Racism, few other words can cause the torrent of emotion among both people of color and Caucasians as this one. As an African-American woman who grew up in the 1960s and 70s, for me the word conjures memories of the work of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., the controversy in Boston surrounding forced busing of school children, the continuing debate over affirmative action laws and the contrast between the handling of two hurricanes, Andrew and Katrina and the stark differences in how quickly and expertly recovery efforts were handled in each of these situations.
I have also encountered a surprisingly significant number of people who seem convinced that there is no such thing as racism. They contend that these types of abhorrent attitudes somehow magically disappeared as soon as Abraham Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation, never to surface again.
While individual positions vary, there is one common thread. Racism is a topic, that when discussed at all, is approached with the utmost seriousness. Although other tragedies often give rise to awkward jokes in order to help ease the tension, racism somehow seems strangely off limits.
My mother and father, however, shared a humorous story from their adolescence that causes me to wonder if it might somehow be better if we could learn to approach some instances of racism with a bit more humor. Racism is no laughing matter to be sure, but as it stands today the lack of comfort with the topic leads almost everyone to avoid it altogether. Perhaps injecting a bit of humor might ease the tension enough for both people of color and whites to clearly see the ridiculousness of racism and discrimination and to relax enough so that we can start working together to do something about it.
My parents met as 8th grade students at Woodrow Wilson Junior High School in a small, southern Indiana town in 1946. Even though Indiana was far from being part of the Jim Crow South, in 1946 segregation was still very firmly in place. While their junior high school was integrated, the elementary schools that the students had attended through grade 5 were not. My mother recalled having to catch a city bus at the tender age of 6 in order to attend a black school some eight blocks from her home even though there was another elementary school just 2 blocks away. It, however, was for whites only.
My parents lived every day of their young lives with the harsh reality that there were water fountains from which they were not allowed to drink , restrooms which they were not allowed to use and restaurants in which they could never be served. But for teenagers there were two places where the sting of segregation was most keenly felt: at public swimming pools and at the movies.
The movie theater represents the dating standby for countless generations of teens. In the 1940s movies were affordable entertainment and my parents still have fond memories of riding the streetcar downtown on a Saturday afternoon to spend the day watching movies with their friends. Sitting on the main floor along side their white classmates was never an option, however. Each week they automatically made the long climb up to the balcony, to sit beneath a crudely drawn black hand which designated this section "For Colored Only."
I sometimes wondered if any of the white movie patrons, especially white teenagers, thought this arrangement odd. In talking with my parents they relate that their school was not segregated. Black and white students sat next to each other in the classroom, in the cafeteria, in the gymnasium for pep rallies and in the auditorium for formal assemblies. They had lockers next to one another and my father played on the same football team and ran track with white athletes. Black and white students even used the same restrooms and showered next to each other after P. E. class. Didn't anyone ever think to question, "Why do black people have to sit in this special section at the movies?"
There were two young African-American men, classmates of Mom and Dad who may have also come to this conclusion and decided to have a little fun with this peculiar practice. The two were best friends but known throughout the school as notorious practical jokers. The pair worked in a small local grocery store after school as stock boys and baggers and became close friends with the grocer's son. The grocer had been born in Damascus, Syria and his English was somewhat limited. His young son, having been born in the U. S. spoke both English and Syrian quite fluently and often translated for his father.
The two practical jokers convinced the grocer's son to teach them several key words and phrases in his father's native language. After practicing diligently for several weeks, they decided to pull off the ultimate prank. Raiding their mothers' closets for the best silk scarves and dressing gowns the boys fashioned majestic looking robes and turbans and presented themselves one Saturday afternoon at the Grand Theater ticket window.
Using the carefully perfected accents and the crash course in Syrian that they had learned from the grocer's son, they somehow convinced the young lady behind the ticket window that they were foreign exchange students from the university and would like very much to see an American movie.
To the amazement of their friends sitting up in the balcony the pair successfully purchased tickets and were escorted by the usher to choice seats on the main floor!
When they returned to school on Monday they proudly recounted how they had "fooled those white folks" and pulled off the ultimate prank. As far as Mom and Dad can recall, the two were never found out, but also never tried the stunt again. They simply went back to sitting in the balcony where they and all people of color would remain until the Civil Rights Act finally made segregated seating in public places illegal some 18 years later.
But what would have happened had they shared the story, with a sympathetic newspaper reporter, perhaps? I often wonder if the story had come to light in some very public way, would more people have begun to question the practice of segregated seating much sooner. Surely some white person in authority would have sought to examine why it was OK for dark skinned people with foreign accents to sit next to whites in the theater, but not OK for the black people that bagged their groceries, cleaned their homes or cooked their meals to share these public spaces.
Granted, the racial problems that society faces today are far more complex than movie theater seating arrangements. However, the practice of showing preference for or bias against any group of people for things as superficial as skin color, clothing or the presence or absence of a foreign accent makes no more sense today than it did on that Saturday afternoon more than 60 years ago.