I have never considered myself a prejudiced person.As a child, I cringed at my father's hatred of blacks, a hate justified because they were "lazy, stupid, and ugly." In my childhood household, entire human beings were dismissed because of the shade of their skin, the size of their hips or the width of their nostrils. I told him he was wrong, and I was labeled "naive," a child who "rooted for the underdog."
"I've worked with 'em for fifteen years," he'd say. "I know how they are. You just wait until one of 'em steals your purse." I can still remember the day he literally chased one of my black classmates from my front porch. I was disgusted, humiliated and ashamed.
I saw glimpses of my father in Crash. Bigotry, superficiality, berating off-handedness.
But I also saw glimpses of myself.
If you hear that Crash is a movie about prejudice and dismiss it because, like me, you don't recognize any bigotry in your heart, hear this. Crash is a movie about selfishness, anger, hatred, passion, empathy, fear, compassion, humility, pride, and desperation. It's a story in the vein of Magnolia, an interweaving of complicated lives, people who do what they do because they think it's right, because they think they have no other choice, or because they're driven to their actions by a moment of anger, helplessness, frustration, humiliation or righteousness. These people are moving at the speed of life, and they're bound to crash into one another.
I watched the film, truly gripped and intrigued, recognizing myself in the frightened, angry housewife, in the well-intentioned son, and in the dedicated father. I also recognized myself in the hardened, hateful officer, the spiteful wife, and the vindictive mother.
I've never thought of myself as a prejudiced person.
Today, the film returned to my mind, replaying itself, as provocative films often do. Throughout the day, I studied my life for my own prejudices. And, truly, I thought there were none.
I thought this even as I sniffed my nose at the Burger King employee with the multiple piercings, tatoos and intentionally-crooked hat, dirt under his fingernails and an apathetic attitude about his employment. "He'll mess up my order," I thought, "I just know it."
He did.
I thought I was without prejudice as I mentally shook my head at the teenaged cashier whose t-shirt boasted, "I had a blast last night, who ever he was" (yes, "who" and "ever" really were printed as two separate words). "Does she realize what she's advertising?" I wondered. "Does she understand what she's saying about herself?"
I thought I was without prejudice until I caught myself tsk-tsking the middle-aged man with the greasy bowl-cut who was staring at the cashier's low-riders, her panties' pink waistband peeking just above her jeans. She wouldn't give him the time of day. I guess she wasn't advertising to him.
Can any of us escape prejudice? Can we breeze through life unscathed by its carelessness or untouched by its heartlessness? Have you never thought, "I'm better?" Have you never paled in comparison? When it comes right down to it, are we really prejudiced, or are we just tired, angry, selfish, hurried, fearful, insecure and anxious?
Crash was one film that caused me to raise these questions about myself.
I'm still trying to find the answers.
