I was a racist. But why?

I WAS A RACIST - WHY?

First things first.

My father was black and my mom Hispanic, both are gone. Dad died circa 1980 while my mom lived well into her 70's and passed away in 2015. As I start writing this (April 2021), my 61st birthday is two days away.

Even though both my parents were so-called "minorities", I was a racist for the first 35 years of my life.

How is that possible?

There was nothing in my life for all those years to tell me that I was a racist. Alas, 'tis true.

Let's explore the why's and then we'll look into overcoming it, shall we?

My childhood was full of everything bad you might imagine. The physical, verbal and emotional abuse were a constant companion from as far back as I can remember until I finally left home at the age of 16. But this work is not a complaint for all the sufferings I went through. A great many people have suffered LOTS more than I ever did.

Anyway, my maternal grandmother was descendant of Mayans. She was short, brown skin, dark wavy hair and a racist. I think she was the first person from whom I learned racism.

One day, when I was about 12, a friend of the family came to visit. Can't remember her name but let's call her Marina. After she left, my grandma said something to the effect of "I don't understand why Marina is so conceited. After all, she and her family are all envueltos". That was a very offensive term which was used only to refer to people considered inferior in our community. I can remember various members of my family using the term from time to time. Most likely, I used it myself as well.

When my grandma said that, I still remember what I thought. My respect for grandma was huge, so obviously what she was saying carried a lot of weight. If she said someone was inferior, it must have been true. I didn't feel the term was offensive at all.

My mom left my dad when I was still a young boy. She then married my stepfather, a descendant of European whites. He was very tall, had an imposing figure, his skin was much lighter than most people I knew and he was a racist in the truest sense of the word.

One day, the three of us went for a drive and he accidentally drove into a section of town where only black people lived. He actually used the phrase "strange animals" when he talked about them. I remember feeling awkward when he said that and feeling sorry for the people we were seeing outside.

So, I grew up with racism.

Even though my skin is very dark, I was taught to despise dark people and to feel sorry for their plight and thankful that I didn't share their destiny.

I descend from Mayans and Africans. Still, I was taught to belittle other Mayans and other Africans, to think of them as inferior.

In 1976 I started working at a restaurant in Los Angeles and most of my co-workers were from other countries. There were some from Europe, Asia and Latin America. My relationship with most of them was pretty good and friendly. During the six years I worked there, I can't think of a single nasty incident in which race or gender was involved. We all seemed to accept one another regardless of origin or color.

Then I finished my High School and got a job at a bank as a File Clerk. My department had about fifty employees and half of them were Black and the other half, Hispanic. There was also an Asian woman and an Armenian guy. Only the boss was white.

There were many fights within the department and some of them were related to discrimination because of race. Now that I think about it, it was mostly Blacks against Hispanics and everyone against the boss. I am mixed race, but because I do not have my dad's last name, I am considered Hispanic, not Black.