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  More stories from
  the interlinked web
  of oppressions:

   Ableism
   Ageism
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   Classism
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   Homophobia
   Racism
   Sexism
               

  Related essays:
   Guilt
   White Bashing
   PC or SC
   Privilege

Challenging Authorities

See also bosses, "Bearing witness to the actions of authorities," and institutional change.

It was 3 in the afternoon. As always, I sat in the front seat of the Tri-Met bus, going back home. The bus stopped at Walker Road, and an old African American man walked in. He looked sick and tired and I couldn’t help wishing if I could be of some help to him. After a couple of minutes he smiled and he calmly asked the bus driver, who was a white American, to stop at the nearest stop because he had taken the wrong bus home. I looked at the bus driver's face, which now looked cold and unfeeling. He grinned at the gentleman and said, "Don't you know how to read? It's written 4-8, 48 on the front of the damn bus!" The old man then pleaded with the driver to stop the bus so that he could get off; but the bus driver wouldn't stop. I sat there shocked in disbelief -- not knowing what to do or say. In the next moment, the doors opened and as they slammed shut and the old man stepped out, the driver said, "Damn N-s, don't know how to read!" I was so shocked that I couldn't breath. I just wanted to jump out of the bus! When it was my turn to get out, he smiled and I found myself saying, "Thank you!"
   After these discussions, I summed up my strength. I vowed to myself that if I ever saw that man again, I would say something back. Today, on the 4th of Feb, I saw him again; this time cursing a high school freshman for not having the tickets ready while entering the bus. This time I didn't care if he was being racist or just plain mean; I stood up, looked at him in the eye, and said in a broken but determined voice, "You have no right to say that!" As soon as I said that, I walked out the door smiling. I had never felt so good my entire life; I felt like a caged bird that was set free. (Parvathy, Beaverton, OR, USA, 2002)

When I was a camp counselor in France, I was assigned to a very nice little private room in the dormitory where my little charges slept. Among the counselors was a young woman named Mag from the Ivory Coast. There was a problem about how she could supervise her campers since her room had been moved to the attic due to her "special needs" since she was black. (No one ever explained what those needs were and Mag herself did not know what that meant.) I had room in my cubicle for another bed, which put her near the children, and I asked her to share my room. All the counselors and the director were in shock since this would require some very "unusual behavior" on my part since I'm Caucasian -- blond with green eyes. I did not see what the problem was but I could feel the tension of the others and Mag’s complete surprise.
   We roomed together and became good friends -- staying in contact during the time we studied in France. This was in the late 60's and early 70's and the first time I had gotten to know black person on really personal level. (Anon., Beaverton, OR, USA, 2001)