One of my sisters quizzed me.
“Why are you so intent on buying a rabbit’s foot? You say that you’re not a gambler, so why go to Vegas to buy one?”
Suddenly our conversation was interrupted by the loud piercing wail of a police siren. We all went silent. Ray quickly looked in side mirrors, lifted his foot off the accelerator, and the vehicle slowed. Someone loudly uttered a prayer.
“Oh, Jesus!”
The highway patrol car stopped some distance behind us and two uniformed men approached. Both were White. One had his hand on his holstered weapon and hung back, while the other stood close to Ray on the driver’s side. A sharp rapping sound on his window constricted my throat.
“Sir, license and registration.”
Ray quickly produced his documents.
“Officer, is there a problem?”
“Well for starters it is against Nevada state law to drive a vehicle with heavily-tinted windows. These windows are beyond the 70% maximum. Can’t see a thing inside. Mighty suspicious. Where you folk headed?”
“Officer, we’re on our way to Vegas.”
“Ha! So you all are California gambling high-rollers. This “Caddy” Escalade your dream car?“
“No, officer, we’re not gamblers. Actually, we are Gospel singers. You may have heard us during President Obama’s election campaign. We’re one of his favorite vocal musical groups. Would you like to hear us sing?”
“Well, I’m not really into Gospel music and all that old plantation stuff. You folk sing any rock music?”
“Sorry sir. We are only God’s messengers and enjoy doing his work, spreading words of love.”
“Not this time. But, like I said this vehicle looks mighty suspicious. The reason we stopped you is we got a call and the description fits this vehicle associated with a situation a few miles back. Did you all stop for gas or anything a while ago?”
“No sir, we have not stopped since leaving Los Angeles.”
“Well, lucky for you. I’m not going to run these plates as I can see this is a rental. My partner also flagged you blowing through that speed zone two miles back, over the speed limit. But I’m going to let you go with a warning. Slow down when you see those speed signs, they are there for a reason. Forty-five mph does not mean sixty-five or seventy. You got that?”
“Yes sir.”
“Okay, here are your documents, Mr. Raymond, What’s up, Messup, or whatever slave name you call yourself. Just be safe.”
“Officer, my name is Vessup. Thank you, and you have a good day.”
“Okay, boy. Don’t get cheeky with me. Are you asking for a citation? You’d better be grateful and git going.”
Ray did not offer a response as he pushed the button closing the window. Inside the car the silence is heavy. We watch the highway patrol car drive off, then make a vicious U-turn and speed away like a get-a-way bandit in the opposite direction.
“Whew! Thank you, Jesus!”
“Yes Lord! You know God is so good to us today!”
“That’s why I be praying all the time, PRAISE GOD!”
“We gotta sing a song. Come on! Let’s sing…”
“You were actually going to SING for THE MAN?”
“Well, if that’s what it takes to not be paying for a ticket, why not?”
“We sang to help Obama get elected, didn’t we? What’s the difference?”
“Man, you are such an Oreo cookie!”
“Fuck you! Who do you think you are? Damn hypocrite! You know you love listening to rock music. Why not sing it? We certainly could open more doors and get more business than just churches. That’s a fact!”
“Well, I’m going to keep praying for you, brother.”
“And I’m still praying for you, sister!”
Silence fills the vehicle for the next hundred miles. Eventually, someone in our family group starts to sing a melody. The rest of the quartet joins in. This musical bond has held the core of our family together since the passing of our parents. Their voices meld into angelic harmony as they sing, “Hush, Somebody’s Calling Your Name,” a standard Negro spiritual. To their way of thinking, faith in God keeps them safe. I have not yet told them I no longer believe in superstitions.
My wish to buy a rabbit’s foot in Vegas is actually to make this point in a humorous way. I am a strange poet and committed teacher, dragging cameras around the globe, hoping to distance myself from faith fanatics.
The next morning before leaving Las Vegas, we located a souvenir store selling a wide a variety of colorful rabbit’s feet. I am overjoyed. I had not seen these little “good luck” charms since my childhood and the sight of the tiny, furry good luck gimmicks make me chuckle. But I kept the mirth to myself. A silent prayer to the skies had to suffice.
Even now, after over fifty years of virtual separation, to many of my siblings still as good as dead because my parents preached that when a person departs from their religious ways, they are to be excommunicated.
In the past, the few letters from home were blood-smeared envelopes, with art drawings of Christ’s head dripping blood alongside the postal stamps. To receive such mail was embarrassing to say the least. I felt that some lunatic was sending mail from hell. Of course, I also sent mail home but my siblings said they never heard from me. There was a lock on the mailbox. Only our parents had the key. But many years had passed. Now my siblings were in their forties and fifties.
At least two of my younger brothers have been jailbirds, although I didn’t know that until recently. My sister Dolly escaped the family by earning a scholarship to USC Los Angeles, and later Columbia University in New York. She never looked back. These days, if a family members tries to visit her, she will run the other way. She is afraid that the religious loonies will put some kind of spell on her.
