The Counterfeit Murder in the Museum of Man_ A Norman De Ratour Mystery - Alfred Alcorn [62]
“As would I. But then, I don’t consider myself a liberal. Except, perhaps in the old-fashioned sense.”
He lowered his voice even more. “Do you know what liberals have done to people of color?”
“I would have thought they have tried to help … in one way or another.”
“Oh, indeed they have. And in doing so they have made us their moral pets.”
I sipped at my drink. I could taste the power of the rum. “I don’t doubt you, Harvey, but I’m not sure I follow you.”
He looked around. He kept his voice low. “To start with, white liberals would never dream of holding black Americans or black islanders or black Africans to anything approaching their own standards. To insist on that is to be called racist when exactly the reverse applies. Allowances are made for our behavior however egregious. Because, you see, we are moral pets.”
“But …”
He held up a hand. “It’s not only that, it’s the way we have come to figure large in the identity of affluent whites who can afford to patronize us. It’s mostly a class thing. As champions of us poor black people, white liberals can distinguish themselves from the benighted blue-collar workers, from Joe Sixpack. Your wealthy white liberal not only drinks better wine and eats better cheese, but he lays claim to being a better person. And people of color are part and parcel of that moral status. It matters not that most of them live comfortably and securely in white or upper-middle-class enclaves where any stray African Americans tend to be educated and middle-class as well.”
He stopped and took a good slug of his piña colada. “I’m sorry, Norman, but this is one of my pet peeves.”
“One of your moral pet peeves,” I rejoined. Then I pushed back just a bit. “But surely, Harvey, there are many whites who have worked for civil rights out of honorable motives …”
“Of course, of course.” But his acknowledgment bordered on the cursory as he went off again. Glancing around, he said, “It’s deeper and more pernicious than that. I’ve watched white liberals getting a moral thrill of vicarious indignation by rehashing past injustices against people of color. They pick that particular scab with great relish. It is one of the ways that they establish their moral credentials. It doesn’t occur to them that people who are encouraged to see themselves as victims remain victims.”
“But, surely, we cannot ignore history.”
“No, but there is no human group in the world that has not, at some point in their history, been enslaved in one way or another. To make slavery such a large part of black history is to reinforce the worst kinds of stereotypes. And to keep opening a wound is to stay wounded.”
He leaned back, his eyes askance. After a moment they came back to mine. “You don’t watch much television, do you Norman?”
“Not when I can help it.”
“Okay, let me tell you what you see these days constantly on the ads. They create a situation with a white person and a black person in it. Invariably, the white person is shown as far less intelligent than the character of color. Do you know why?”
“I haven’t given it a lot of thought.”
“Because white people are secure in their intelligence, they can afford to be portrayed as stupid. But because there are real doubts about the intelligence of black people on the part of the white, well-meaning ad producers, they must be portrayed as smart.”
“Really?”
But Harvey scarcely paused. “There’s another thing that nettles me no end.” Again he leaned into me and lowered his voice. “Nice white people love to sniff out and expose the least particle of racism in what they regard as lesser whites. Because, you see, to label someone else a racist is to imply that you are not racist, that you are not one of them, regardless of any objective criteria.”
“Such as …?”
“Oh, where they work, where they live, where they weekend, where they can send their kids to school …”
He finished his drink. Then, smiling at himself, he said, “Oh, God, here