you has the answer, knock yourself out. Just keep in mind to be respectful.

So let's wrap this up with a brief cautionary tale of political correctness overkill. I spent last night at a surreal neighborhood association meeting that was supposed to be a meeting of the minds between association members and reps from the city, police, etc., and a welcome to prospective new members. In a matter of minutes though, the meeting turned into a free for all of angry people trying to out talk one another. I'll blog more on the meeting this weekend, but one incident stood out to me.

I had walked out of meeting hall to go to the rest room. While I was out, apparently a shouting match started. Tones and tensions escalated, and Mrs. B, reasonably afraid, got up and walked to the back of the room to find me and get close to the exit, in case we needed to scram. Things calmed down eventually, and another woman who had been sitting next to Mrs. B came to the back of the room and struck up a conversation with her. Nice lady. In minutes the two of them were comparing notes about the 'hood, talking about getting together to walk dogs, and so on. Mrs B then introduced me to the other woman. We exchanged pleasantries, and I turned my attention back to the meeting.

As Mrs. B and the other woman chatted and discussed neighborhood issues and crime prevention, and so on, the other woman, whose house was broken into...while she was at home sleep two years ago, talked about how paranoid she can be sometimes. Well, one of the rabble rousers who started the shouting match in the meeting walked by. And the woman made a comment to Mrs. B about being nervous and wondering where "that black guy" had gone.

Almost immediately, she turned to me and apologized profusely, insisting she shouldn't have said "black guy." And it wasn't right.

Why not? I mean, I guess she could've described him as the guy in yellow shorts, or the guy in the blue baseball cap. But human nature is that we tend to hone in the most prominent feature. And that's how we describe people in a snap: the fat guy, the tall woman, the guy with the Mohawk, the woman with the jaundiced skin. Whatever.

My response was "Don't be sorry. I'm not mad. You weren't talking about me!"

Let's get logical folks. If we can't simply mention another person's obvious features, we are way past the point of trouble. We've gotta lose those sorts of hangups, in the interest of eliminating race as a "problem" topic.

BTW, that woman was really nice. I hope she and Mrs. B do end up hanging out. And from the short conversation I had with him, I have no doubt I'll end up tipping a pint with her husband....without regard for his appearance.

Weekend Roundup

I knew it! I knew it! I knew it! I'm a huge fan of track & field, 'cause like most "retired" amateur athletes who lie on the couch on weekends and watch sports on TV thinking "what if," I really admire a great physique and above average athletic skills. And next to gymnastics, track & field probably produces the most near-perfect athlete bodies out there. That being said, I knew Marion Jones, star U.S. Olympic sprinter and long jumper, was on something. Jones is scheduled to plead guilty in federal court today to lying to investigators about using steroids over a two year period. She said that (like Barry Bonds) she didn't know the clear substance her coach had given her was 'roids. And by the time she found out, she was scared that she panicked and lied when asked about it. I don't know about that story, but I am somewhat relieved to find out she was juicing up, 'cause I was beginning to think in my Austin Powers frame of mind, that she used to be "a man, baby!" Not that there's anything wrong with that. But if she had been a dude, I would have expected her to compete in the men's division in the Olympics. It would only be fair.

Not to beat a dead horse, but double standards are always amusing, especially when the person holding them doesn't realize or acknowledge them. So I'm back on Bill O'Reilly. Understand, I don't think he's a bad guy. I just think that he's such a big guy, as in big shot, that he couldn't bring himself to admit that his description last week of the black people at Sylvia's restaurant in Harlem sounded bad, regardless of his intentions. But in the same discussion, O'Reilly reiterated something he's said on his TV and radio shows before: that most of white America has no idea that the average black American is nothing like rappers and other numbnuts portrayed on entertainment TV and in music videos. The suggestion was that black folks need to be aware of that stereotype and that perhaps black folks, using that awareness, could do more to win over their white counterparts and convince them that not all blacks rap and dance or whatever. So here's the funny double-standard: Last night I was doing my usual chat show surfing in prime time, when I came to the O'Reilly Factor. His guest in this segment was a Filipino college professor, who was upset, because he felt a joke about Filipinos on last week's episode of Desperate Housewives cast his people in a negative light. And he was concerned that it would generate or perpetuate certain negative stereotypes about Asians. So, given O'Reilly's revelation that average whites perceive average blacks to be like rappers and other folks portrayed on entertainment TV, you would think he'd told the professor: "You are right. Why, just recently I warned black people that lots of whites assume...about black people, based on TV and music videos. So you are correct to be worried that this jokey stereotype will give the general public the wrong impression of Asians." Nope. O'Reilly told the professor he was taking a stupid joke on a stupid TV show too seriously, that it wasn't that big a deal. Here's my deal: I agree with O'Reilly. It wasn't that big a deal. But if he really meant that last evening, then he needs to go on his show, face the cameras and say something like "White people of America, I have warned black folks on a few occasions that many of you assume that all or most blacks mirror the images you see of black rappers on TV, and in music videos. Well, entertainment TV and music videos are stupid and not meant to be taken seriously. So, if you do harbor such stereotypes, then drop 'em. Because it isn't fair to the average black person, who is minding his business, earning his keep, and has never picked up a microphone or been on television." What's good for the goose, no? He said last week his long term goal was to eliminate stupid racial stereotyping. If his audience, as he says, is the largest among those prime time sort-of-newsish-talk shows, then it's his civic duty to tell his audience to pass their judgments after meeting people personally and not after watching a TV show.

