A painful yet ultimately satisfying incident, took place during the camping season while I was in New York. We had a large number of inner city campers from Buffalo. They had come, largely through the influence of a black minister. I guess we thought we were free from racism. After all we had two black brothers on our board.
For reasons beyond my control I ended up as camp director that year. I already knew that I was in over my head. Camp directing wasn’t my cup of tea, and I had absolutely no idea how to make it all happen by mingling different ethnic cultures.
It didn’t take long for ethnic tensions to surface. Three black boys became quite disruptive to the whole enterprise. It reached the crisis point when the black minister from their congregation suggested that I expel the boys from the camp. I declined to take his suggestion based on the report of their counselor, who was white.
To make a very long story short, h thought I was guilty of overlooking bad behavior on the part of these two boys because I didn’t want to appear racist He did not think I would have let three white boys get away with the same behavior. To him right was right, and the behavior of this kind was clearly wrong. He saw my actions as hypocritical.
On my part I thought I had done the right thing. The specific incident really wasn’t that significant, but in reality it was the tipping point of a series of events that had gone on all week. The preacher went his way and I went mine. I didn’t think I had anything to apologize for.
That night I went back to the staff cabin, and my fellow staff members wanted to discuss the incident with me. I stood my ground until about 2 o’clock in the morning, and I finally decided they were right. I had made a serious error. I had deeply offended an esteemed brother. I was actually practicing reverse discrimination. I was letting black boys get away with bad behavior, and that reflected on them, their church, and their race.
I couldn’t wait for the dawn. At daybreak I sought the minister out and asked to speak with him in private. I confessed my wrong, and he confessed the fact that he was overly sensitive. We prayed and forgave each other. From then until the time I left New York, he and I were good friends. We visited in each other’s homes and enjoyed one another’s company immensely. He did me a great service in helping me to understand just how hard it was to be color blind in the emotionally charged atmosphere of 1968. This was the same year when Martin Luther King was assassinated.
Eventually I disciplined the boys, and two of the three accepted my condition without complaint. They even apologized to me. Especially, I recall a poor black boy from the inner city who poured out his heart to me in remorse. Later I visited his home congregation and he greeted me with respect, maybe even enthusiasm. I would like to say they all came around, but one young man remained unrepentant, and we never resolved our conflict.
In retrospect I wish I had dealt with the problem when it first arose. In an attempt to avoid discrimination, I actually practiced it. That incident became a lens through which I’ve been able to view ethnic diversity in a different way.
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