007 – 013 Foreword (old book 3-14)

Vincents English text Norsk Dansk

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.” Charles Dickens: A tale of two cities These famous words describe exceptionally well my feelings when in 1970 I tried to bridge two societies—my own Danish with my new American—as well as my unwelcome new identity as “white,” with a separate parallel in “black” society. Hope and light seemed to envelope everyone a few years after the triumph of the Civil Rights Movement, which brought with it the promise of a better and racially integrated future soon to arrive. Just as darkness and despair seemed to envelope everyone trying to stop the murder of millions of Vietnamese. The magnitude of the slaughter made me and millions of young people all over the world quite anti-American, and I had no interest in staying in the US when I hitchhiked from Canada on my way to Latin America. During my first days in the country, I was held up at gunpoint by angry blacks, yet I was also invited to live as the only white in Angela Davis’ Che Lumumba Club and taken into groups like the Black Panthers as well as being embraced by white antiwar groups. In this blinding twilight between darkness and light, I soon lost my original orientation as I traveled through this (North) American society struggling to find its own new identity. I fell completely in love with the youth in their search for truth—and thus with America. I had no idea at the time that this love would continue, as would my work with youth, for the rest of my life. I wrote endless diaries and letters to my parents about the people who invited me into their lives, and to my good fortune they sent me a cheap half-frame camera “so you can send some pictures home about your experiences.” I had never done photography before, but I found it a much faster way to remember people and events (than with words) and after almost six years returned home with 15,000 pictures. For a long time, I used the camera as my photographic diary, but after I overcame my initial fear of ghetto neighborhoods, which got me mugged again and again, it was as if I was taken by the hand and dragged into a world I hadn’t known existed. In my Danish school years, we had heard about Martin Luther King and the Civil Rights Movement, but it hadn’t changed our prevalent worldwide view of America as being basically a white country. Apparently, most Americans also preferred to see it that way, and since most of the drivers who picked me up were white, I quickly found myself in the role of messenger between two totally separate and unequal societies. In my own naïvete, I didn’t see this as (the result of) racism but was incredulous that whites could allow blacks to live in such horrible conditions—often right next door—without doing anything about it. Worse, they didn’t even “see” it, or they justified it because they didn’t see blacks as fellow human beings. The same whites would do anything for me as a foreigner, and since I in return saw them as decent loving people, I didn’t consider them real racists and hardly ever used the word racism—a word I associated with the Civil Rights Movement ten years earlier and applied to the Ku Klux Klan. No, I felt that all these loving whites were just badly informed and could easily be changed, such as when I took them with me to visit my black friends on the other side of the tracks. In this way my educational project started. I took more and more photos and put them in little books with fitting Bible and Shakespeare quotes to show to my drivers and hosts on the highway. I also did it for selfish reasons since they were often so moved they gave me a couple of dollars or a lunch bag “to support your project, for these pictures need to be seen by all Americans.” The more I could move them, the more time I would save by not having to hitchhike twice weekly to the big cities and lie in blood banks for four hours at a time to sell my plasma for $5 or $6—enough for two rolls of film. This was my only income since arriving in America with only $40, a sum that lasted for five years due to the incredible hospitality of Americans. After about three years, I started feeling that I was working on some project to educate white Americans—one by one. The turning point came on March 8, 1974, when a woman took me to see a slideshow about coal miners at Santa Fe College, FL. There were pictures, narration, and music, and although it was very primitive, it was extremely powerful, working by quickly changing images so that it almost seemed cinematic. And it used two screens, which I immediately could see would be an effective way to convey my own shock of experiencing the gap between white and black America. Often, teachers had picked me up and invited me to speak to their classes in colleges. How much more effective would my message be if I could convert my small picture books into slideshows presented for whole classes at a time? I must confess that at that time I hadn’t in my wildest fantasy imagined that I would only a few years later end up presenting them for up to 2000 students at a time in American universities. Nonetheless, from now on I was aware that I was working on a slideshow. This was only a year before I had to flee America—a year during which I was stuck in a marriage in San Francisco. I spent a lot of that time unproductively, writing numerous applications to get funds to buy better camera equipment— “If only I could get a real Nikon!”—but in vain. Not even when blacks were on the foundation boards. One difficulty I had in those years, when everybody felt that “the race problem had been solved” and things were moving forward, was that many successful blacks felt uncomfortable with my images—both out of shame that their own brothers still lived in these conditions and even more from the fear that the images would negatively stereotype blacks in the white mind. My own feeling was that those stereotypes were already so deep that whites needed to be informed about their own responsibility for disproportionally forcing blacks into poverty and crime. Even though I didn’t use the word “racism” as often as “the system of our daily oppressive thinking” (my term for “systemic racism,” before the phrase was coined, which made us responsible, not “the system”), I felt that my pictures clearly showed the human devastation racism had created all around us. The many moral questions about what happens to your own white mind when for several years you move around primarily