Protecting Our Way of Life
By Johnny White
It was the late 1990s. I enjoyed a group of eight to 10 guys who played golf every Friday morning at any one of the numerous municipal golf courses in San Antonio. We could always produce one and often two foursomes, and we rotated the responsibility for selecting the golf course and making the tee times.
I had recently enjoyed playing at an eastside municipal golf course at the invitation of a group of senior adult men from our church. They played on a Wednesday morning. I decided this was a great course for the regular Friday group, so I made a tee time and reported it to the group.
There was an immediate response: "We will not get to play at that course on a Friday!" My response was equally immediate and emphatic: "Of course we will. I've already called and made a tee time. There is no problem." The comeback response from several of the guys was equally emphatic: "We will NOT play on that golf course on a Friday!" My response: "Wait and see."
They shrugged and agreed, "Wait and see."
We arrived on time. I led the way as we marched up to the counter. The African-American gentleman behind the counter took one look at us and said, "No tee times available today."
I said, "We already have a tee time." He said, "I already told you. No tee times available today!" "But we have a tee time!" I blurted out. He simply turned on his heel, walked into his office, and shut the door.
I'm sure I was red in the face and boiling angry as my buddy pulled me by the elbow toward the door. The other guys were laughing and in a hurry because they had already made an alternative tee time at another golf course across town.
"What just happened?" I demanded to know.
So my buddy explained that the golf course in question was known as the Eastside Country Club on weekends and we were the wrong color. There was an unwritten but understood rule that on weekends "we" were not welcome at "their" golf course. Weekdays were different.
"That's prejudice!" I declared for all to hear. "That's race discrimination! That can't be happening!" As I turned back toward the pro shop, I swore out loud, "The mayor is going to know about this!" My buddy called out, "The mayor already knows about it."
I confronted the African-American gentleman with my righteous indignation and he responded with words that ring in my memory to this day: "Now you know how it feels." And once again, he turned on his heel and ignored me.
Attributed to Parker Palmer is an observation that I find to be true: "We do not learn from experience. We learn from reflecting on experience." This is an experience I have reflected on a lot. Over the years I've repeated the story numerous times and reflected on its microcosm metaphor on prejudice, reverse discrimination and how it feels to be the victim.
In retrospect, I wish I had asked that fine gentleman: "So how does it feel to have the power?" I doubt he would have expressed satisfaction at having "put me in my place." I doubt that's what motivated him. My suspicion is that he felt completely justified. He was simply protecting the hard-earned privilege he and all African-Americans had worked so hard for so long to achieve.
His actions were not vindictive, but protective. We were a threat to his hard-earned privilege to play golf on a public golf course. His actions were about preserving what he and so many others had worked to attain.
Something about that sounds and feels very familiar. It sounds a lot like that well-worn phrase from my Southern upbringing: "Protecting our way of life." Having grown up in the "Old South" in the 50s and 60s – "protecting our way of life" is an uncomfortable, but familiar justification. It is the indoctrination I received as a child; the doctrine I came to believe and espouse as a teenager; and the prejudice I came to recognize and reject as a young adult.
In that segregated world of the "Old South"- the only world I had ever known -we were not taught to hate, but we learned racial prejudice by osmosis. It was in the air we breathed. We were "protecting our way of life" as the white majority who felt threatened by a racial minority. We didn't identify it or admit it, but we lived in fear. Overcoming prejudice is about overcoming fear.
What exactly is the fear that has surfaced in the months since Donald Trump came from out of right field to win the presidency? Is it fear of losing the power and priority position that goes with being in the majority position? Is it fear of immigrants, or Muslims, or homosexuals or African-Americans?
There is security in the majority, and white European Protestant Americans have enjoyed that position for a long time—from the beginning. That majority position is uncomfortably related to a sense of superiority. It's subtle, but all too familiar. It's protecting our way of life.
Herein lies the most upsetting part: The most intransigent supporters, defenders and apologists for this superiority-tainted phenomenon are Christian brothers and sisters who would never identify themselves as prejudiced or racist. They would never support white supremacy advocates. But, like it or not, admit it or not, they have nonetheless become kissing cousins because they harbor the same fear.
Much has been written about how Donald Trump won the presidency—how his political coalition cracked the solid blue wall in Michigan, Wisconsin and Ohio; how he coalesced the "Solid South" phenomenon to other parts of the country.
At its core, it's about fear—fear of losing the familiar security of being in the majority. It's a universal fear which makes it easy to justify. Years ago, the cartoon character Pogo the possum got it right when he declared, "We have met the enemy and he is us!"
Johnny White recently retired as Senior Pastor of the interdenominational church, The Church at Horseshoe Bay, Texas. Previously he was Associate Pastor at Trinity Baptist San Antonio with Buckner Fanning.
