All Lives Matter

It appears that we have finally lanced the festering boil of racism in the USA, but it remains to be seen if there will be healing. Liberal white folks like me are all in support of calling the police to account for their violent behavior toward people of color. But if we don’t face up to our own racism, it appears unlikely that there will be any permanent change in this country. It is with considerable discomfort that, in this post, that I will attempt to face my own racism.

I was born in a small, rural Kansas town in 1937. We were just a few miles north of the Oklahoma border. When I journeyed outside of town with my father, a Standard Oil gasoline delivery agent, I saw only white people—farmers and ranchers, and real cowboys with leather chaps riding horses. Cedar Vale was a typical “cow town” in every respect. These people were the salt of the earth—good, hard working folks, mostly poor and with minimal education, just like my parents and all my relatives.

There were no people of color in Cedar Vale, Kansas. The town had a city ordinance that forbade “negroes” from staying within the city after sunset, and the constable was instructed to escort offenders to the city limits. I don’t remember ever hearing that he had to exercise that duty, and I don’t remember ever seeing a person of color in the town.

The next town to the east, Sedan, Kansas, had a small district where the “negroes” lived. My relatives called it “nigger town” or “darkey town.” They always smiled knowingly to each other when they mentioned it. I relate these details to give you a clear picture of my upbringing and the racist attitudes I absorbed from infancy.

When I went to the University of Kansas in Lawrence, Kansas, I came in contact with a greater range of our human family. There were students from all over the world. We were expected to treat each other with respect and not to discriminate on the basis of race. I became a good, liberal member of that community, and I felt ashamed of my benighted relatives at home. I was certainly not a racist. On the contrary, I was quite proud of my lack of prejudice.

I graduated with several degrees from KU and pursued a doctorate in music composition at Michigan State University. That led to a very successful career as a professor at Iowa State University. All this time, I was secure in the knowledge that I was an enlightened, liberal, right-thinking person who was free from the bigotry of my upbringing. For example, I was actively supportive of the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960s and 1970s.

Of course, it never occurred to me that I probably would not have had that successful career if I were Black, or even if I were Latino. My white privilege was invisible to me. I did have acquaintances and colleagues who were people of color, but they were relatively few and far between, because, I realize now, of institutional racism in the educational system and at the university. I took no notice that there were very few people of color living in my neighborhood.

I remember when we were writing Music in Our World (a music-appreciation textbook published by McGraw-Hill Higher Education) that one reviewer was outraged that we were going to have Bob Marley in the same book as Mozart. I laughed at that reviewer´s prejudice and prided myself on being a good liberal. Meanwhile, the incidents of violence toward people of color continued, and I salved my conscience by raising my annual contribution to the ACLU.

Such is the deeply engrained racism that lies dormant in our society. I can support strong measures to root out racism in our police departments, but can I root out the subtle racism that lies dormant in my psyche? That will take some doing. This confession is my down payment on that task.

If we are ever to get beyond the horrors we have just witnessed, we will have to face our part in allowing it to persist.