By Fred Bassett
Shortly after participating in Tillamook’s Rally for Justice and Equality, Saturday, June 6, I got takeout from a local restaurant. Another customer mentioned he’d seen the demonstration. I told him I was there and he asked, “Why demonstrate in Tillamook?” Good question. In brief remarks at the Rally, I urged us all to quietly search our own lives for the roots of racism. Following the event, in my own quiet reflection, I did just that, looking deeply into my consciousness for signs of bigotry or intolerance. Right at this moment, a friend sent me an article by Brigitte Pellerin of Ottawa, Canada, which gave me new perspective into unconscious ways bigotry insipidly finds its way into our lives. Her article, “It’s time we white folks shut our yaps and listen,” relays a story about an encounter between herself, her daughter and a man of color. Her young child saw the man and commented to her mother how pretty his skin was. The man was offended, and Ms. Pellerin writes how this got her hackles up. “Excuuuuuse me? I, sir, am no bigot.” In reflection, she said she realized that, because she had lived her life as a member of the privileged white class, she did not, could not comprehend this man’s consternation - he having spent his entire life a member of a race that had been discriminated against. This took me back to an incident in my own life. I grew up in lily-white Mill City, Oregon and I had only seen people of color on trips to “the big city,” Portland. In the aftermath of the Columbus Day Storm,1962, we’d gone to the “big city” to rescue my sister, a student at the University of Portland. Power outages extended throughout the city and the only place open for breakfast was a small cafeteria- style cafe. The line extended into the street. I followed a man of color to the counter. As the obviously harried and overworked waiter handed the gentleman his toast, the bread slid off the plate onto the counter. The wait person gingerly scooped it up and passed it to the customer. The man exploded. “If you are going to throw my food at me you should have a sign that says you don’t serve blacks,” he shouted. He grumbled all the way to his table in the back corner. In my immediate thoughts and in family discussions that ensued, I was convinced the customer was wrong. I remember thinking that his vociferous anger wasn’t going to do anything to help the cause of African Americans. Flash forward to Saturday, June 6, 2020. Shortly after I and 300 of my dearest friends dispersed from Sue Elmore Park to line both sides of Hwy. 101, a young person of color, walked by and thanked me for being there. Caught off guard, I said something like “we’re all in this together.” I heard later that this person had shared some of their fears with other demonstrators. “All in this together?” How shallow those words sound to me now. How can I possibly know what it is like for people of color - black or brown - to live in fear? Wake up in fear? Go to bed every night in fear? I’ve never, for a moment, had to live in their world. I should have asked “why?” Sure, we can bluster that, heck, they have nothing to fear here. But, until we ask ‘why” we can’t possibly understand what it’s like to walk in their shoes. Until we ask “why” we can’t possibly begin to comprehend how a simple accident - a slice of toast sliding from a plate, a child innocently commenting on someone’s skin color - could be the final straw causing that person to explode with anger. We must ask “why.” And when we ask, let’s hope we have the common sense and courage to “close our yaps and listen.”
Fred Bassett, Cloverdale, is a founding member of Progressive Action Tillamook and Vice-chair of Tillamook County Democrats.
https://drive.google.com/file/d/1dLKkQVC9PI890AK8LAq00oI7wsWJkdtf/view