I saw both the cultural mores and habits that led to boys and girls graduating high school for only manual labor jobs. I went to a high school where the “smart ones” went to Texas Tech, flunked out, and got a community college degree at the two-year school south of town. There were good jobs 30 years ago—at least, jobs that allowed someone to raise a family, even on blue-collar wages.

Back then, in 1981, the butchery outside of town paid $12/hour—a good wage, given inflation, and the fact that you lived in a small town. Lots of other jobs were like that. There were very few Latino immigrants, and I remember distinctly that most of the fast-food workers were white (there weren’t many black people in this town, though of the few, some did work fast-food, too). I knew this because I worked full-time in fast food for 2.5 years, so I got to see cohort after cohort of people, both high school kids and graduates, coming through. And of course, there was the oil patch.

In short, it was possible to have a decent life.

That’s all changed. What self-respecting white person would work in butchery? Would you do outside yard work for a living? It doesn’t pay enough to live up to the standards they’ve come to expect—if nothing else, that their parents expected and obtained.

Even here in California, I never see a white (or for that matter, black) person doing the manual labor at a home renovation. At most, there’ll be a white person supervising. It’s all changed, and the manual labor jobs that afforded at least a decent life, are all gone. Or the wage has stagnated or fallen in the face of inflation to the point where only (undocumented) immigrants will take those jobs.

And yet. And yet.

This is the South, the deep countryside—violently against unions, voting Republican all the way. Each and every one of you was willing to hire undocumented workers for your business, or your yard, or your house renovation, and none of you fought for laws penalizing employers of undocumented workers, even though that was the only way to keep the wages for those jobs up. You were short-sighted and racist. Growing up, the racism was so thick, even I found myself uttering the most reprehensible racist epithets at black people, in order to “fit in.” I learned these epithets from the “nice” white friends I had—not from the really, really racist ones. Racism was everywhere. And yes, black people had it a lot worse than white people.

And so, I find myself torn: On the one hand, these are my countrymen, and they deserve the first concern, before people from other countries. That’s what it means, to take that citizenship oath, after all. And they’re hurting.

But on the other hand, I feel like WHAT DID YOU EXPECT?

You spent all those years (since the Civil Rights era) kicking black people, kicking Hispanics, kicking unions, and doing the rich man’s bidding, taking his scraps, and forever and ever believing that you were better than the black and the brown; and now, when you find out that the rich man has just as little need for you as he has for the black and the brown, NOW, NOW you scream!  Really?

I don’t know how to balance these books, how to square this circle.

But I do know that even while I have enormous sympathy for my former high school classmates, just now passing 50 years of age, and seeing that “it’s all downhill from here, and a rapidly-steepening slope,” my sympathy is tempered by the realization that they're asking for all the rest of us to give to them the things that they successfully denied to black Americans for decades. It’s very, very difficult for me to reconcile these thoughts.

Do you have any strong thoughts on the subject? Tell us about it.

This next reader brings us back to our previous note, “White Disdain for the White Underclass,” where readers directly discussed the intraracial prejudice within white America:

Everybody has a need to feel superior to somebody else. In current white culture, it is unacceptable to denigrate people of non-white skin tone. It used to be acceptable to denigrate the Irish, Italians, and Poles.

Speaking of the latter:

Back to our reader:

Germans have negative views of Czechs. Swedes look down on the Finns, etc. Currently, the stereotype of the poor, uneducated Southern Protestant white male as the root of all social evil is in vogue. Yet the most segregated cities and neighborhoods are in wealthy, white liberal enclaves. Reading about the conflicts in Marin County, CA, between neighborhood preservationists and plans for low-income housing is very illuminating of the “cognitive dissonance” involved. (This young black woman’s thesis is a fascinating read.)

