“I don’t see color.”
These words were said publicly by one of the nine candidates for Lake County sheriff during a debate I moderated earlier this month at Indiana University Northwest in Gary.
The candidate’s comment was in reference to a question from the audience about minority hiring in that police department.
“I don’t see color,” the candidate told the audience with obvious pride.
“I do,” I blurted into my microphone on stage.
I didn’t mean to give such a rebuttal in public about this sensitive subject. It wasn’t planned. It certainly wasn’t my place to do so as a moderator.
It just came out, like many of our personal judgments and prejudices, before most of us try to censor or correct them. I didn’t give it a second of thought. If I did, I probably wouldn’t have said it, though I noticed several audience members nodding their heads in agreement.
Saying “I don’t see color” in reference to race relations is the politically correct thing to say, whether privately or publicly. It’s also the correct thing to say, and also to strive for in our slowly-evolving society.
Still, I don’t see things that way, and I’ll bet that many of you don’t either. I wish I did. I hope to someday. It’s doubtful.
I see the color of people’s skin. In fact, I notice almost immediately if someone is white, black, Asian, Hispanic or any other color or race. It’s one of my first descriptors of other people.
Maybe it’s because I was born this way, to first notice the color of someone’s skin before the content of their character.
Maybe it’s because I was raised this way, specifically in Gary, Ind., during the 1960s and ’70s, when the city’s racial identity was dramatically changing. Or maybe it’s my age, 56, and how I’ve viewed the people of Northwest Indiana, and of the world, for five decades.
I’m not alone. I’m convinced about this.
In private circles with other people around my age, whether they’re white, black, Hispanic or other, we often speak the same language about each other. Not with prejudice or bigotry or intolerance or racism in our heart, but just with a certain matter-of-factness to describe people.
For example, if I see two men walking together in a parking lot and one is white, the other black, I would probably describe them as “the white guy” and “the black guy.” Not that one is wearing a cap and the other is not. Or that one is wearing pants and the other is wearing shorts.
Maybe I should use those other descriptors. But I don’t always do that.
This doesn’t make me prejudiced against other races or a racist in my heart or in my actions. I wish I didn’t always see the world through such color-specific eyes. But I do.
Every so often, I hear someone proudly say, “I’m colorblind,” in reference to race relations. Every time, I question if he or she really means it, or truly believes it.
I tend to believe it more with younger generations of people who have not shared my experiences regarding race relations. They haven’t felt the same racial tensions I felt as a younger man. They likely haven’t been tainted by as many racial slurs about people whose skin color or ethnicity is not their own.
In my youth, such slurs were all too common. As I write this sentence, I’m mentally thinking of a long list of derogatory racial slurs that immediately come to mind. I can’t publish any of these in a newspaper, but I’m guessing that many of you also can think of them.
Some of you may still be using them in your private circles, or possibly in public. It’s nothing to be proud of, but I still hear them occasionally. And usually from people my age or older.
Our society’s political correctness, for all its flaws, has helped the younger generations understand that racial or ethnic slurs can hurt. Our country’s evolving sensibilities regarding racial tolerance and equality have also helped younger Americans become more colorblind.
I was reminded of this when my fiancé’s teenage daughter, Sarah, talked several times about a female student at school. Sarah talked without judgment about how this other girl dressed, how she talked, and how she interacted with other kids. .
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Not once did Sarah mention that this other student was black. There was no need to use such a race-related descriptor, so she didn’t.
It was only when I later noticed at school that this student is black did I realize that Sarah is, indeed, colorblind. At least I hope so. I wish I was at that age.
My teenage years were infected with race-related descriptors and impressions, not to mention infected with racial tensions at my high school and overtly racist behavior by some students.
How much did these experiences play a factor in my inability to be colorblind? I don’t know.
At my age, I’m wondering if I will ever be colorblind. Or if I can still learn to be — not colorblind through political correctness, which I believe uses rose-colored glasses to view the harsher realities of our world, but through genuine changes of my perception, like those people who honestly see things without the prism of race, creed or color.
Maybe my black-and-white, paint-by-race perspective of the world reflects my age and will die off with my generation. Probably not, unfortunately.
At that election forum, my blurting of “I do” went unnoticed amid the sheriff’s candidates’ responses. I wondered how many of them are as genuinely colorblind as they said.
I also wonder how many of us “don’t see color.”
If we’re honest with each other, and with ourselves, I believe it’s still under debate.
