I Am Not a Nigger

What I have to say will probably strike a nerve with most who read this. After things that have transpired in my life over the past week, I have to somehow provide an outlet for the rage that is consuming me.

I am a black single parent. If you have read any of my previous articles, you would know that I have attempted (not always successfully) to encourage dialogue between the various races in our country. I think a lot of problems in our country would be solved if we could understand each other a little better and maintain an open mind when it comes to each other's differences.

I live in East Texas. About an hour's drive up the road, my friend's father was dragged to his death. He was tied to a truck by three white men who somehow figured his life as a black man did not have enough value to warrant him living. Although this occurred almost 10 years ago, these men are still awaiting the death sentences that two of them received to be carried out. I don't even want to begin the debate of the death penalty. That is not my focus today. It is the fact that the punishment meted out to them by the judicial system, has not been carried out.

My very first experience with racism came when I was about five or six. My father and I were in a local grocery store, and he noticed a little white girl crying by the shopping carts. As we approached her, we saw that her foot had become twisted in the railings in the bottom of one of the carts. My dad instantly put down his bags and went to help the child. By now, the mother and other shoppers noticed what was going on. As my dad reached for the child's foot to try and release it, she let a blood-curling scream and yelled, "I don't want that nigger touching me!"

Everyone in the store froze. At this age, I didn't know what a "nigger" was, but from the looks on everyone else's faces, I knew that it wasn't anything good. You see, that very word she yelled was telling. This child, who could not have been more than three or four, instantly identified this black man as a nigger. Where could she, at such an early age, have picked up such an ugly word? Is it illogical of me to assume that her parents were the source of such hate coming from a child? After all, parents are the first teachers in a child's life, and it is from them that we get our first views on others.

I cannot subscribe to the belief that the past is the past. Anyone making this judgment is not only ignorant, but a participator in the problem. Too much damage has been done to simply ignore our past. It is frightening for some to believe, but the very racism that was so blatant in the early years of this country well into the 1960s is very much alive. The only difference is that it is more subtle and therefore more dangerous.

The rage that consumes me at this moment stems from an incident with a neighbor. I live in an apartment complex. Out of the eight apartments in my unit, there are three black families, two Hispanics, and one white. The others are vacant. My neighbor above me is white. From the first day she moved in with her two children, there have been nonstop complaints by others about these people. These children broke another resident's window deliberately, covered eight apartments in another units' doors with mud, they have poured liquids on people's cars, drawn on the sides of buildings, and countless other offenses.

We all follow the same procedure. Call the manager and complain. She gives their mother lease violations and threats. Since they are directly above me, I bear the brunt of these children's bad behavior. They throw food off the balcony and bugs are everywhere outside. They run across the floors from sun up to sun down causing the windows in my apartment to rattle and the pictures on the wall to shake and move.

The first week they moved in, I allowed for the noise because I figured they were getting settled. After that, the trips upstairs began. On my third trip upstairs, I again knocked as I had before, but this time when she opened the door, her attitude was defensive. Before I could say a word, she was screaming. The next thing I knew, I was being called various names, including (you guessed it) nigger. Her children stood in the background soaking all this up.

Again, to the apartment manager. Another violation. More noise and food off the balcony. Earlier this week, her children were outside with some other children that have been complained about on numerous occasions and they hit one of my windows with a ball. I stepped outside and asked them to move down. As soon as I closed my door, they threw the ball into the window. Needless to say, I was furious. I stepped outside only to be confronted by the mother of the first set and the mother of the other children.

I have had no interaction with the other set of children's mother other than to wave when I saw her in the parking lot. Up until recently, her children never even came on the end where my apartment is. The way she began to yell and scream, you would think I had been in a battle with her as well all along. After going back and forth with them about keeping their children away from my end, I turned to go back in my apartment. As I reached my door, I heard the Hispanic mother say "That nigger needs to leave if she don't want kids by her apartment". There's that word again.

Normally, I would have just shook my head and went on my way. Not today. You see, I'm tired of being looked at differently by others. I am not a nigger. I am an educated black woman who does not receive government assistance even though stereotypes would have you believe differently. I don't have a criminal record. I don't have a houseful of children with a bunch of different fathers. I am the product of a couple who have been married for almost 40 years. I am not a thief. I am not somebody's "baby mother". I am an American who pays taxes and experiences the same woes that most people face. I will not continue to be disrespected by anyone any longer.

I turned around and told all of this to these women. These women that did know anything about me. I let them experience all of the hate I have for people who incorrectly identify me as a nigger and who cannot intelligently come up with anything other than overplayed racist statements. That is when I heard the neighbors in the next building start to yell. They were trying to get my attention. These females had called 911.

They called the police. These people who had interrupted my sanctuary had called the police. This is where the rage comes in. The officer jumped out of the car and told me to shut up and stop yelling at these women. At the time that he said this, the only one screaming was the white woman who lived above me. I pointed this out to him. He told me "you shut your mouth or you are going to jail". What warranted that?

He then turned to the white woman and asked her what happened. Her version of the facts were so distorted, that a neighbor who had heard the whole exchange from beginning to end said that he couldn't believe how fast she came up with the lies that she was telling.

The officer turned to me after listening to her version and asks why was I messing with these people? What? I attempted to tell him what really happened, but he wasn't interested in my version. All he wanted was my personal information so he could write up a report in case the white woman wanted to press charges. After standing there listening to this man berate me on my behavior, getting his permission to leave, I walked in my apartment.

As soon as I closed the door, the tears began to flow. There it was. Out of the three officers that were outside, none wanted to hear my version. In their minds, when the white woman gave her version, that was it. I was still just a nigger in their minds. Although it was never said, it was there. That very neighbor that had witnessed the incident told me that after I was back in my apartment, the officer told them that if I disturbed them again, to make sure they called and asked for him personally.

The next day, I told the apartment manager I was moving. Even though I have three months in my lease, I am moving. While explaining what happened, she interrupted me and described the police officer. How did she know who he was? She herself had to file a complaint against him for what she perceived to be racism toward another resident. My apartment manager is white. She saw right through him.

I have so many stories of injustices it is unbelievable. I am trying to fight this demon that is growing inside of me. I am trying to reconcile with my mind and heart that there are white people in this world that really deep down inside don't have racist thoughts. I can't though. For my children, I keep trying, but how much longer before I am consumed by the very monster that keeps rearing its head in my direction takes over?