Uh-Oh! She’s “Thinking” Again

I really don’t want to bring up Imus again, but I have to.

“Nappy Ho Gate”, might actually end up being a good thing.    What happened here isn’t all that different than what happened during the O.J. trial.

At least we’re talking about things.     

At first, Imus’ comment was polarizing.   We all went to our respective corners until the societal bell rang, THEN we came out..”debating”.

Those insulated few who had no idea who Imus is–or that Neil Armstrong set foot on the moon in the summer of ‘69 apparently–expressed shock and disgust that radio talk show hosts could possibly stoop so low.  

Imus’ industry colleagues (all the old, jaded broadcasters  with souls so tough and leathery that  “Wilson” should be stamped on the side)  didn’t think his comment was an issue.   Much ado about nada.

All the Black bigots called for Imus’ head and the White racists were angry that he didn’t go far enough.

To be honest, after getting my first good, long look at the Rutgers women’s basketball team, I deduced that there were a lot of other colorful metaphors Imus couldn’ve used that would’ve been far, FAR more offensive.    And aside from that, anyone who’s been a fan of Imus’ since the beginning will tell you that what he said about the Rutgers team was far and away nicer than other things he’s said on the air.   This time, all the right people protested.

As for the Rutgers basketball team, they’ll be fine.  And will probably come out of this better, stronger women.

But will Imus re-emerge?  

We stay politically correct in this pre-election year–year.  We shake our heads and say “shame on him” and then we take several giant steps backwards, hoping not to get any of that social awkwardness on us.   And we do this whether we agree or not.   The distance provides the much needed social Scotch Guard .   That guarantees no stigma of prejudice will stain our reputations as fair and unbiased people of God.

This fascinates me.    We, as a spcecies , are a “bandwagon jumping” bunch.   We like to feel as though we’re part of the whole.  We’ll agree when we really don’t and say what we don’t mean because we too scared to take a rock the boat, aptly christened, the U.S.S Status Quo.   We take that one step burther by glomming on to silly catch phrases—the pride of some advertising brain trust in Chicago (6-0-6-0-9).  

We asked “Where’s the Beef?”.    We demanded that our breakfast partners “Leggo of My Eggo” and God help me, even I thought it just “Wasn’t Nice To Fool Mother Nature”.     I was 11 at the time.   I get a pass.  Those little expressions make us feel that we’re cool!    Hip to the zeit geist of the day.

So, we choose the stance we’ll take on every issue.   More often than not, just following someone else’s lead. 

Here in Texas, the hot button issue is illegal immigration.  

I’m from a small town about 5o miles southeast of San Antonio.  There were always “illegals aliens” who came through Karnes City, following the big power lines that would lead them to San Antonio.   They were usually men, spoke no English,  poor as church mice and almost always tired and hungry.   The ‘traveled mile after mile by foot and never by  roads or highways.   Every step they took,  every move made had to be covert; in the shadows, away from the watchful eyes of Border Patrol agents.   This could only be accomplished in the brush; the less than hospitable environment of rural South Texas.  

The unbearable heat, snakes, scorpions–no food or fresh water anywhere.  There were also the dangers of gun toting land owners who felt it was their God given right to shoot trespassers.    Tragic, huh?   

For those on the the difficult journey into the U.S., reaching a town was pivotal to survival.  Once they arrived, they were like ghosts.   You only saw them if they wanted to be seen.    They’d quietly do odd jobs here and there for a little pocket change–grab a meal where they could, then exit the city as quietly as they entered it.   

They meant no harm; they just wanted to come here to work and send the money back home.  Innocent enough, they caused no trouble.  To do so would be counter-productive.   If that happened, they’d be forcibly returned to their homeland.

Now, let’s talk about that for a second:  we have to ask ourselves,  how bad was their situation in Mexico that they’d be willing to get bitten, shot, stung, stabbed, dehydrated and starve to death,  just to get one foot in this country and live their version of “El Sueno de Americano”???   

