Rac·ism (rszm) n.
1. The belief that race accounts for differences in human character or ability and that a particular race is superior to others.
Prej·u·dice (prj-ds) n.
[…] 3. Irrational suspicion or hatred of a particular group, race, or religion
I've spent hours upon hours pondering this question. Am I racist? No one wants to admit it. No one is proud of their prejudices and judgments. We've been raised in a society that condemns these tendencies. However, those like myself, raised in an extremely rural and extremely white hometown (Cheshire County, NH = 0.4 % Black/African American, 0.5% Asian, 0.7% Latino), never really have been given the chance to test our blindly naïve statements of, “No way. I'm not racist.” Horrified, I came to realize, still in high school, that I had no way of knowing this! I remember thinking to myself, “How many times have you even spoken with someone from another race,” and giving up on the question before I had to face the answer.
It seems as thought everyone's definition of racism is different. However, here is what I do know about myself. I recognize “roots,” as I call them. I recognize tendencies, better known, I believe, as buying into stereotypes. If a Caucasian teenage male comes up to me, and tells me one of his hobbies is music, I'll assume he plays for a rock band. An African-American guy? I bet he's either into jazz, or the hip hop/rap scene. Having danced for many years, I've noticed the same here. If I was talking to a white girl, and she says she dances, ballet would be the assumption. A Hispanic female? Salsa and tango all the way. A black girl? Bet she does hip hop. I could go on with these examples forever, from art to food preferences.
If these tendencies make a racist, then I must say, shamefully, that I am guilty of one of the greatest crimes of our day. But here is where I begin my inner-debate. I do not necessarily believe that one origin or one race must dominate a certain art form. If that black guy up there tells me he plays drums for a heavy metal band, my response would not be that of shock. “Rock on man, how long have you been playing?” I've seen Latinas dance ballet more gracefully then I know I ever could. I remember this girl I used to dance with who was a good 5 years younger than me, she was Hispanic, and she kicked my ass at leg extensions, pirouettes, and plies, let me tell you!
So, I find myself in limbo. While I “believe that race” can sometimes “account for differences in human character or ability,” I could never believe “that a particular race is superior to others.” Where does that leave me? Half-racist? I wish I could write myself off as being totally open to all races, all tendencies, all qualities, and say I know nothing of prejudice and stereotyping. But, ironically, that would seem a very, very naïve, white, middle-class thing to do. I wouldn't like to buy into my own stereotype, now would I?