Two brothers, now retired, worked as Forest Rangers in the California mountains. Both were married to White girls and each brother sired large families, with five and eight children. One is now divorced and has lost almost everything, including house and custody rights. The other is a courier, and relations are strained between him and the others who still have a problem accepting his blonde wife of many years.
Of the five brothers, two remain staunch churchgoers and musicians. Most of the others are in some way connected to the church. A few years ago, two of my sisters teamed up as cross-country semi-truck drivers, maybe the first Black female pair in the country. Their tales of racist practices in the trucking industry were both humorous and shocking.
From a family standpoint, issues of institutional racism and religious bigotry are intertwined and horrific. It is difficult for most of my family to talk about life without bringing in God, the Devil, or both. In their view, everything is spiritual with irrefutable Christian meaning. But it is encouraging to see that although late in life, some of my siblings have sought education beyond high school. Clearly changes like these take time.
34
Edging Down the Yellow Brick Road
“May I ask you something personal?” he asked.
The Chinese men sitting around the table were all suddenly quiet. Their separate conversations stopped. The translator was looking at me as if to measure my facial reaction, as was everyone else. He nervously cleared his throat, a serious look in his eyes. I held my breath, expecting some kind of bomb shell. We had eaten a lavish meal and done the requisite rounds of toasting the various ranking officials present.
“Yes… sure, go ahead.” I had nothing to hide and felt comfortable with this group of five Chinese men, but I was apprehensive. What could this personal question be? Just how personal was their interest? Were they going to ask if I enjoyed Chinese women? I held my breath.
“Well, we want to know... they want to know… do you miss anything from the USA?”
I had heard this question before, and it was not something I
would call personal. I think about my former life in the United States regularly, living in China forces me constantly to re-evaluate many things.
I do not miss anything of great consequence. I don’t miss car ownership, driving, or home ownership responsibilities. Confronting religious zealotry is not missed. I do like conveniences. I do not like superficiality, a plastic culture that lacks depth. The cultural arrogance of belittling White views that trivialize or blatantly ignore the role and contributions of African and Asian cultures is disgusting. Education that lies and perpetuates falsities offends. A media and government system that is steeped in illusions is maddening. A failed “democracy” suggests that perhaps alternatives could/should be open to consideration. I do not like the assumption that there is only the American Way. After all my years of travel, homesickness is foreign to me. As long as I have my bed and my books, I am content.
And what of China? In China, what I love are the vast varieties: the people, fresh adventures, richness in so many traditions, the personal challenges for growth and opportunities for contributions in many fields. The grandeur and splendor of Nature’s various settings in this land, the history, the antiquities, the many holistic healing approaches, the excellent and low-cost spas, the overall Chinese approach to wellness. The food, the many delicious cuisines and dishes. The lower cost of living that unbelievably stretches the American dollar. And last but in no way the least, I enjoy feeling appreciated and needed. To be valued is priceless. Having my worth as a person embraced feels great. The target that was once on my back seems to have faded here. I know the ocean waters can be perilous when swimming with sharks. But there is courage that comes from not actually feeling alone. This may sound strange, but I have never felt alone or bored in China.
True, there is still undoubtedly some hostility towards foreigners here. China’s opening up has not necessarily meant that all peoples are embraced. Just because official propaganda promotes tourism doesn’t mean that everyone has a basic welcoming attitude.
These days, my health is what concerns me most. I have become more weight-conscious than ever. In the United States, I used to bike once in a while along the Illinois Fox River, but in China, I am on my bike almost every day. People pass me on their bikes, often carrying daily necessities, perhaps a furiously peddling gentleman with some surprise like two huge fish fins protruding from newspaper wrapping on the back bicycle rack. Some days I try to keep up with these speedsters, only to have my ego shaken when time and again an older-looking woman zooms past me carrying a happily singing child to school, gangly legs swinging to and fro.
So I told my inquisitive audience at that dinner that I miss nothing, that China is my home. That is the short answer. Having traveled far across this majestic land and become deeply acquainted with its people, I have had a myriad of experiences and held numerous teaching jobs in various regions. With all of these experiences floating in my mind, I can conclude that here is where I belong.
The Chinese men looked half-disbelieving at my response. One or two smiled, but the eyes of others shouted: “You are a liar!” Perhaps in their fuzzy drunken drowsiness only those one or two recognized a romantic soul. Earlier in the day, when I proclaimed to an audience of over a hundred people how much I enjoyed what I had been learning while living in and traveling around China, they erupted with loud cheers and applause. This was totally unexpected, and startled me. But now, my dinner hosts, the leaders of a college in Shandong Province south of Beijing, were unconvinced.
