Ojo

People don’t read my blog anymore as much as they used to, so I’m not sure how much of a difference this post is going to make. But, as you well know, our nation is currently facing a crisis of race. This has gotten me thinking through my own issues. I don’t wish to dishonor anyone, but I also don’t wish for anyone to interpret my silence as my condoning evil behavior. Because I don’t condone it. So, I’m going to speak. I will offer my perspective as cautiously yet as passionately as I can.

So, yet another act of police brutality has occurred as the result of racial profiling. I saw the video footage. I saw the anger in the officers’ eyes. I heard the cries of a dying man who was pinned between the pavement and a merciless knee as if he were an inanimate object instead of a human being.

Has it come to this yet again? Protests, riots, and lootings because yet another thug in a police uniform has abused the authority that he or she has been entrusted with? Another innocent life has been taken because some jerk couldn’t look past the color of a person’s skin?

I’m sorry—what year is it? Is it 1820, when many of us believe that human beings can be purchased and owned as slaves? Is it 1920, when many of us believe that human beings can be segregated and separated like animals on a farm? I’m sorry—I thought it was 2020, when many of us have gone through diversity training, years of schooling, and decades of growing up around people who were different than us. I thought we were past all of this racist crap.

But apparently not. Apparently, it’s still here like a volcano that we think is dormant until it suddenly erupts.

As many of you know, I’m half Anglo, half Mexican, 100% white. I don’t understand the specific struggles that black people have experienced all of their lives. But since I grew up in a bi-ethnic home, I understand my own struggles, and I hope I can empathize at least a little bit.

“Mexican” is often still used as a derogatory term, but in this post I have chosen to use it as a descriptive term. That means that half of my family is originally from Mexico—you know, that country that is responsible for creating most of your favorite foods. “Hispanic” or “Latino” are politically correct terms, but they aren’t descriptive enough in my opinion. (I used to have a half-Nicaraguan coworker who demanded that I be more specific. Fine. I guess you can’t please everybody.)

People of Mexican descent have encountered their share of racism in the United States over the years, and I daresay we still do. My Mexican uncle said once that when he was a boy in the 1950s, his schoolteacher made him and his classmates wash their hands unnecessarily because they still looked dirty (brown). My Mexican mom and aunt have mentioned that they weren’t allowed to speak Spanish in school because their (paranoid) non-bilingual teachers couldn’t understand what they were saying. White people in my family have either told me about their concern that my skin is browner than theirs or that a neighborhood becomes bad when black people and Mexicans move in.

Yes, I’ve encountered and experienced racism even in my own family—the people who I’m supposed to feel safe around.

While I was growing up, I also learned that it’s not just white people who discriminate against black people. Mexicans can be just as prejudiced against black people as white people can, if not worse. (And, if you see the infamous video footage, you’ll notice that one of the four police officers was Asian.)

Racism aside, I still haven’t figured out why skin color is such a big deal in Hispanic cultures. “La Negra” (which means “the black lady” in Spanish) is my favorite Mariachi song—not because of the lyrics but because of the extremely catchy and danceable traditional melody. And anytime you see the word “morena” or “moreno,” that’s Spanish for “brown” or “dark skin,” which is often included in song lyrics as an expression of beauty.

But if all you see when you look at a person is his or her skin color... you truly lack depth as a human being.

“Give the king Your judgments, O God, and Your righteousness to the king’s Son. He will judge Your people with righteousness, and Your poor with justice.” (Psalm 72:1-2)

So, as I’ve been processing the tragedy of George Floyd and the current situation that our country has been facing yet again, I’ve been angry. You’re supposed to get angry at injustice. You’re supposed to get angry when an abuser treats a human being like a piece of furniture.

But my thinking hasn’t stopped there. Yes, people still discriminate nowadays because of race. But what about gender discrimination? What about age discrimination? How many opportunities have I been passed up for because I’m not white enough? or not Mexican enough? or not cute and feminine enough? or too old?

Discrimination is horrible. God doesn’t see people that way. He likes variety, so He makes people all sorts of colors, shapes, and sizes on purpose. And He wants all people to love Him and to love one another.

 

As I’ve mentioned before, since I’ve been around racist attitudes for a large portion of my life, I’ve had to work through my own racist issues. Every time racism bubbles up inside me, I have to get rid of it like a turd that needs to be flushed down the commode. If it will help you do the same, I would like to share with you something that has helped me.

The title of this post is “Ojo,” which is pronounced “oh-ho,” and it is the Spanish word for “eye.” (It can also mean “look” or “watch out.”) I think this Spanish word is a very clever one, because the word “ojo” looks like a pair of eyes with a nose in the middle.

I’ve heard it said that the eyes are the windows to the soul. This is certainly true, because when you look into a person’s eyes, you can’t see that person’s skin color, height, weight, socioeconomic status, or educational status. You can see pain. You can see joy. You can see weariness. You can see contentment. Ultimately, all you see is a person.

I’ve struggled with lust for most of my life. When I’m around people, I’ve noticed something that keeps my thoughts from going to bad places. Looking a person in the eye—instead of down at his pecs or at her cleavage—helps me see the person as a human being. Not as an object.

If you struggle with racism, try looking people in the eye. You won’t see that person’s skin color. You’ll see wisdom. You’ll see anger. You’ll see friendliness. You’ll see confusion. You’ll see a search for acceptance.

You’ll see a person. And that person’s life matters.