Update from another reader, Zayne:

For a more comedic treatment of some of the themes you’ve been exploring here, I’d recommend watching The Accountant, a short film starring Ray McKinnon (the preacher from Deadwood) and Walter Goggins (of Justified and Vice Principals fame). Here’s a short clip that explains an essential distinction as seen by white working-class folks (especially those from the South):

Having been raised in rural Central North Carolina and Southwest Virginia, it rings true to me.

They have special programs and are constantly given lip service, at least. I think lower- to middle-class whites are just considered the plebes. We feel that we’re being screwed over, and instead of at least saying “we’re sorry,” we get scorned heaped on our heads.

Look at the National Review article [by Kevin Williamson]. Imagine that article being written about a minority group. There’d be heads rolling.

Anyway, I do feel those economic pressures. I’m a white man living paycheck to paycheck. I get blamed for racism, war, hate—you name it; it’s my fault. Democrats don’t care about us and neither do Republicans. We’re the people being ignored, and sooner or later, you don’t want to be ignored anymore.

In my case though, I’m a “Never Trump,” but I see why lots of people in my position are for him. I get that Trump is willing to speak his mind. What I don’t get is why what he says has anything to do with me. What in the world does a billionaire married to a supermodel know about my struggles or about my life? What could he possibly say that would represent me in any way shape or form? When was the last time he had to worry about layoffs? When was the last time he had to worry about his electric bill? When did he ever wonder where his next car payment was coming from?

All Trump has to offer me is words and a propensity to shoot off his mouth. I can get those from anyone. He’s another elite pandering to the working class and he knows as much about fixing the problems in our lives as he does about fixing his own car: Zero.

One more reader for now:

This article from Alec MacGillis was a great read. I thoroughly enjoyed him speaking honestly about how Trump is not the result of racist poor whites, how poor white resentment is not entirely race driven, how liberal scorn for poor whites is explicitly racist … oh wait, he never quite got to that part. Oversimplifying and demonizing poor whites is so unbelievably racist and hypocritical it boggles the mind, especially when you compare liberal love for poor blacks specifically.

The best portion of MacGillis’s article is J.D. Vance’s retelling of his hometown’s problems in his new memoir Hillbilly Elegy. In it, you see what is very rare to see out of Ta-Nehisi Coates—especially in his memoir Between the World and Me—or any other black apologist; you see responsibility being place squarely on the community itself for its problems. You see a scorn for the obvious excuse making that people within the community who would rather blame/beg the government for their problems. It should go without saying that without taking responsibility for your own actions, your life will not change. If you think your drug addiction is someone else’s fault, it’s highly unlikely you intend to change.

This is not to advocate for no help whatsoever coming from the government, but it is a call for people to recognize the first step in fixing a broken community is for the community to admit it has a problem.

Disagree with any of these readers’ assessments, or have your own personal perspective to share? Please drop us a note and we’ll post.

Well, since being in the group for three days now, it has been more hateful than uplifting. They have gone after white mothers who adopted black children or even mothers and children who don’t look black enough. It has been another eye-opening experience that the more we want change, the more nothing has changed within us. We are our own worse critics and have never in many years taken the time to uplift ourselves.

Reading Allene’s note also made me think about one of my son’s classes that was led by a black scientist from NASA. He showed a picture to the children of NASA control and asked if the kids noticed anything. My son did not, but the NASA scientist was using it to point out there were no minorities in the picture.

At that moment I wanted the scientist to say that is why we need to work hard and continue to pursue science and math in school to land those positions. But no, he just said it is not right that they don't have anyone of color. I felt that moment could have been empowering, to light the fire.

Also, for a split second, I wondered if I should be out there protesting and really pushing the color issue, or if should I just continue to let my son know that he has the same opportunities as everyone else and to push himself to be the best he can be—that no one can take knowledge from you no matter what color you are. I chose the latter.

In general, in certain aspects, I let my son know what issues he may face due to the color of his skin. But a lot of times it is hard to explain the racism you feel from blacks and the racism you feel from the rest of the world.

