Looking out: The beast

I have never seen my great-granddaughter, Jasmine. She will be three years old on March 1. The combination of our individual circumstances suggests that we may never see each other. Many are the times that I imagine a casual conversation with her as she continues to grow strong and beautiful. Today, I imagine her being in her mid-teens asking me thought-provoking questions about bigotry in the United States. Of course, I would recognise the need to be sensitive to her interracial heritage. Perhaps one day she will read this and it will help her to better understand the experience of her incarcerated African-American great-grandfather. By then I would probably call her "Jass" for short. I can imagine her asking, "Grandpa, what is the most haunting and destructive thing about bigotry as you knew and know it?" First, I would tell her about the time I walked out of the door of what was then my place of employment (a dry-cleaning establishment in a small mid-western shopping mall) at the same instant that a white woman's purse was snatched as she walked past. She screamed for help as the purse-snatcher ran across the parking lot. With the purse and strap flying in the breeze, the white purse-snatcher never broke his stride. Instead of going after him, three white men attacked me, flung me to the ground and began kicking and beating me. A minute or two later — it seemed like an eternity to me — it was discovered that I was not the culprit. Two of the attackers walked away without saying a word; one apologised profusely and offered to take me to the hospital. The overt bigotry was clear: mine was the only black face amid a sea of white ones. Bigotry is a ubiquitous evil. When those three white men went home that evening, they had the privilege of hanging up their bigotry for the night. I, on the other hand, was/am the overt victim. I never get the opportunity to hang up the bigotry they practice. It is like an invisible garment that I am forced to wear 24 hours a day. Even when their bigotry is not an act of physical violence, I have to conduct my life in a kind of unintentional support of their bigotry, so as to be able to survive it. For example, I would explain to Jass that if she and I were about to sit down to dinner at a restaurant I would be sure to seat her nearest the white female diner at the next table — whose purse hangs across the back of her chair — because of the very real possibility that if I sat in that chair, she might feel threatened. The scream of that woman, many years ago in that shopping mall, continues to haunt me. That, and similar experiences, created a sacrificial vacuum wherein I must cater to both the comfort and continuation of the same bigotry that denies my humanity and equality. I would tell Jass, that for me, the "sacrificial vacuum" is the most haunting and destructive thing about bigotry, and that for her ...
It Will Not Be Easy! Bigotry, America's ubiquitous beast,
Jass, you must always present your best.
Courage renders truth, the test
Bigotry, America's ubiquitous beast,
With the future, dare not you jest
Beware of those who make your great, least
Bigotry, America's ubiquitous beast,
Jass, you must always present your best. [The writer is a prisoner on death row in the United States. He is happy to answer letters commenting on his columns. He can be written to at: Brandon Astor Jones, EF-122216, G2-51, GD&CC, PO Box 3877, Jackson, GA 30233, USA. Brandon's childhood autobiography is available in booklet form for $16, including postage. Every cent raised will go towards defending his life. Please make cheques payable to the Brandon Astor Jones Defence Account and post to 10 Palara Place, Dee Why NSW 2099. Donations to the Brandon Astor Jones Defence Account may be made at any Commonwealth Bank, account no. 2127 1003 7638.]