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Why I Think the Racism Problem May Never End(1)
My Childhood Story
When I was a child, there was this very horrible and degrading nickname my classmates gave me. So bad a name was it and so strong was my aversion for it. Interestingly my classmates loved that name. They loved it so much that they can’t call me by any other name. They called me by that name not because they felt the name was good but because they knew I felt the name was bad. The more I hated the name, the more they loved it. The more I sorrow, the more their rejoicing.
A child I was, I felt these offenders should be punished and since I couldn’t do that by myself, my best bet was to report them to my teachers. Once I hear that name from anyone, I block my two ears against their taunting pleas and rush to report them. ‘I will report you, I will report you’ I always said. Unfortunately more often than not, the teachers don’t punish them as expected. Soon enough, not only the name interested my classmates but the drama that accompanies my reporting them. These continued for a very long time. Along the line I found something very interesting and that changed everything. What you resist persist. How I discovered this I don’t know but somehow, I seem to outgrow my colleagues. When they call me by that name now, I ignore them. I pretend as if I didn’t hear them. Sometimes I turn to another friend to engage him in a pretentious talk just to give them a feeling that they don’t matter at all and that I don’t care about their stunts anymore. When I started doing this, amazing things started happening. Sometimes they will leave their seat to come and shout that name into my ears. They wanted me to flare up and act in some funny ways that will entertain them. Unfortunately this time they met with more disappointments than entertainment. The more they shouted the nickname, the more I ignored them. The more they wanted me to react, the more I show them they don’t just matter.
Guess what happened, that name began to die a natural death simply because I wasn’t reacting to it anymore. But wait, I haven’t even told you what that nickname was. "OPALA." It’s in my local language and it means someone with a tribal mark. The interesting thing is that I don’t have tribal marks. Not even a single stroke on my face. So what is their problem? Why should they insist on that name and why should I react so uncharitably. They were wrong to call me by what I’m not and I was wrong to react in any funny way. We were both wrong.
The World is not as matured as we thought
My opinion about racism is not any different. This world is not getting any more matured and we should treat it accordingly.It is obviously not as matured as we thought. It honestly doesn't deserve all the recognition we accord it. It's not worth all the sleepless nights and high blood pressure. Something is either true or false. If it’s true, there is no reason to fight and if it is false, there is no reason to fight either. Either way, we can all live together in peace, but in this kind of resistance and noise I hear of everyday, there can be no peace for the black race. MONKEY-NOPE, HUMAN, that’s what I am. You call me a monkey or any dehumanizing name, I ignore and shun you. You treat me as a friend, I give you a warm smile and perhaps a friendly shake if you don't mind.
After my childhood discovery, I became almost like a consultant in my class, teaching my friends how to deal with degrading and abusive names. Trust me on this one, this method worked and i'm quite sure it always will.
You want to fight racism, then IGNORE THE RACIST AND RACISM WILL DIE A NATURAL DEATH!