So I thank Allene for shining a light on this. Many won’t discuss this and will continue to sweep it under the rug.

If you want to air it out instead, and share a personal experience, please drop us a note.

Like Allene, I think it’s empowering, especially for young Black people, to know the richness of their culture and history, but empowerment (in my opinion) comes from seeing the ways Black people were able to achieve, to innovate, and to shape America despite/because of the obstacles and restrictions placed on us. Activists who put oppression at the forefront of Black identity are, to me, only focusing on half the story, and the uninspiring half at that. Maybe Allene would be more willing to embrace a Black identity defined in terms of its positives—its empowering victories—than one that is pessimistic and defeatist.

Lastly, regarding Allene’s comment on White privilege that “poor is poor and being poor isn’t easier just because your skin is white.” “White privilege,” as I see it, is less an individual trait than a description of the environment. Like how I can turn the TV to almost any channel and see stories by/about White people, but might watch for a few hours before I find a Black person in a lead role (in front of or behind the camera). That’s just the way things are.

No doubt, being poor is hard no matter your color, but there are still some aspects of America that White people and Black people inevitably experience very differently, regardless of socioeconomic status. (That being said, poor and working-class White people feeling overlooked by liberal activists only makes them more open to demagogues like Trump.)

Do you have any personal experiences with shadism you want to share? Or thoughts about the topic in general? Please drop us a note.

Like Allene, I’m an American, and I come from generations of Americans. But I know that there are millions of people who still view me as an outsider because of my race. My Black ancestors weren’t considered to be human when this country was founded, much less a citizen of the United States. Throughout history, people who look like me have been marginalized in the most brutal of ways, and that continues in 2016.

Allene says she doesn’t carry the burden of her ancestors, but she’s still living with the legacy of slavery, no matter how much she wants to deny it. She may not have someone call her the N-word, but systemic racism is pervasive and far-reaching. Generational wealth disparities, housing and mortgage discrimination, sentencing disparities, racial profiling, police brutality, the achievement gap among students, unemployment disparities, the fact that resumes with Black-sounding names don’t get calls—these topics just begin to scratch the surface of the myriad hurdles that still face Black Americans. These hurdles still exist because of the legacy of slavery and 2nd class citizenship that Blacks have faced in the U.S. and still continue to face now.

Growing up, my father used to tell me and my siblings about his childhood in Detroit, in particular his memories of the riots in the 1960s. That one experience motivated my dad to begin to explore the history of Blacks in America, and he passed those lessons down to his children. I spent my childhood learning about Black history—both the good and the bad. I remember writing book reports about Booker T. Washington and other Blacks in history before I was allowed to go outside and play.

At the same time, we were exposed to Black films, books written by Black authors with Black characters, Black entrepreneurs, and more. I did not understand what my father was trying to teach me until I went away to college at a PWI [Predominately White Institution] and found myself surrounded by people who didn’t look like me and didn’t particularly want me there. What my father gave me was a sense of self, before I even knew who I was as a person. He gave me strength that I could survive any situation, and the confidence not only in my abilities, but in the type of people that I'm descended from.

The comments about me being in college because of affirmative action rolled off my back, because I knew of other brilliant Black chemists like Percy Julian, and I knew I deserved to be there. I knew that I wasn’t some anomaly or weirdo, reaching above my station. I did not question my place in the world. I saw myself as continuing the chain of achievement and resilience that Black Americans have shared since they first arrived in America in 1619.

That sense of self, awareness, and pride continues even now, as I’m a married professional with two degrees and a successful career. Now as an adult, I try to pass those same lessons on—to the children I mentor, to my family members—and I will pass those lessons on to my unborn baby.

Allene responds:

I do not question Jareesa’s experience, as stated, but I do question her stating that she grew up in racially-mixed neighborhoods and K-12 schools and yet she did not feel comfortable at college as a person until she joined black organizations? If she has never experienced negative feedback from other black folks, then I have to say she has lived a charmed life.