And while I'm at it, let me just dispel another racial myth that I've heard in recent weeks on prime time television, this one in relation to O.J. Simpson's latest legal troubles. No worries, Mr. O'Reilly. I'm not putting this one on you. These other talking heads who've been saying in recent weeks that "black America" supported O.J. Simpson during his murder trial back in the day, and that "black America" believed he was innocent, are on crack. These guys are smoking left-handed cigarettes if they really believe the drivel they're spewing. The truth is the average black person knew back then, just like everyone else, that O.J. was a hack...literally. The average black person did not support O.J., because the average black person was aware through the wonders of television that O.J. had about as much use for them as Michael Jackson - none! Or at least none, until he was charged with a crime and suddenly in need of friends and public moral support. O.J. is like the atheist who prays in the face of danger. Finally, the average black person was not happy that O.J. was acquitted in his murder trial. On the contrary, I would argue the average black person may have been slightly amused that it took O.J. getting away with murder before such a travesty began to outrage the entire country - 'cause surely no one believes that he was the first rich person to get away with it. But let's not get it twisted. We know just like everyone else that this was a rich guy who got away with murder. What he looked like was a distant second, even to him.

Finally, hybrid cars kill! Relax, I'm not saying your Prius is widening the gape in the Ozone Layer. But according to a new report, blind people worry that some hybrid cars are too quiet for them to hear, and thus a safety risk. The report says that blind people who rely partly on hearing the engines of approaching cars before they cross the street are worried that they might unwittingly start stepping into the path of hybrid cars, because hybrids are so quiet. Hmmm. I'm gonna leave this one alone, I think. This definitely goes in the damned if you do category. But I do feel more at peace restoring that 442. It's rumble will prove that I love and support the blind.

Bill O'Reilly in Harlem

I'm thinking the most uncomfortable topic for folks in this country to discuss candidly - besides sexual preferences - is race relations. So let's keep talking. We started with Jena yesterday. Let's keep it going. In fact, if we can all stomach it, let's discuss this topic for the rest of the week.

So, issue of the day, for me, anyway: Bill O'Reilly's comments on his radio show the other day about his experience dining with Al Sharpton at Sylvia's restaurant in Harlem, NY. If you don't wanna click the link, the abbreviated version is that Sylvia's is an old, black-owned soul food restaurant in Harlem. Most of Sylvia's patrons are black. It is a restaurant. People go in, the sit, they order, they eat, they drink, they converse, they pay, and they leave. That's about as dramatic as it gets. After dining at Sylvia's, O'Reilly commented - and I'm paraphrasing here - on his radio show that he was pleasantly surprised and impressed with the tame atmosphere in Sylvia's. He was impressed that all the black folks there were well-behaved and not acting out like boisterous, rowdy rappers. He was struck that the atmosphere in Sylvia's was no different than that of any other nice eatery in New York, and he noted that Sylvia's had as nice an atmosphere as any Italian restaurant in any predominantly white suburb.

Now, here's the thing. A lot of the bluster and outrage over what O'Reilly had to say alleged racism on his part. I don't think so. Whether or not you think he is a racist isn't important to me. But in this particular incident, if you take ALL of his comments in full context, the Sylvia's bit was just a part of his monologue decrying stereotypes and racism.

However, I think to try to make this about O'Reilly allegedly being racist is disingenuous and misses the point. I don't believe the man is racist. On the other hand, I don't care if he is, 'cause nothing he says or does directly impacts me.

Only two things bothered me about O'Reilly's comments: that in 2007, an educated, worldly-wise guy like him would be genuinely shocked that the mostly black patronage at Sylvia's was on its best behavior when he dined there, and that many white people form their notions of black folks based on prevalent media images of black rappers.

