Ha! I know I missed my deadline for making a post in December but look what I bring you: A continuation of this post! YAAY!
I’ve previously described the bare bones of how I came to Paganism. In this portion I’ll discuss more about I felt when I first realized that being black was a BIG DEAL to some Pagans.
I grew up not really aware of race. Both of my parents had friends of various races and the private schools I was sent to always had a diverse mix of cultures. Growing up my best friends were Greek, Japanese, Indian, Black and German. I didn’t look at them differently, they were just like me. It wasn’t until High School that I realized oh hey, my upbringing was completely not the norm. I have tried to continue to foster this idea of treating everyone the same. I’m not one of those folks who go “Oh I don’t see race at all” because I think that’s a bit of hooey. Of course I do. I just choose to not let whatever race you are define how I treat you, how you act will do that for me.
It never occurred to me that when it came to my religion the color of my skin would be remarked upon so much. I’ve mentioned that I came of Pagan age during the Wicca 101 glut of the late 90s. Even though I had access to the internet and could research on the weekends when my mother wasn’t looking (My mom: “What are you looking at?!” Me: “Uh…trying to see if anyone remembers the Worst Witch with Tim Curry!” Pagan sites back then usually had a spinning pentacle .gif and a dark purple background. Sometimes there was a midi *shudder*) for the most part I was solitary and learned through books and my general fumbling. Race was the furthest thing on my mind, I was just trying to make sure I was doing a circle casting correctly.
Years later I decided that it was time to try to get out there in the alternative spirituality world at large. I HAD AN OPINION! What can I say? I was young. I started small. I first went on newsgroups, then worked my way up to lists and message boards. This was all well and good (Pagan message boards are where I learned to research everything) but I craved more. I wanted face to face interaction. I still believe that face to face interaction (via it Skype, or video conferencing or good old potluck) is really something folks should deal with at least for a year regularly or so. So baby Vermillion stepped off the internet and into the Pagan world of her city.
I honestly can tell you that my first tentative steps into the Pagan side of my city absolutely sucked. At first I thought the side eying looks, the muttering under the breath, the exasperation had to do because I was new. Everything I knew I knew from books and if I’m real, I was a bit of a smart ass. I figured the resistance that I was getting had everything to do with the fact I was a dreaded newbie and not you know, black. I scaled it back a bit, I listened more then talked and I tried to ask interesting questions. I made an effort to not be THAT person anymore.
I was still treated like dirt and it wasn’t until I went into a store and heard some disparaging remarks about my skin color that it clicked. It wasn’t because I didn’t know anything, it was because I was black! Hooray! Finally! I felt relieved that it wasn’t me personally, it was just a bunch of racist snotdoodles. Then I realized holy toledo, why does the color of my skin matter? Weren’t they too busy being High Priestess of Awesome to Lord and Lady Lightfluff to care about whether or not I have a natural tan? Shouldn’t there be more important things to put their energy into, say not being slapped around with a cosmic two by four? I couldn’t believe it. I still can’t believe it.
When confronted with (what I perceive as) idiocy I usually do one of two things: either I ignore it and hope that they will reach enlightenment on their own (my preferred approach) or I go balls to the wall and get really aggressive about it. In this case I did neither, I just retreated. I disliked (and dislike) the idea that because of something so damn mundane I was being treated as if my views, my opinions, hell, the way I worship was just wrong. Not because I hadn’t done my research and not because I decided to throw say 2000 years of lore in the slop bucket but because I was BLACK.
I could quote some Shakespeare here about how we all have a heart with four chambers pumping red blood to keep us all alive, so why do we treat each other different but I won’t. There are traditions out there that place an emphasis on blood relations, on your genetic makeup and you know what? That’s fine…for that particular trad. I have no qualms with that. But if I’m attempting to join a group which distinctly states that all are welcome but what you really mean is “All are welcome except blacks because really don’t you have some Santeria to get down with?” is where my stiletto heels and I are going to have a talk with you.
Needless to say the experiences soured me to the point where I really considered going back to Christianity. In the end I didn’t (obviously!ha!) because I would have felt fake. Plus I didn’t want the misguided, mucked up opinions of some people to take away what was (and continues to be) a rich fulfilling spiritual life.
Next installment: The Gods, Vermillion and some apples.
