Racism

I saw something this morning that stopped me cold.

There was a photograph from a University of Texas football game.

The Longhorns had just scored the winning touchdown.

Students were going crazy.

Jumping.

Hugging.

Screaming.

Throwing drinks in the air.

You know—college football.

Pretty much exactly what you’d expect.

But Bo French, the Republican nominee for the Texas Railroad Commission, looked at a picture of that crowd—a crowd that included a lot of people of color—and apparently saw something completely different.

He started talking about foreigners.

And I thought:

Wait a minute.

How the hell can you tell?

Seriously.

How do you look at somebody’s face and know where they were born?

Can you look at me and tell where I was born?

Can you tell whether my parents were born here?

Can you tell whether I’m a citizen?

Can you tell whether I’m rich or broke?

Republican or Democrat?

Gay or straight?

Christian, Jewish, Muslim, atheist?

Can you tell whether I’m a good father?

A lousy husband?

A veteran?

A cancer survivor?

An asshole?

Okay, maybe that last one you can occasionally pick up pretty quickly.

But here’s why this story hit me so hard.

I just finished interviewing more than 100 complete strangers.

And one of the biggest lessons I’ve learned is embarrassingly simple:

You don’t know a damn thing about somebody until you talk to them.

I learned this personally.

I approached people during this project and made assumptions.

Of course I did.

We all do it.

I saw the clothes.

The hair.

The tattoos.

The age.

The skin color.

The neighborhood.

And before I’d even opened my mouth, my brain had already written half their biography.

Then I’d ask the first question.

And within about thirty seconds I’d realize:

John, you don’t know shit.

Some of the people I expected to have very little in common with absolutely blew me away.

Somebody would look completely different from me and then start talking about their family.

Their job.

Healthcare.

Housing.

Their children.

Their fears about the future.

And I’d think:

Well, hell.

That’s pretty much what everybody else said.

And that’s what worries me about photographs like this.

Not simply what one politician wrote.

It’s the habit behind it.

Look. Judge. Categorize. Move on.

We do it constantly.

We see somebody and put them in a box.

Black.

White.

Immigrant.

Conservative.

Liberal.

Gay.

Straight.

Rich.

Poor.

Urban.

Rural.

Whatever.

Boom.

Now we know them.

Except we don’t.

We haven’t asked them a single damn question.

And here’s what I discovered after more than 100 interviews:

People are complicated.

Really complicated.

It’s incredibly inconvenient.

Because stereotypes are efficient.

You can hate somebody much faster if you don’t have to meet them.

Actually talking to them screws everything up.

Suddenly the “liberal” has a family.

The “conservative” has a story.

The immigrant owns a business.

The tattooed kid is brilliant.

The wealthy person is scared.

The poor person is optimistic.

And the person you were absolutely certain you understood says something that completely rearranges the furniture in your head.

That’s what conversation does.

It ruins perfectly good stereotypes.

And maybe we could use a little more of that.

Because there’s something else I heard repeatedly during these interviews.

People want many of the same basic things.

A safe place to live.

A decent job.

Healthcare.

Education.

Opportunity.

A future for their children.

Some dignity.

Some security.

Somebody to listen to them.

Now, we disagree like hell about how to accomplish those things.

That’s democracy.

But disagreement isn’t the same thing as dehumanization.

And that’s where I think we’ve gotten ourselves into trouble.

We stopped saying:

“I disagree with you.”

And started saying:

“I know who you are.”

That’s a completely different sentence.

Because once I decide who you are without ever talking to you, I don’t have to listen anymore.

And once nobody has to listen…

We’re not having a democracy.

We’re just having a shouting contest.

So I’ve got a little experiment I’d like everybody to try.

Next time you see somebody who looks completely different from you…

Don’t write their biography in your head.

Talk to them.

Ask a question.

Where are you from?

What do you do?

What matters to you?

What are you worried about?

What are you excited about?

And then—and this is apparently the revolutionary part—

listen to the answer.

Don’t prepare your rebuttal.

Don’t check their political affiliation.

Don’t ask who they voted for.

Just meet another human being.

Because after talking to more than 100 strangers, I’ve learned something that I wish I’d understood much earlier:

A photograph can tell you what somebody looks like.

It cannot tell you who somebody is.

And maybe that’s one place we can start.

Before we decide somebody doesn’t belong…

Before we decide somebody is our enemy…

Before we decide we understand an entire human being because of their skin, their clothes, their religion, their politics, or the flag hanging outside their house…

Ask them their name.

Ask them their story.

Because you might discover what I discovered.

The stranger standing in front of you isn’t a category.

They’re a person.

And once you actually meet the person…

Hating the category gets a whole lot harder.