Race
I have noticed an odd habit amongst my students here in Los Angeles: they use the word racism to apply to actions and attitudes that have nothing to do with race. It’s basically a word they hurl whenever they wish to complain or comment on anything that they perceive as ill-treatment.
When I ask for two volunteers to hand out books, 12 year olds will nearly jerk their arms out of the socket waving them in the air in a desperate bid for my attention. Naturally, not everyone can be chosen. But I have had several little boys exclaim, when I failed to chose them, “That’s RACIST!”
The first time one said this, I was baffled. Since the majority of my students are Hispanic, and I had chosen two Hispanic volunteers to pass out the books, I said, “How was that racist?”
Stoutly, the boy replied, “You never pick ME!” I mulled over this for a while. Then, as we were reading Flowers For Algernon, we came across the scene where Charlie’s co-workers mock him because he is mentally retarded.
“Oh, that’s messed up,” said one girl, “That’s racist!”
Then I understood: their concept of racism is a little shaky. Particularly given that they don’t hesitate to harass foreign students. (It took me several days to convince one boy that chanting “Ming wong dong! Ming wong dong!” to the pretty little Thai girl in the corner was an abysmal way to get her attention.)
Even their concept of race seems incomplete. Upon seeing a scene from Gone With the Wind, one student noted the close-up of Scarlett’s tear-filled blue eyes. Suddenly he turned, looked at my blue eyes, and blurted with sudden comprehension, “Miss are you WHITE??”
I still don’t know what he had thought I was up till that moment. I’m afraid to ask.
