By Natalie Costanza-Chavez
1:05 a.m. MT Apr 11, 2008

About the author

Natalie Costanza-Chavez can be reached at grace-notes@comcast.net. Read past columns at www.gracenotescolumn.org

Seems my husband really scared someone the other day. He stood before a group, and began a speech with the words “I have to warn you—I can be sexist and racist.”

He is a tall, dark Mexican man with attitude and brains. He’s so articulate he frequently renders me speechless--especially when we are arguing. So, yes, in our country, his presence alone sometime scares people. And when he stood up in front of an audience and said he’s sexist and racist, he didn’t take it back; it was not a mistake. He hadn’t misspoken. He meant to say it.

His talk focused on the “isms”—racism and sexism. He said that we see the world through our own limited prism of experience, and that if we are not aware of it and careful about it, we will default back to that limited view. We are not free of stereotypes, associations and prejudices. He preached awareness and thoughtfulness about it, instead of denial and indignation.

After his speech, a complaint was lodged with the higher-ups. Turns out some person claimed to never be racist or sexist and found any assumption otherwise insulting. The person also said they’d been frightened by a speaker admitting such offensive behaviors as racism and sexism.

It is surely more comfortable and effortless to think we are color blind and gender blind. We want to see ourselves as intelligent and enlightened and kind and fair. We want to have a low impact carbon footprint, lower cholesterol numbers, cloth grocery bags and the earned title of “I’m never racist or sexist. I’ve evolved.” Some of us even want a Prius.

And, yes, I’m making light of this. We have to be serious, we have to be solemn, and we have to find our pretensions funny as well, because the truth is we are all racist and sexist and if we are too horrified to name it, too afraid to admit it, we certainly can’t do the lifelong work that is necessary to continually fight it.

We are products of our tribes. If you were raised in America, racism and sexism are an underlying and intrinsic part of your culture. If you’d been raised in many other countries, you’d not only be racist and sexist, but you would not even be aware that you should be any different. While many of us Americans at least want to be free of these biases, we can’t completely escape them.

What we can do, however, is be thoughtfully and humbly aware enough to examine our stereotypes and to work to overcome them.

I’d ask you to consider that perhaps there is nothing scarier, nothing more dangerous, than the “holier than thou” attitude we fall into when we believe that racism and sexism only happened long ago in a world removed from us. Or when we believe that racism and sexism are things only committed by others--surely not us, surely not the people we hang with. Surely not.

This “Oh-no-not-I” attitude keeps popping to mind an old story. Like all allegories, fables and parables it centers on people (or anthropomorphized turtles or hares or witches or naughty children) who could be us.

This one takes place in a quiet temple and stars a Pharisee and a tax collector. The Pharisee, presumably a good and righteous man, prays to God by basically saying, “Oh thank you, Lord, for making me so wonderful and thank you even more for making sure I am not as lowly as these others kneeling about me.” Far behind him stands the tax collector, who basically prays by beating his breast in pain, and saying, “I am not worthy. Help me. Love me anyway. Please.”

According to the parable, guess which one is the more enlightened person? Humility, darn it, is hard.

Racism and sexism are scary indeed--and uncomfortable. But, you do see color and gender and all sorts of things when you consider another person.

Once we speak it, we can begin, and stick to, the hard daily work of recognizing and obliterating our limiting assumptions and prejudices.

“I could never be racist or sexist.” Well, yes, I want to wear that button. I want to be that person.

But, alas, I’m not. At least I’m not kidding myself. Thanks, hubby.

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