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| Yes | 60% | 528 votes | Total: 876 votes | |
| No | 40% | 348 votes |
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Add to FavoritesI think people unnecessarily, make a big issue about race and further perpetuate hatred within American society. Sometimes, when we open our minds and explore the many diverse cultures, we may find more peace than when living amongst people who often share nothing more than the benign characteristics of skin color. I don't expect everyone to agree with my opinion but hopefully, I can at least contribute to the diversity of thought.
I grew up in Hempstead, Long Island, which was at the time, a predominately black suburb. I am a half-blood whose fathers' side comes from Shinnecock Reservation. On my grandmother's side, her great-great-grandmot her came here in the 1800's, as a slave from Barbados. She served on Cherokee plantation in South Carolina, where she gave birth to a son, who became a reverend and eventually bought his freedom. Despite his religious convictions, he held much resentment against Native Americans. Later, his daughter married a local Native American man and it left him bitter. My grandmother and her siblings were the product of that union and he referred to them as red desperadoes. Race issues were always a part of our family, as colorism were always at the forefront. We struggled not only against white racism but also against black rejection.
Why is my background important? Well, because I can assure you that I have seen the good, bad and ugly of blacks and whites. In my neighborhood, if you didn't quite fit in, with the bougie black bible-thumping baptists, then you were ridiculed, and shunned. I was raised by my grandmother, who was a domestic worker. We were poor and did not live beyond our means. She owned her own house, although it was no palace. We did not have a car, and barely had a television, throughout my childhood. All the rest of the kids who were poor, were on welfare. They had nice clothes, cable, cars and lots of junk food and even they looked down on us. Often I had to fight, was spat on and teased because I was too thin, my cheekbones were too high, and my face too slender. When I came of age, I decided that I never wanted to live around black people again.
I went away to college and later joined the military. After I exited the military, I entered general society again by way of Paducah, Kentucky. When my professional recruiter mentioned Kentucky, I was afraid. In the military, we referred to it as klantucky. One of my aunts warned me not to move there . In her words, she said, if you go, don't be surprised to find a sheet with two eye-holes cut out of it, standing on the lawn, with a burning cross. However, I took a chance. Prior to the interview, I asked my potential employer, if other people of color lived there. He said, Of course, there are plenty of black folks, come on down and check us out. I went and the people treated my like a lost member of the family. They were upfront with their feelings and very sweet. If they liked you, they really liked you. If they were prejudiced, they let you know.
I ended up living in a complex owned by a gentleman that many of the blacks in town, claimed was racist, although he didn't seem like one. He was an elderly man who had lost his wife to cancer and was somewhat of a loner. In fact, there were a lot of elderly people in my neighborhood. When I moved in, someone would leave pies, in front of my apartment door. Being a paranoid New Yorker, I thought perhaps they were poisoned. I'd soon discover that it was an older couple in my complex, who wanted to extend a welcome, but were intimidated. I made friends with those old folks and eventually through them, ended up knowing practically the whole town. I felt welcomed everywhere and my favorite hang out spot was a popular country pub, called the Silver Saddle Saloon. People called it a redneck club and I was one of two other people of color who would dare to enter. Yet, I never had a problem because all I saw were country folks, dancing and having fun. Eventually I was invited to one of the only black clubs in town by a coworker. It was called the brickhouse. Unlike the saddle, there was no warm welcome. The people didn't even try to be social because we were strangers. All we got were looks from head to toe, by women who glared in our direction as if they wanted to start a fight. I decided to leave five minutes later and returned to the saddle, where there was no feeling of impending doom.
I think as a person of color, we have all had a few brushes with racism. I've been called a N- before, while I was in college in upstate liberal New York and again while working for a cardiology practice in Rhode island. Yet, I have also had a group of young black women, block my path, with their car and threaten to slash my face. I was spat on and called names by black people. I have since moved on, married and live in Italy, but I will never forget that place. Sometimes, we need to give people a chance. Just because a person has white skin, does not make them a racist and dark skin doesn't make them criminals. If you choose to surround yourself with negativity, resentment and hatred, you will attract that same energy. One day, put your bias aside and you may be surprised to learn, the racist hiding in the bushes, is actually just someone removing weeds.
Learn more about this author, Adai Goldberg.
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No
It's not surprising that the strongest responses to this question are from individuals who have anecdotes to share about prior experiences. While most of us have noble hearts, sometimes life experiences put a specific spin on what we would do in the future.
Based on two periods of my life when mine was the only family of a particular race and ethnic background living in a neighborhood, I would either avoid the situation again or think more than twice about doing it. The reason has nothing to do with feeling comfortable as the only person or family of a particular race among my neighbors. It's all about how the neighborhood came to be, in essence, segregated.
In my late twenties, I was (at least as far as I knew) the only person of my race in a small Chicago neighborhood that was a mixture of older apartments and row houses. I had a fairly long commute on buses and the subway and like most of the residents, little time to interact with my neighbors. I also worked a second job on the weekends to be able to afford to live without any roommates. And I dated several guys while I lived in that apartment.
By the sixth month of my lease, I had already needed repairs to appliances, heat, and plumbing. I actually took a Sunday afternoon to knock on several neighbors' doors in my building and found out that the individual who owned it was in effect a slum lord. Just 10 years prior, mine was a thriving, racially-mixed neighborhood whose buildings were kept up by their owners. I moved at the end of the lease.
I have lived in my current home outside Washington, DC for almost 21 years. When I purchased it from my landlord a few months after leasing it, the neighborhood was a mixture of singles, young families, single parents like myself, and a few retirees. It was also fairly evenly mixed as far as race. From being on the homeowners' board, I knew that about 85 percent of the townhouses were owner-occupied.
Neigh borhood residents are now almost exclusively of one race. If today I were looking at this area as a place in which to live, I would head the other direction. Over the years, the neighborhood has become 90 to 95 percent tenant-occupied. The original owners have mostly sold out and moved elsewhere. Many of the homes, about 25 years old, are in visibly poor condition. Their yards need work. Boards have rotted. House numbers are missing. This has less to do with the age of the homes (mine is kept up, and I am only able to work part time) than it does new owners scarfing up the houses, turning them into rental properties, and then being unwilling to maintain them due to cost.
In the owners' defense, I must add that it's the tenant's responsibility to keep up the yard, pick up trash, and inform the landlord of major repairs needed. However, that doesn't negate the history of the neighborhood or the fact that I would never move into it as the only person of my race.
Learn more about this author, Vonda Sines.
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