People look at me strangely when I say racism doesn't bother me.  They seem confused when I, a black man, shrug and continue about my business while they rant about the latest person caught wearing black face, shouting the N-word, or accosting people of color for the simple crime of existing.  

Of course, I know the response they're expecting.  They want me to throw things, to yell, and maybe even cry a little.  They want me to act out in ways that will give them some catharsis; that will reinforce their goodness in being outraged on my behalf.  But I don't do that.  I don't do that because of a quote from James Baldwin, which states:

To be a Negro in this country and to be relatively conscious is to be in a rage almost all the time.

Baldwin was a fiction writer and social critic who rose to prominence during the civil rights movement of the 1960's and '70's.  His book of essays, The Fire Next Time was one of my favorite reads in college.  And the documentary I Am Not Your Negro by Raoul Peck gives terrific insight into the mind of this great American writer.

I agree with Baldwin's assessment.  To be the least bit conscious of racism in America is to fall victim to a deep, unending rage.  But we can't stop there.  We can't let the conversation end with outrage.  Rather, we have to ask ourselves two questions.  First, where does this rage come from?  Second, what are we going to do about it?

In my experience, the rage that Baldwin speaks of is birthed from a feeling of despair that manifests when the people and institutions we love don't love us back.  I've felt this despair many times in my life.  I felt it when a girl I used to date told me I couldn't come to her birthday party because her "old-fashioned" grandma was going to be there, and she didn't like black people.  I felt it again when a "woke" activist who I considered a friend started making jokes like, "Open your eyes, Alex.  It's dark and we can't see you."

For a moment, I felt that same despair when I heard about Governor Northram, and the photo in his med. school yearbook, which depicts one man in black face and another in KKK robes.  The Democratic governor has shifted his stance on the photo, first apologizing, and then insisting that he's not in the picture.  In either case, he hasn't said why he thought the image should go in his yearbook to begin with.

Of course, these aren't the only incidents of racism that I've witnessed/ experienced in life.  From the death of Heather Heyer at the hands of a white nationalist in Charlottesville, VA to the slaying of Tamir Rice in Cleveland, OH, American history is littered with reasons for despair going all the way back to our country's founding. And if one isn't careful, that despair grows into the constant, all-encompassing rage that James Baldwin talked about.

However, Buddhism is clear that anger (even when it's justified) is a poison.  It tears us apart from the inside, and does little to solve the problem at hand.  In fact,  the 5th century Buddhist scholar Buddhagosa spoke of anger by saying:

By doing this you are like a man who wants to hit another and picks up a burning ember or excrement in his hand and so first burns himself or makes himself stink.”

Visuddhimagga IX, 23.

Frankly, I don't think covering myself in metaphorical excrement is a healthy response to racism.  So, while the despair, pain, and inevitable anger that comes from acts like Governor Northram's is justified, I've learned to quickly let it go over the years.  

Instead, I use these incidents as a reminder that even though I love America for the food, clothing, and shelter that is has provided me over the years, there are certain things this country just can't give me.  If I want to be validated as a human being; one who isn't used as a Halloween costume, I'll have to look elsewhere for that. 

So, that answers the question, "Where does rage come from," but we still need a decision on what to do about it.

For me, Buddhism has been a saving grace in this regard.  It's been my practice that has nourished me, sustained me, and protected my mental health in the face of one racist incident after another.  It's done this by showing me that the true cause of racism is the illusion of a separate self; which is birthed from ignorance.  So, as long as ignorance exists in the world, racism will also exist.

Oddly, I find comfort in this teaching.  It helps me to not take things so personally.  Instead, I grimly accept the existence of racism in the same way that I accept icy roads in winter or a sore back during meditation.  I don't like it, but I have to learn to live with it.

In this way, the "racist Buddhas" that pop up every few weeks in the form of old college photos and chants of "Jews will not replace us." teach me equanimity; pushing me deeper into my practice.  They remind me that lasting peace can't be found in the conventional world, so I must seek it out in the spiritual one.

It's there, on my cushion, that I find the shining jewel of Dharma; 2,700 years of Buddhist tradition that has sustained practitioners in the face of unfathomable suffering.  It helped the Tibetans when they were driven from their country by Chinese occupiers.  It protected Dogen when the river near his monastery was filled with dismembered body parts.  And it supports me in every moment that the world causes me despair.

Racism doesn't bother me because I have something that racism can never touch.  I have the Dharma.  And it will always hold me up; even when people let me down.

*Photo Obtained by the Washington Post

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I Take Refuge in the Racist Buddha