There were only three Black people in my hometown.
That cannot be true, and probably is not, but it is based on the statistics of memory. There were three Black boys in my school, no Black girls. One was popular and handsome, the second brilliant, and the third a charming movie nerd. My stats are wildly off, because I have not counted family members, and have no access to that information.
These three boys had white friends and were liked at school. But how could they not encounter racism? I hope they did not.
But then again:
“X is white,” said my daringly mocking friend, the one with the radical parents. She pointed out that our Black friend grew up in a privileged white world: his father was a quasi-famous professional. “All his friends are white.”
This was unanswerable. I did not agree with her – at all. But neither of us knew what we were talking about. We were white girls who read a lot.
Then I was off to the university, and then to graduate school, where there were no Black students or Black professors in the Classics and School of Letters departments. Presumably they were somewhere, but not, I assure you, at the Student Union or the library. Somewhere in a distant gym or football field were the Black athletes, sequestered by their coaches and tutored by graduate students who put a positive spin on the athletes’ interrupted studies. Their travel schedule was like a rock band’s on tour.
Many universities require Black history classes. These days, the government is cutting funds to universities with such progressive curricula as Black Studies and Women’s Studies. If it comes down to it, I WILL fight for these programs, by which I mean I will write a letter of protest to our Senator and Representative – on scented stationery.
My minimal knowledge of Black culture is rooted in Bill Cosby’s comedy – records and TV shows – Motown groups, Good Times, and the novels of Toni Morrison. I briefly volunteered at a women’s bookstore that stocked Morrison’s entire oeuvre: Song of Solomon was my introduction to magic realism. My favorite of her novels is Jazz, set in Harlem in the 1920s, which beautifully echoes jazz in the rhythms of the prose.
Other Black writers, actors, and singers I was familiar with: Billie Holiday, Bill Cosby, Richard Pryor, The Supremes, Tracy Chapman, Richard Wright, Gloria Naylor, Octavia Butler, George Ade, and… Yes, I know. This list is pathetic.
I believe that the American senators, representatives, and I should take that Black history class together.
And then we’ll go on to intensive Women’s Studies. I WILL be their tutor. And they WILL do their homework.
Hi thanks for this, I’m a new subscriber. One thing I’ve begun to notice recently is the word ‘Black’ with a capital B, but ‘white’ with a lower-case w, often within the same piece of text. Presumably they stand for black and white people, ie the same concept ?. I’m curious about this distinction between the usage of the words, and wondered what your take on it was?
Thanks!
Katrina
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Katrina, I checked on this as well. AP and other media have adopted the capitalized “Black,” I assume because of Black Lives Matters, but it does look wrong on the page. I would feel more comfortable NOT capitalizing any of the races, but then I still differentiate between “who” and “whom,” so what does that tell you????!!!! I guess it’s showing respect for Black people?
My background similar. School was an all white world, but until I was 10 we lived in a neighnorhood predominantly black and hispanic. Nonetheless all my friends but on white — and Irish. on he iher hand, where there was some mixing (Richmond Hill High School) racism(insults, fights) could sudden;y erupt at any time.
Nonetheless a vry important moment in my life was whn a Black Professor of English encouraged m to be an Englisgh mahjor. He was the first authority to praise me and tel me to go on to study what I liked. His specialty was Henry James; he was upper class, had gone to British university. Clinton F. Oliver
There are more Hispanic than Black in our state, but very small percentages. And there were even fewer when I was growing up. But of course New York is a melting pot, and I’m so glad your English department was diverse and that you were directed to the right major. At my universities, they were still struggling to hire women.