When We were Black

As I mentioned before, the polygamist cult members believed my dad was black because he answered, “Yes,” when mom’s cousins asked if he was. From that day on, this rumor grew legs and ran around the cult. One person said they went to my grandfather’s funeral and he was as black as black. One person said you could tell my dad was black because he had such a dark spirit. They were correct in saying he had a dark (evil) spirit. I personally would not mind being black. In fact, I often tease my kids about future spouses and encourage them to bring some color into our family. When I was teen, a boy told me that I looked like an albino with dark hair. If I didn’t have dark hair, I would blend right into the walls. Yes, I am pasty. I make Casper look like he has a tan.

When my older sisters and I were beginning to be viewed as potential mates by the young men in the cult, the rumor resurfaced in an attempt to keep them from being interested in us. Mom was devastated. She knew that if the people of the cult believed we had black blood then our chances for a future there were next to none. The people of this cult are incredibly prejudiced against all races but white.

During the time this rumor surfaced, Alex Haley’s story, Roots, was a television mini-series sensation. We loved Roots and watched every single episode. Kunta Kinte, played by LeVar Burton, was our hero. Being teens, we thought this rumor was wonderfully funny. We went along with it, just as dad had, and owned the accusations with all the tenacity that we – being as white as snow – could muster. Mom was appalled by our behavior, but we said, “What is so bad about being black? If Dad was black, there is nothing we can do to change it. We are still the same people.” Much to our mother’s dismay, we tried to mimic the African dialect we heard on Roots and continued to laugh and joke about our “black blood.”

At the next cult dance, my boyfriend ignored me – completely. After several frustrating attempts to get him to talk to me, I went outside to cool off. I found out that his parents (his father was the cult’s leader – my great uncle) had told him that he could not see me anymore. I was crushed – not so much with the loss of the boyfriend, but by the fact that he didn’t have the courage to tell me this himself. He sent his half brother – my cousin and best friend (one person) - to deliver the news. I felt disgusted with him for being such a lamb. He wasn’t particularly strong minded – which bothered me. He was intelligent, but he was a follower – all the way. I was fourteen years old at the time.

Some of my sisters married into the cult, but their men were not considered inner circle men. Years later, the rumor of us having black blood kept my little nieces safe from the abusive inner circle. Every single one of my sisters, nieces, and nephews with the supposed “black blood” made it out of the cult. Mom was right – there was no future for us in the cult. I was thankful for the small minds that started the rumor. Sometimes bigotry and prejudice can work in a person’s favor.

Edited to add:
I in no way wish to make light of prejudice or bigotry.  In my situation bigotry kept my family safe. I understand that bigotry is almost always a hateful and hurtful thing. As a teen (and as an adult) I often wished for skin of a darker hue. I am thankful that I was at least blessed with dark hair. I  do not wish to demean  the fight for rights that people who are not white have endured throughout the history of our world. In my perfect world, it wouldn't matter what color a person is, what religion a person belongs to, or what mental illness a person suffers from - we would all be treated with respect.