By Kenneth L. Hardin

Last weekend, I sat down for a conversation with a married interracial couple. It left me saddened and heartbroken, but a bit inspired after we wrapped it up an hour later. The conversation compelled me to think back to when, as a teenybopper, I played in the snow and experienced that first relationship heartache every adolescent has. The conversation involved time travel, moving from the stings of obstruction and interference from bigoted adults in my youth to a more open minded, love-filled acceptance two decades later with my son. The latter gave me hope that future generations will forgo the current small minded, two faced, insincere attitudes on both sides towards people finding love outside of their own cultures.

The husband was an African in America born in the South and familiar with the ways of hate that have quietly invaded and permeated Southern genteel society. The unpigmented wife with her long, thick, dark-colored hair cascading down around her shoulders, was born into a military family who traveled much and saw the world.  She landed in these parts by way of New York and California, so she possessed a fierce yet slightly naïve awareness of the pain her husband and I quietly shared.

As we discussed sundown towns, segregated communities in life and death, fear for our sons when stopped by the police, and an overall feeling of never being able to fully exhale, she chimed in with a couple of pains of her own being married to a brotherman. In one example, she tenderly patted her chest over her heart and displayed a strained, remorseful expression as she shared that whenever there’s an instance of skinfolk being killed by a corrupt cop, she’s afraid for her husband if he’s not within her sight or grasp. Her second example was even harder to ingest.  She said that on her job, she was engaged in a discussion with several men who looked like her. She was aghast at some of the racist verbiage they were uttering privately in this group absent of any color. I wasn’t surprised because there are people here in this little slice of marginal heaven, who smile for the camera at the right events, but cast aspersions on the brotherman in private.

As I typically do today, I intellectualize hate, but I wasn’t always that man. I grew up in a home where acceptance was the norm by most members of my family. There were some whose similar blood flowed through my veins, that were like most of the adults around me at the time. They said one thing publicly, but privately loathed the thought of such a union. I recall so many grownups around me, whose role it was to lovingly educate and guide me into adulthood, but instead harbored antiquated personal views. They despised those who engaged in the practice and took steps to thwart the love’s growth. What they didn’t realize is they hindered their children’s overall growth and played a significant role in the divisiveness that is so pervasive in our society today.

It made me recall lyrics from a 1990 Public Enemy song that musically focuses on the fears this country has with so-called race mixing: “…There should not be any hatred for a brother or a sister whose opposite race they’ve mated. Cause no man is God and God put us all here (yeah). But this system has no wisdom, the devil split us in pairs and taught us white is good, Black is bad and Black and white is still too bad..” These are the same people who attend the MLK Day events pontificating about how much they believe in unity and brotherhood. I tell these fake souls that instead of coming to these events or going to African churches talking about how much they abhor racism, go to the country club, the pickleball courts and white churches and tell the people there.

Back in the mid 2000s, when my middle son was a high school senior, he escorted a snow bunny on the homecoming court. This was at the same school I attended decades earlier where this wasn’t accepted. I was traveling for work and couldn’t attend. I sat nervously 971 miles away in a Kansas hotel afraid that he would face the same attitudes I did. As I watched the video, tears formed in my eyes as the student body cheered loudly when they walked onstage. Several months later, at his graduation, I met the young lady’s parents. Again, I felt initial anxiety. I exhaled as I saw them hug my son and praise his character and all of his accomplishments. If society would focus less on irrelevant physical characteristics like skin hue and allow people to love who they want, we could ameliorate the current divisiveness between the brotherman and the otherman.

Kenneth L. (Kenny) Hardin is a member of the National Association of Black Journalists.