Why I Reject Labels (Not-So-Random Thought About Rodney King #10)

(suggested background music pairing:  Skin I'm In, Cameo, 1988)

OK, this isn’t related to the Rodney King video. But, it is related to my blog yesterday in terms of labels and stereotypes, and is something that happened to me at the same time as the Rodney King video, March 1991, twenty years ago, Spring Semester of my freshman year at IUP (Indiana University of PA). For those who don’t know, IUP is in a very rural part of Western PA, in the small rural town of Indiana, PA, but happens to be the biggest of the state schools.  Indiana was not much different than my hometown of Phoenixville PA, at least then. The two towns are four or five hours apart, and I chose there because I wanted to get away from the not-belonging stigma I felt I had at the time.

Anyway…in that spring semester, I was friends with a bunch of guys, who were mainly white, which for me never has and still doesn’t mean anything. We had reserved one of the basketball courts every Sat morning from 9 AM until Noon to go to play basketball. We usually had 10-15 guys, so we had enough for full court games with subs. One day, the gym we reserved was being used by a handful of black guys, 6 or 7, just kinda hanging around. On that day, all of the gyms were reserved and being used, otherwise we would have just used an empty one, but since that wasn’t the case, we told them we had the gym reserved so unfortunately they needed to leave. They gave us about 5 minutes of complaining and then left.

Also at that time, seemingly unrelated, the TV show In Living Color was quite popular.  One skit was “The Brothers Brothers”. Instead of trying to explain, here’s an example:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1asOoAjyC64 

SO…
...starting that next week and for the next couple of months, as I would walk around campus heading to class, or working in the cafeteria, I would hear one-liners from that skit, or “sell-out”, or “Uncle Tom”, shouted at me, sometimes from dorm windows, sometimes from car windows, from tables in the caf, etc. In a good week at first, I’d maybe hear it once or twice a week, but on a bad day, and as the semester went on, I'd hear it sometimes four or five times a day. At first I easily ignored it, thinking it wasn’t about me, but the later it went, the more obvious it got, so much so that my friends would notice.   

Towards the end of the semester, the same group of guys from that gym would walk up to me, or behind me, and say those things to my face. The worst of it all happened twice, where they surrounded me in a circle and started shouting those things.  The first time, I was able to walk out of the circle. The second time, I snapped. I just started swinging. And for those who know me, I do not fight. And probably don’t know how to. That moment, it didn’t matter; it was all pure uncontrolled rage. My roommate was with me, who was my best friend and roommate throughout college, and was there that first day in the gym. He and another close friend I still have had to pull me out of the pile. It was quite similar to Ralphie in A Christmas Story when he snapped at Scott Farkas.  

But after they pulled me off and I was able to calm down, something else in me snapped in a good way.  I had done nothing wrong to deserve that treatment, and yet, this sounds after-school-special-ish, but I was coming down to their level. The worst case would have been if I caused injury and had gotten in some kind of trouble, over what? For letting their labeling me a “sell out” affect me.  Because I, with other people, kicked them out of a gym they shouldn’t have been in? Of course, there is some history with me and that label; I had been hearing that label all the way back to 5^th grade, all through Jr High and HS. I’m not black enough for some black folks and too black for some white folks. What defines HOW BLACK someone is? And really, WHO CARES?  

Well, honestly, from that situation since, it doesn’t bother me anymore. And it took a LOT of work;  a lot of self-justification that I didn’t need to worry about that, a lot of self-validation that I was better than that, and a lot of building of self-confidence that I am just fine as I am, even if I’m never completely understood . I still get told from time to time that I’m the whitest black person they know. I sometimes still feel that knee-jerk reaction that I did growing up, to feel offended by it, and sometimes I go to the other extreme and joke in agreement. But mainly, I really don’t care. If that’s how anyone wants to think, even with the best intent, I’m indifferent. Because I’m not interested in labeling myself, or worrying about labels that anyone wants to put on me, even if they are good labels. I’m not interested in comparing myself to others, or to stereotypes, or to others expectations.  

Just to close out that story, that blow up happened with maybe two weeks to go in the semester. I don’t remember if the comments happened afterwards, but I wasn’t confronted after that moment. HOWEVER, later that summer, I had gone down to South Street in Philly with a couple of friends, and believe it or not, there that group was, making the same comment.  It really almost brought up that same reaction again, but I stifled it and kept walking, realizing that I needed to not care. As I said, to get over nine years of being called an Oreo Sell-Out Geek of a Nerd took quite a bit of time. And work. At least nine years to get through it. And I’ll never be totally over it, it just barely affects me.  

That next fall semester, they were nowhere to be found. I’m assuming they dropped out or flunked out of college. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.