What can help account for the racist character of the riots in Ferguson, Missouri? Is racism justified? Is black racism a new phenomenon?
I remember these scenes vividly.
Sometime in the mid-1950’s, when I was about ten years old, I was in the family car with my foster father on some errand. My foster father was an Italian-American Lutheran truck driver who married into an Irish-German family. We had to stop on Perrysville Avenue (this was in Pittsburgh), right in front of Perrysville High School (as it was known then). A black cop was directing traffic at the five-way intersection, which had no traffic light. My foster father remarked angrily, “Damned niggers are taking over everything!”
Now, I had never seen a black man before, and did not understand my foster father’s anger. But the seething malice was evident in the way he uttered the words. I gave him what I guess he perceived to be a “dirty look,” but which was simply my astonished but mute inquiry.
When we got home, he beat me with the strap of his belt. I guess he saw reproach in my glance.
In another episode of “misunderstanding,” the family had company over. We were in the living room and there was a lively conversation on politics, in which I did not participate. I don’t recall exactly what the subject was, and I think I was in my pre-teens. But either my foster father or foster mother asked me: “What color are we, Eddie?”
I answered: “Beige.” Well, I was the only member of the family who read books. My foster parents had conniption fits every time I consulted the pristine set of the Encyclopedia Americana they had bought for show and shelved in a glass-door cabinet. I had encountered the term somewhere, and it seemed more appropriate and truer than was “orange” or “white.” The term was in my vocabulary, not my family’s.
So, “beige” was not the answer any of the adults expected to hear. I think they all sat stunned, and my foster parents looked embarrassed.
When the company left, I again heard the swoop and felt the sting of my foster father’s belt.