by Prosy Dela Cruz | Oct 27, 2012 | Anti-Racism, People
Racists hide their venomous hatred by calling us all sorts of names. I was called by a musician who self-identifies as a Christian as a corrupt believer of God.
I believe in gay marriage. He swoons over his love for his wife in front of an audience of hundreds, yet he feels he is entitled to constrict the love between two men or two women. Why is his love superior than the true love I see amongst my gay relatives and friends, when I find them in fact more loving and more supportive to each other than even some of my long standing straight – married friends, including moi. We can learn love from gay folks, us straight folks!
I am not demeaned by his statements, but he certainly demeaned himself and his God-identified persona by judging me for the bible he quotes ” Judge not for thou shalt be judged” and his venomous statements do not reflect the love God has for all of us.
I share facts as I come across them, never about calling and judging folks as “corrupt”. I said Romney has lied, because he has been caught by many journalists as spinning tales that never occurred and I personally watched him lie and his facial demeanor changed as he lied. Souls do not condone lies, they reveal truth that extends to one’s body language. So if you say you are about Love for God, love even those who disagree with you for God loves us all!
by Prosy Dela Cruz | Nov 30, 1992 | Anti-Racism
Preparing for my son’s birthday party was an emotional experience. My inner voices were hyperactive.
It started with one mother apologizing because out-of-town guests would keep her son from attending. My inner voice asked: “Is it because my son is a Filipino and they are Caucasian?”
My mind said, “Hush. Listen.”
She said, “You had a Brio card (for the popular wooden toy trains from Sweden) saying that he is a member of good standing (of the Brio Club). Was that because you want us to buy him Brio gifts?” Her directness clashed with my Asian culture. Pop . . . it came out quickly and I said, “No, that was to convey the train theme on the flyer. We wanted his company, not really the gift.” In the Filipino culture, friends are like extended family.
I wanted to say to her that we’d be happy to have him at the party while she dealt with her guests. I hesitated. I remembered the last time I offered to take the kids to the nearby Baskin-Robbins. She felt funny releasing her kid to me. Inner voice says, “Is it because I am Filipino?”
My minds says, “Hush, she may just be a protective mother.”
The doorbell rang. The man identified himself as a neighbor. He offered his driver’s license as proof. Inner voice says, “That’s odd, why the I.D.?”
“Hush . . . Listen . . .”
He said, “I was almost robbed at gunpoint last night. A car bumped me. I heard your neighbor had been robbed, too. I thought we could get together to compare notes.” I motion him to go two houses down. He returns a few minutes later and asks me to accompany him. It’s after sundown and I smell alcohol on his breath. I say, “I don’t feel like it, man.” He’s hurt. Earlier he had felt safe with me because I had opened the door to listen to his story. Now, I just shut it. He said, “You don’t understand. I am black. I don’t want them to call the police on me.” I wanted to help him, yet as a woman living in the inner city, I feel unsafe. I was about to offer to call the neighbor, but he left hurriedly. If he only knew that it was not his color . . . It was about the alcohol on his breath.
My 9-year-old watched the play “America in the Heart” with us at UCLA about Carlos Bulosan, one of the Filipino pioneers whom we endearingly refer to as “the manongs.” In the 1930s, they were mistreated because of their color, blamed for high unemployment during the Great Depression, called monkeys and n——, beaten on the streets for dating white women and prevented from buying homes. My daughter asked, “Was that true, Mom?” Before I could answer, my husband said, “Yes, that was how Filipinos got treated in the 1930s.” My daughter said, “I am Filipino, but I am not treated that way.” His father replied, “That’s true . . . and that was because these manongs fought those injustices so that you could be treated equally now.”
“Well,” my daughter answered, “I just treat everyone well. I try not to play with just one group all the time. Otherwise, I hurt the feelings of others. I play with them all just because they are all my friends.”
I smiled. I felt proud of her and her multicultural philosophy. To test her, I asked who would she invite to her birthday party. She names a friend from each group: Caucasian. African-American, Korean, Vietnamese, Chinese, Latino. “And, Mom, I am still looking for a Filipino.”
Published on latimes.com