But it is true, I have fallen in love with China, and that includes more than just the food. We toasted each other with French red wine. My hosts had been accommodating to my aversion to drinking the Chinese version of so-called wine. Now my tongue was loosened a bit and I was tempted to launch into a longer answer of why I chose to stay in China.
I confess there were three basic factors. Like many sports fans, I enjoy rooting for the underdog. In a global sense with China “opening” more to the world, and coming to the table late, conditions still significantly favor the West. I had a feeling that perhaps my contributions to China’s development in the areas of education and cultural social interaction could make small ripples in this vast pond. Perhaps.
The second motivational factor was that I needed a break from emotional entanglements and the demands of intimate relationships. I was not seeking a mate. What I needed was to step back, candidly look at my past romantic mistakes, review my roles as husband, player and celibate, roles that all tended to distract me from my many projects and goals. Relationship-building and maintenance were like weights that tied me down, keeping me from the freedom necessary to fly. In this regard, time was not my friend. In China, there was less likelihood of being “trapped,” emotionally bogged down. It’s getting late in life and I wanted to feel more satisfaction from following the dreams that matter deeply to me. This meant serving a higher purpose than simply holding court in a family. I definitely did not come to China seeking spouse, and I didn’t find one. I have had girlfriends, sure, but nothing lasting. And that was the plan.
The final kicker that compelled me to explore China was my passion for art, in its wider sense. Prior to China I had built a small reputation with my poetry and photography and China turned out to be a place for me to pursue my personal photographic development.
I remember an occasion in my first year in Changsha standing in the classroom singing along with my students, and failing to hold back my tears. “See me fly, I’m proud that I can fly, high up in the sky...!” This was a popular tune with both English and Chinese lyrics, the melody romantic and soothing. At that moment I was overjoyed, filled with emotions that reminded me of old, long-gone, faraway moments in Church. Now, here I was in China, fulfilling a dream. Tears gushed forth and I momentarily fled the classroom. Even today, hearing that song brings moisture to my eyes.
So is China more or less racist than the United States?
Despite the many instances and overtones of bigotry and disrespect I have experienced in China, one should not be hasty to generalize and make blanket statements about ALL Chinese. Clearly, there are many warm, open, accepting people in China as there also are in the USA and most places. It is the governmental/institutional point of view perhaps where the crux of the notion of “racism” resides. That is the real basis for this discussion and debate.
From a historical perspective, China has, in my opinion, been more inclined to embrace the needs of other cultures and particularly “Third World” cultures than the United States. In the totality of my life experiences, the real or imagined threats to my personal security have not come from official representatives of government institutions in China, but rather REPEATEDLY from such institutions in the USA.
Perhaps having lived in China now for going on sixteen years, it is unfair to make a comparison to my earlier fifty-five formative years in the US where legal promises were constantly undermined by so-called civil servants, American citizens, and “Christians”. I have travelled the world and found more warmth and camaraderie among so-called “enemy people” than I can count. Suffice it to say that people are people—good, bad, indifferent—everywhere. It just feels (to me) that despite the unpredictabilities of individuals, and uncertainties of life in general, I am in a better mental space in China than the stress and angst that prevails when in the USA. This, in the end, may have nothing to do with race per se, and more to do with the increasing issues of competition and perceptions of costs versus benefits. People in China want to “Win” big on the world stage. But Americans also perceive themselves as “number one” on all fronts, and for them, the system that fostered this mentality is beyond reproach. Notions of cultural superiority come with the territory of being a US “patriot”. To question or in any way point a finger of blame is akin to revealing dark family secrets, airing the “dirty linen”.
America inherently and intrinsically is racist. Systemically and systemically. China has for rati
onal reasons over the years had an axe to grind with the “foreign devils.” But this axe has not been used against Blacks. In fact, I have seen plane loads of African students disembarking to enrol in Chinese language training centers.
In the final analysis, whatever the policies affecting people of color in China, they do not even come close to being the same as the reality as being a person of color in the United States. I am glad then that I had made the decision to leave the reservation that America represented.
There is of course the question of acceptance in China, which is difficult to answer. China’s attitudes towards foreigners is ambivalent. Ordinary Chinese people are mostly welcoming, and in terms of official pronouncements, the government, too, places a high value on the inclusion of foreigners. China is a huge country facing many needs in social services, social cultivation and educational support, and there is much that foreigners such as myself can do to help. But there are constant issues in terms of visas and work permits, and in terms of trust. There are instances of foreigners getting ripped-off and not being paid for work done. Business corruption comes in many guises and settings. But I take the long view, and believe China in the end will be ever more welcoming and provide ever more opportunities for outsiders.
I arrived in China well into my fifties, and my Chinese language abilities are not great. On the other hand, foreigners who have acquired fluency in Chinese do not always seem to earn total acceptance among Chinese either. There is a feeling that even though they may have entered closer to the inner circles of Eastern culture, they are still outsiders.
Black in China Page 19