Am I a racist?

Am I a racist?

As I’ve mentioned before in this blog, I developed a fascination for researching my ancestry. (In the footsteps of our ancestors)  I’ve spent hours and hours on the internet going down one rabbit hole after another.  Sometimes I’m deeply engrossed and focused and then I go for long stretches without touching it.  I primarily focused on my Dad’s side of the family, because following the male line is so much easier than the name changing female line.  I found it interesting when I found an ancestor listed as a “man servant” for a Michigan family. I found Daniel Barker was in the Civil War, with an Illinois Regiment.  I was intrigued to discover some generations were Quakers who supported the Revolutionary War.  I found it intriguing when I learned one of my 7^th Great Grandfathers, Samuel Baker, was deeded land in Delaware by William Penn on behalf of King George.  Grandpa Samuel was born in England and died in Delaware.  I intend to go there and visit the area, Barker’s Bridge just to walk in the footsteps of my ancestors.

My Aunt Glenda has done extensive research on my Mom’s side of the family.  She’s traced us back to our ancestor Stephen Hopkins who was quite a colorful character and came to this continent on the Mayflower.  He first arrived in Bermuda in a shipwreck (and threatened with hanging for mutiny), spent time as an indentured servant in the Jamestown Colony before returning to England.  He then came back to the continent with the Pilgrims on the Mayflower with his wife and family.  He was not a pious man, and was in trouble for running his public house on the Sabbath.   His story is fascinating.  Stephen Hopkins History

Dad’s family’s known claim to fame was Gerald Ford, who was a cousin through his biological father.  The story I heard is his Dad was not a good man, and Gerald Ford changed his last name from King to Ford when his Mom remarried. 

So, we have some cool people in my family.  But, the further back I went, the less comfortable I became.  We were entering times when people of one color owned people of another.  How would I feel if I discovered an ancestor owned slaves?  How would I feel if I had ancestors that were involved in kicking out the Native Americans and sending them on the “Trail of Tears”?  I quit looking, not wanting to know.

I discovered the PBS show “Finding Your Roots” with Dr. Henry Lewis Gates, Jr.  I instantly became hooked and often wish I could get my lineage searched like they do.  They find the most fascinating information.  But, as I watched episode after episode of people whose ancestors were entered as marks in a slave master’s book, I became more plagued by the notion that my people may have owned other people.  I haven’t had the guts to look.  Does that make me a coward?  Maybe.  It haunts me.

I’ve lived a typical middle-America, middle-class life.  I was born in 1967.  I was born on my parents’ 2^nd wedding anniversary.  I was God’s gift.  😊  When I was 5 I remember going to a classmate’s house to play.  She had different colored skin than mine and I remember family at her house brushing my long blonde hair.  I didn’t think about it at the time.  We moved every 2-3 years so I attended many school.  Looking back at class photos, the predominance of kids had skin similar to mine.  I never thought about it.  I never considered matters of race until we moved to Benton Harbor, a predominately black community.  My first day of school at Benton Harbor High School I discovered I was the only white girl in many of my classes.  It was the first time in my life I didn’t look like the other people around me.  It was momentarily unsettling but I settled in and made friends, several I still communicate with today.   I got into a fight with my guidance counselor because she wouldn’t let me apply for minority focused scholarships.  “Look around, I’m the minority here”, I pointed out.  “Why should it matter what my skin color is?”  Poor Mrs. Carter.  I vexed her. But, I was confident in who I was and didn’t think much about other ways of moving through life. I’ve always had friends from different religions, and skin colors.  I like to learn and truly believe one person is like the next no matter what their skin color. 

But now watching this series,  I really stopped to put myself in someone else’s shoes.  Watching the stories of people who had to face the fact that their family history just stopped, their people a mark on a page without a name, I cried.  For the first time I faced my own lack of consideration.  I watched documentaries about “The Black Wall Street” and the Tulsa, Oklahoma massacre.  I was horrified.  What gave one man the idea that they were better than another man based only on their skin?  I of course knew about the Civil Rights movement, and racism but I guess it never really hit me on a personal level.  I remember drinking fountains marked "Colored Only" but never really put myself in the mindset of how that must have felt.  Now, the thought makes me sad.  It's just so wrong.  I kept reading, kept watching documentaries, kept learning on a personal level the horrors one human being can inflict on another. 

When I was in college we had a lovely couple that attended our church.  They always liked me too, and I remember going to their house for lunch and Larry showed me his military medals (including a Purple Heart!) and Ginny told me stories about attending the Indian School in Mount Pleasant, Michigan.   I was attending Central Michigan University and had heard stories about the school.  She was a beautiful, loving and gracious woman.   When Tyler was born he was in the NICU for one hundred days.  One day at church they slipped me a $20 bill  and Ginny told me to use it for something for myself, something not necessary.  I purchased a sparkly Kirks Folly Christmas tree pin that I have to this day.  I always mentally thank then and wish them peace when I see it and wish I had spent more time with them.  But, I was only 25 at that point and too self-absorbed to take the opportunity to know these two remarkable people. 

Now, as I feel like the reality of the world is really making itself known to me, I feel ashamed.  I think about the horrors of her being shuttled to an “Indian School”.  I have learned more about what MY ancestors may have done as they forced people from their land of their ancestors because some King in a country over the sea decided it was his.  It shames me.  Now, I don’t know if my people did anything wrong, but they could have.  Their air of superiority assuming they could just claim the land as their own is crazy.  But, over and over the same story has played out over history. Conquerors assume control and enslave and demean those who were there before.  This is such recent history.  No wonder there is still anger, resentments and heartbreak.  In the scope of history, it just happened.

I feel like my eyes are being opened to truth.  My country, the country I believed was the best in the world, committed horrible crimes against people who looked different.  We put Japanese Americans in camps during World War II.  We chased the Indians from their lands.  We took land from the Mexicans, believing since we owned land to the east that we had a right to the land in the west too.  We purchased people with brown skin to do the labor we didn’t want to do.  It makes my heart break. 

I have become more aware of the unconscious words people around me use that puts down other people.  The stereotypes all around me.  Change HAS to happen.  But, I don’t agree with removing the image of Aunt Jemima and stuff like that as a knee-jerk reaction.  I mean that woman was amazing and I think it’s a slight against the barriers she broke.  Why can’t we accept that people of all colors did incredible things and celebrate them for who they were, in their time?  I struggle with quotas based on gender, skin color, ethnicity and such.  I long for a day where all are equal.  But, I am becoming more aware that we are not there yet.

Am I a racist?  I think I’m not.  But, I feel like I’ve been obtuse.  I have lived in my little world and didn’t think deeply about the world of others.  Do I unconsciously contribute to racism in my ignorance?  Maybe.  I hope not.  There is no end to this rambling as I am continuing to grow and learn.  I do know I have to research my ancestors.  If they owned people, that is their sin, not mine.  But that knowledge can help form how I respond to things today.  I leave it to you to decide who I am.  I haven’t figured it out quite yet myself.