My point is that part of what we perceive as exclusion is not always based on racism. Most of our society—“our” meaning American society—establishes relationships based on where you live, what schools you attend, what church, what country club, what sorority/fraternity. I know for a fact that whites also experience social and personal discomfort when they meet new people in a school, a new job—you get what I’m saying?

I would have to ask this young woman at what point does she, and in turn her children, begin to disentangle their attachment from the past wrongs perpetrated against blacks in this country? Does she feel the same type of disenfranchisement when she reads about the slave trade as it relates to Africa and our ancestors being slaves in Africa and then being sold to white slavers? Exactly where does one snip the cord that binds us to a history that clearly does not allow us to embrace who we are today?

I was a teenager during the first Watts riot in 1965. As an adult I wrote and had an article published in the LA Times as a response to the Reginald Denny trial and the ensuing riot that erupted on the streets of L.A. I was/am a fairly petite black woman, almost 5' 3", who was assaulted—pushed and shoved by much larger white males in the grocery store or simply walking the very familiar streets in my neighborhood in a suburban enclave just northeast of L.A. And I somehow was able to recognize that these men that chose to prove their manliness by shoving and pushing me were just cowards!

As human beings, regardless of race, we have inherited bad actors of every stripe. To not recognize that we all face some type of rejection and exclusion in our lives is what allows human beings to deny the humanity of other human beings. To fight real oppression today—as black, brown, yellow, and white people—we have to first recognize that we are the same: human.

I read an UTNE Reader article this morning, penned by a young man named Kevin Powell, where he states that “black women are incapable of not supporting black men” as the rationale for why the mostly black, female jury could not convict O.J. Simpson for killing his wife and Ron Goldman. To this young black man, and many other black men, black women are incapable of reason and/or logic when it comes to judging black men. How is this thinking any different from the so-called white culture, where some believe that black women are simply not capable, able to process information, think and succeed independently?

While being black requires us to respect our culture and heritage, it’s difficult not to be influenced by a culture, our culture, where black women are often not accepted as being intelligent, desirable, and beautiful by black men. In my own black life, most of the black men I encounter either wanted to dominate me (“You need to be tamed”) or insult me (“Your husband ain’t going to want you when he can have his pick of Asian women when he returns from Vietnam”—way to go, uncle, with the generous compliment about my physical attributes).

I don’t know why black activists feel that each and every black person in America must be black before any other aspect of their personalities and lives. I have been called an Oreo Cookie because of the way I speak, where I live, and the people I choose to have/share my life with.

I can’t imagine any white person waking up and thinking “God, I’m white and privileged, so the world is out there waiting for me to conquer.” I’ve known for quite some time that white folks struggle too. What many blacks do not accept about white America is that there are millions of poor white folks in this country without opportunities just like legions of poor blacks. The reality for all of these people, both black and white, is that poor is poor and being poor isn't easier just because your skin is white.

Somehow some black people believe that our collective past makes it impossible for us to be American. How can I know or be anything more than my exposure to life, which has been wholly American? And not black American—simply American. We all have a shared history, regardless of how dark and violent. We all have dreams of living good lives, educating our children while exposing them to untold adventures and yet we operate as if the color of our skins makes those very human drives different.

I can not and do not carry the burden of my ancestors’ bondage anymore than I carry the scars of being disenfranchised in an alien land that robbed my people of a language, a culture, a land. As a black American, I cannot return to Africa. In Africa I am also considered to be untrustworthy, a bastardized offshoot of a people long ago sold into slavery by people with skin the same color as mine.

So, if America is not my home, am I supposed to accept that I am just a stranger in a very strange land without the hope of ever being accepted as merely human? Well, in this world today, it appears that my simple desire to merely be accepted as human is something rejected by a lot of Americans—white people, but also by black people who require me to only be black!

Can you relate to Allene? Or is your outlook much different? Drop us a note and we’ll share your experience.