So here's my question and concern? Is O'Reilly right? Seriously, do a majority of white people in this country think a majority of black folks are like bumbling rappers? 'Cause if he's right - and remember, he's an educated guy who's been around the block - then I can't imagine what "less fortunate" white people must think of us.

Don't get it twisted. I'm not walking around chewing my nails and worrying that white people will think I fling my poop against the wall, wear bearskin loincloths to work, and eat my steak raw. But considering the unnecessary racial tension that still permeates the air all across this country, if we can do away with just one more stereotype it could help.

I really don't have any more to say about this one, other than to reiterate that I hope O'Reilly's wrong about the rapper assertion. And if you're ever in New York try Sylvia's. I love the place and would order the entire menu on each visit, if I could.

Mysteries of Life

Every now and then I encounter a few of these. And even though none of them involve trying to split the atom, they always leave me genuinely baffled.

Why, for example, do I continue to try to offer explanations with apologies when I have annoyed Mrs. B? No, seriously. I have learned from great men, much older, presumably wiser, and longer married than me that anything beyond "sorry" will be construed as arguing from your wife. And arguing is always a losing proposition for a husband, even if it's usually over how many ice cubes one of you requested or which turn to make during a road trip in which you have no paper map. If you're wrong and admit as much you are inadvertently fueling the I-knew-he-was-an-idiot fire. If you're right and you say as much, you are lording it over her in a nah-nah-nah-nah-nah sort of way. If you had no clue that you did anything wrong and you try to explain as much, you "doth protest too much." And if you had no clue and are silent about it, then you're pouting. I should listen to you old guys. I think there might really be something to the concept of always conceding guilt when the issue is minor, swallowing whatever pride acccompanies that grudging admission, and moving on.

Speaking of moving on, I was watching a TV newscast earlier and the reporter was in a predominantly black urban neighborhood, a neighborhood I happen to be familiar with in a city I happen to be familiar with. It's funny, 'cause this is something Mrs. B and I were discussing casually over the weekend in relation to another story. Anyway, at one point in her brief report the TV reporter found a local to interview. The guy she found? That dude. That dude with the Afro pick sticking out of his hair and the peanut butter and jelly stains on his t-shirt. That dude with a crucial tooth or two missing, and one hand planted firmly on his twig'n'berries. That dude who finished every sentence with "nahmean?" Standing next to that dude? Another black man in pressed trousers, pressed shirt, combed hair, most of his teeth, etc. How do TV news reporters always find that dude when they need a neighborhood resident to talk? What, the guy who looked together didn't fit the preplanned direction you needed your story to take? It's not a race thing. I've seen it in rural, predominantly white towns too- 20 houses on a block, 19 of them firmly rooted to the ground and occupied by people who don't fit appearance stereotypes, and the resident the reporter seeks out is the one whose house could be stolen by someone driving a strong enough truck with a chain and a tow bar, whose Afro pick is a Confederate bandanna, whose "nahmean" is "boy howdy," and whose t-shirt bears the very same PBJ stains. It's like there's a "bad representative magnet" on those TV cameras.

And finally there's the gossip. I have a friendly acquaintance - and that's all I'll say about this person, so as not to give away how/where I know them from, keeping in mind that I play and work in a lot of different places around a lot of different people - who has what I believe to be a genetic disorder: this person cannot help but repeat everything they're told, no matter how inconsequential or how serious. New information eats a hole in this person's jaw. If we were still fighting the Cold War, the CIA could make great inroads in the former U.S.S.R. by whispering a false state secret to this person and giving them a one-way plane ticket to Moscow. And yet, knowing all of this, on those rare occasions when I find myself alone with this person I still say things to them. I don't know why. I should say hello and keep moving. But I don't. I make conversation or at least respond to the conversation they make. It's like feeling obligated after a while to try to make small talk with the security guard you see coming into work every morning. You know that, like you, he just wants to do his job and go home. He probably doesn't give two craps about your take on last night's game. He probably doesn't care how many times your kid made it on base during the weekend's little league game. And he definitely doesn't care what your wife is making for dinner tonight. And yet you talk to him, 'cause it's the nice thing to do. And he smiles back at you and nods patiently at your stories, 'cause it's the nice thing to do. In a twisted sort of way I feel like I have to say something, anything to the gossip when I bump into that person. I really need to learn the art of small talk. I can carry on a great lengthy conversation, I think. I'm bad at small, throw-away talk though. If I was better at it I could talk about the weather or water temperature at the beach with the gossiper and they would never get any ammo from me. I'm a gossip enabler. I'm seeking help.

OK, I'm outta here like Don Cornelius. I have work-for-money to do.

Till tomorrow, my friends.