Shifting by Ms. Charisse Jones

Author:Ms. Charisse Jones
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins

Dodging the Barbs of Racism

Though many Black women search for the answer to that question, others have no need to ask it. The bigotry is in their face—unconcealed, blatant, and egregious. Vanessa, a 34-year-old elementary school teacher in Los Angeles, vividly remembers the first time that she was smacked in the face with racism. Working her way through college, she applied for a job as a receptionist for a local union. She liked Paul, the young White man who ran the office and interviewed her for the position, and he seemed impressed with her. Two days after they spoke, he offered her the position. But Vanessa got the first glimpse of what she was stepping into the following Monday, when she showed up early for work and Paul took her to a coffee house for a little chat.

“He sits me down and says, ‘I just want to tell you this is not a very good environment,’” she remembers. “‘It’s all White males and when you came in to interview and left, [one of the officials] came up and said you can hire anybody but don’t hire any niggers.’ So he hired me just as a slap in their face and I felt, ‘How dare you use me in that way.’ But his thing was, you were the best candidate. This was in 1986. There were a lot of really very racist, sexist, bigoted—you name every kind of ism—men that were there. And I remember in my first three months there, a lot of people wouldn’t talk to me. And I was the receptionist. I would put messages in the mailbox. You know they’d come by and just kind of give me this curt look and keep walking.”

Vanessa didn’t feel she could quit. The money was excellent and she needed it to pay for textbooks and college tuition. Besides, the hours were very flexible, fitting perfectly with her school schedule. She also believed herself to be a fixer of things, and she resolved that she was going to educate these men, showing through her professionalism and kindness that Black women—and Black people—were as good, as worthy, as they were.

Still, each morning, as she got out of bed, headed for the shower, and pulled on her clothes, she had to engage in a mental dialogue to bolster herself for whatever she might face that day. She would repeat a mantra: “I’m just going to do my job. I’m just going to do my job. Paul needs me, and I’m just going to do my job.”

When some of the union officials refused to speak to her, she remembers, “It kind of made me feel cold, empty, angry, and determined to show them.” But sometimes she was also afraid, especially on the days when Paul wasn’t in and she was working in the front lobby alone. Or when she walked down the long, drafty hallway to the ladies’ room on the other side of the building. She would crack jokes with the union members to break the tension, to make them believe that they were not getting to her.

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