[This piece is by an American Journalist in Atlanta who tries to mingle with Blacks. Jan]

Freaknik: The Dirty Little Secret
by Dave Sloan

Last year I went to Underground during freaknik, just as a show of support. I wanted to show that the whiteness of my skin wasn’t enough to keep me away from a bunch of folks celebrating life. I was accosted several times. I explained to the people who accosted me that if I was racist I wouldn’t be there.

But there was no explaining to the people who began throwing objects at me from above. They knew nothing about me other than the fact that I was white–the only white person for as far as the eye could see. I got hit in the head a couple of times, and I left. As I was pedaling from downtown on my bicycle I was threatened repeatedly. Whites are not welcome at freaknik. Whites may be accepted at the vendor’s booths on Auburn Avenue, but not in the hub of the party. It’s a dirty little secret that most of Atlanta, including the media, dances all around and won’t acknowledge; but denial won’t make it go away. Contemporary black culture validates and encourages hatred of whites. Don’t get me wrong–I’m not trying to say that blacks don’t have good reason to hate whites–they do, and perhaps they should. Hundreds of years of kidnapping, torture, rape, and murder are not rectified by a few years of affirmative action.

I go to a gym that is mostly black, because I like it there. I like it better than the white gym full of yuppies, or the white gym full of steroid monsters. In the black gym I find strong men, who have worked for their strength, and who support and encourage each other. And yet I encounter much more hatred than I would have in years past. Some of the brothers, when I say, “What’s up?” just don’t bother to answer. And so, sadly, I don’t bother to ask, “Is it okay if I work in here with you?”

But I find enough acceptance there to keep me coming back. The brothers in the gym have the key to a piece of life that can’t be found anywhere else. Some of those guys are willing, even eager, to share what they have with me. I’m willing to do my part by being there. Freaknik, though, is for blacks. As hard as it is to accept, being there, right in the middle of it, right in the middle of the town I call home, just isn’t a very good option for a white guy. It’s so sad and it’s hard to know who to blame. I am tempted to blame the promulgators of hatred in our culture and our media. I am tempted to blame advertising executives who use angry-looking models to sell their products to blacks. But ultimately, I believe the blame belongs with the people who will not admit the truth.

Many of my friends are artsy, bohemian types who live in the inner city out of love for diversity. Many of them leave town during freaknik, and they don’t admit why. They don’t admit it until you get them alone and coax it out them, because the truth is counter to their progressive ideology. The truth is that they are afraid. They have tried mingling, or just living their lives, in the very hub of freaknik, because that is where they live. And they have been intimidated, threatened, and worse. They are scared. They leave town, and they don’t even tell each other why. And then there are the freaknik participants themselves. Most of them would not in any way violate anyone of any race who wound up in the midst of their party. The problem is that they deny the power of the minority among them who are driven by intolerance. And the problem is the extent to which that intolerant minority is tolerated.

Freaknik: Hatred tolerated, and fears unspoken. It’s a dirty little secret. But, hopefully, like many other secrets, it will begin to lose its power if we speak of it honestly.

URL: http://www.davesloan.com/journalism/freaknik….br>