Neighborhood Store

Yesterday while walking back hom through my decidedly poor/working class neighborhood from the corner gas station/Subway restaurant, I was struck yet again by the disparity and incongruity of the world’s inhabited by the various people with which I had just interacted.

There were the neighborhood kids; probably pre-teens, playfully walking back from the store and tossing a football around – much like kids everywhere except these kids are due to their race, gender, and economics much more likely to end up as absentee fathers, in jail, on drugs, or generally on the bad side of society.  They weren’t being disrespectful or anything.  Just being normal kids. 

I saw myself in them from a time when I was a young Black inner city kid just hanging out and having fun on a Saturday afternoon.  I remember even then knowing that being of my race, and because of my gender, I was viewed automatically with suspicion in the world, that police were not always on your side, and that people judged me more by my appearance and my address than they did by my excellent marks in school or the fact that we were good church going people with solid values.

There were the owners/proprietors of the store who were, as per usual, not Black, but immigrants (or at least the children of immigrants) making their living by selling overpriced goods and services to a community of people that look nothing like them.  When I was in the store, I wondered internally what they thought of these people from whom they made their living and I suspected that they looked down on them; on us.  After all, I never see them, nor any of the foreign born small business owners that are abundant in Black communities throughout the country, actually living in or even near the people they sell things too. We are people from which to earn a living; not to live among. 

Ironically I found myself also wanting to disassociate myself from “them.”  “I’m not like the other Black people that come in the store,” I wanted to say. “I’m not going to be loud, or buy malt liquor, or make fun of you because of your accent.” It is painful to admit, but even more painful to feel the double consciousness of that moment, multiplied many times over when I encounter the ever present asian small business owner making money selling the things that mostly Black people buy.  Are there really ANY Black hair care stores that are NOT owned by Koreans?

The pain I feel is that of inwardly wanting to distance myself from all that is stereotypically “Black” so as to make myself palatable to those who in most cases are doing all they can to make themselves seem more “American.”  Except that Black people aren’t Americans — at least not when it comes to that.  American means “White” and they are the ones immigrants are trying to impress, not me.  Black people are people to make money from, to be appreciated from a distance because of our music and style, but not to be respected as Americans.  An overgeneralization I’m sure, but one based on my gut reactions.

For our part, Asian’s are a mystery… forever foreigners, non-entities really.  Many Blacks are indifferent towards the people that maintain their beautiful manicures, sell them the products that enable their gorgeous hair, and cook the food that replenishes the ubiquitous Chinese buffets.  They are like vending machines: they can be safely ignored, or even insulted. They are not people.

And then there is me: walking through the neighborhood. An educated Black man, a product of the inner city, but with a basic grasp of world history, economics, culture… a smattering of French and a growing knowledge of Korean.  I attend a Korean church but still like collard greens. I walk home wondering why these people, these worlds that I have somehow become a part of, are so far apart.

Author: elderj

I was born the fourth child and third son of godly parents in Nashville Tennessee. After leaving home for college I got involved with InterVarsity, then graduated with a degree in finance. After that I got a masters in history. Nowadays I spend too much time reading, writing, thinking, and occasionally doing my job.

4 thoughts on “Neighborhood Store”

  1. Great post. I would love to live in your neighborhood to begin the process of learning to see one another and love one another. Unfortunately in a consumerist and postmodern culture, there is a great deal of objectification on both sides of the race eqation. There is a great deal of counter-cultural steps that one has to take to reverse this process, and the challenge is to still raise clear identity lines. A great deal of what makes me identify myself as Korean is because I don’t eat Mexican food or attend a black church or my parents would be upset if I married white. How do retain cultural identity and yet be able to break the social and economic binds that culture places on us as well?

  2. Good post! This post is very thought provoking and the post from the next gener.asian church is thought provoking as well. I’ve always wondered what kind of relationship is God calling African-Americans to have with other persons of color. We have bore the responsibility for civil rights in this country and I’ve always wondered why and what now is our responsibility? I’ve wrestled with times of desperately wanting to “be on top” and reaping the benefits of our our suffering, yet I wrestle with the rich legacy of strength and perseverance that I have been afforded in the African-American struggle. Over the years, I’ve come to love both the beauty and pain of being “Black.” I just wished everyone else in America could as well. Wishful thinking, right.

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