It takes incredible courage, stamina and grit.  I appreciate this effort and I can respect their desire to be here at all costs.   But how they got here and that they stay here under the Homeland Security radar is illegal.   They’re here illegally and should not be privvy to goods and services afforded American citizens.   Sorry, but on this subject I WILL NOT negotiate.

I’m not alone in the way and I feel and I can assure you, it has nothing to do with their skin color and that they might be of Mestizo blood (traditionally, a dark eyed, dark skinned mix of Spanish and Indigenous ethnicity).   I’d be  just as angry over a Hitler Youth looking Canadian who was here illegally.   It’s not about race, it’s about nationality.    That’s not to say those lines don’t get blurred, because they do and usually it’s a big agenda-like spoon stirring the pot. 

I think it’s very amusing when people say they possess no  prejudices.    Everyone has prejudices.  If you like Coke over Pepsi, that’s a bias.  If you prefer brunettes to blondes,  crunchy peanut butter over smooth or if you like Letterman more than Leno, you have prejudices. 

Now keep your panties on–I know that’s a far cry from racial prejudice, but still a prejudice nonetheless.   

I have friends and family members who are  bleeding heart liberals who still believe in love beads and peace signs.  They hate the war in Iraq and wish humans of all races could all co-exist like a big carton of Neopolitan ice cream. 

Peace, love, dope!!   

I’ll be riding with one of these friends in their car and we’ll approach an intersection where two young Black guys wearing sports jerseys are just standing around.    Innocent.

If they’re out there again and the next time I get the opportunity , I’m going to ask them how often they hear “it”.  “It” is that familiar tune known as, “The Intersection Song”.   Not music per se, but a series of clicks;   the sounds made from car doors being locked electronically–always cued by  unwitting, dark skinned conductors.

My liberal friends–who don’t possess a prejudice bone in their bodies, mind you–are usually the first to start the chorus.    I can’t condemn;  I’ve done it myself.   

Five miles later,  in a “better neighborhood”, two young white men in suits and brandishing briefcases, stand on a similar corner.  You don’t hear doors being locked–on the contrary.   At this intersection, my friends open their windows.  Some have even used the time to drop the top on their convertible.    Again, I’m  guilty of this myself.

So, I’ve admitted my sin, now someone please explain why I and so many others  commit  it over and over again.   Is this response pre-conditioned?   Are my friends and I just being cautious in a dangerous, crime ridden society?   In a neighborhood that’s not exactly safe?   Or…are we just plain old David–git down–Duke prejudiced?

Hey, the sad reality here is that it’s ubiquitous.   Prejudice and bias are everywhere.    I’m sure we’d even see a completely different side of Hillary Clinton if Chelsea brought home Flava Flave.  

We’re hip, free thinkers—at least, that’s the illusion we want portrayed and continue to convince ourselves that we are UNTIL something happens to us personally—-such as the possibility of Flava Flave becoming an in-law.  Otherwise,  we make sure we cover our prejudices  out of fear and because of appearances.    We hate on the down low.       

I don’t have an answer.  Prejudice is bigger than me.  We need to learn to be tolerant and I’m not just talking about Whitey, either.   Our Black bretheren have a lot of room for improvement in this arena.   So do Hispanics, Asians …..everyone. 

As I see it, our only option,  is to  teach the next generation of bi-peds to be more accepting of others–of everyone.   

How do we start this extremely idealistic yet, beautiful process?   I dont know.  I’ll deal with that later.   Right now, this very unprejudiced woman-child is going to Baskin-Robbins to get some ice cream.    The ex-Hippie metaphor I used earlier, left me with an incredible jones for some Neopolitan, but without the strawberry.    I don’t like strawberry.    

I KNOW I could just get a scoop of chocolate and vanilla instead, but I can’t do that!!!  

How would that look to the other flavors??