in the devastation of the black underclass, without much interaction with better-off blacks, will also be discussed in this book. One result was that in the last year I felt I couldn’t finish my project without going to countries like Haiti, Jamaica, Cuba, and Brazil, with their different forms of slavery, if I genuinely and objectively wanted to see, understand, and describe the difference between “true blackness” and “the result of oppression.” For in that sense, all of us living in a society with systemic racism are prisoners in Plato’s cave. That, however, would have been an endless academic project well out of reach for a high school dropout like me. So I don’t claim with this book to be more than a “street-wise” caveman in my attempt to give voice to those equally lost “street-wise” people in the ghetto who would always say, “Hey, man, this is nothing but slavery.” Can there, I ask in a book experienced from a frog’s-eye view, be any truth in such statements in a so-called “free society”? As I mentioned, that same society wouldn’t give me foundation support for my project. In the end I had to return to Denmark but not until after almost being assassinated and living in constant fear that the FBI was about to confiscate my photos. I was very disillusioned when I moved back into my childhood home, a village rectory. My father, a pastor, lent me money for three slide projectors and in less than two months I made a slideshow to present in his local church. In that rural area, I had no access to a library to do research, and Google hadn’t yet been invented. It was as though five years of pent-up social anger just poured out of me. I thought I could always do the research when I went back to America with “the show” (a slideshow accompanied by taped music), but rumors about it spread so fast that it was soon being presented all over Europe by black American volunteers, often with thousands lining up to see it (although I still had no time to fact check it, the blacks verified it all). In less than a year, it was made into a bestselling book, and we set up a foundation to give all profits from the show and book to the struggle against apartheid in South Africa. However, only a month after publication, I found out from the KGB that the Soviet Union intended to use it worldwide against President Carter’s human rights policies, pointing at its pictures to (wrongly) claim that human rights were just as bad in America as in communist Russia. Since I was a great fan of Carter—the first American president not to overthrow democratically elected governments all over the Third World—I decided to sue to stop sales of my book all over the world. After which I moved back to America with my slideshow, where I felt it belonged. Here it also became an instant success, and for the next 30 years, I was on stage in a new college almost every night on my tours—often standing room only. Also, here I experienced darkness and light at the same time. I was locked up in dark auditoriums five hours a night, changing slide trays every five minutes. After 7000 shows, I ended up having spent 35,000 hours of my life in darkness. What a waste of life if it had not been for the light—or mutual enlightenment—I experienced the next day in my racism workshops. These were attended by “shell-shocked” students now committed to eradicating their own racism and by blacks who understood how internalizing racism had clipped their wings. Here I learned more about the cost of racism on whites than I ever did during my five years of vagabonding through its black destruction. Yet I and Tony Harris, my black assistant, with his deep psychological insight and his ability to draw on his own ghetto experiences, hardly ever talked about racism. For it took hours and often whole days to help the students become aware of and heal the injuries they’d individually suffered in their upbringing—even the most successful and on the surface “privileged” Ivy League students. Usually there was a lot of discharging or crying in the room as they all gradually realized how their pain was shared and how they were in this boat together — black and white. Afterwards, they often started weekly “American Pictures unlearning racism” dialogue/healing groups on campus after Tony and I left—and within a year brought the show back to campus to help shock more students into similar unlearning groups. We received many letters from them about how it had gradually “cleared their minds” and “raised their intelligence.” As a result, they were more “present” in class and got higher grades in school. It was living testimony to how racism and the other oppressions hurt our thinking, intelligence, and well-being. Fighting racism, we insisted, was in our own self-interest. Yet we weren’t so naïve as to think we could end their racism. We only tried to make them committed anti-racist racists, anti-sexist sexists, etc. Aware of how they’d always be victims of society’s systemic racism but committed to working on its effect on themselves in solidarity with those whom racism was crushing—especially when they got into positions of power enabling them to help change systemic racism. I often got invitations to join them 15-20 years later, when their groups met again to evaluate how the show had changed their lives now that they had positions in government and big business. Much of what they taught me I am trying to convey in this difficult book. Yes, “difficult” for most. For anybody who knows a little about campus life in America knows how short the attention span of students is. When speakers come to campus, students often start walking out after half an hour if they don’t think they can use the lecture to get higher grades. If they had known how long my lectures were, they would never have shown up for them. Let alone if they’d known they were about racism! So we always had to trick them into coming, and once they were there—as they told us—they struggled with their guilt about papers they absolutely had to write the same night. Yet they usually stayed for the full five hours. And even skipped all the classes the next morning to go to our racism workshops instead. How did I achieve that and have packed houses—even in Harvard, where, on my first visit, they told me that that same week they had three world-famous statesmen speaking (who’d drawn only 20 or so students)? Barrack and Michelle Obama’s “Harvard Black Law Student Ass” brought me back 18 times over the years—to “standing room only” crowds. It was the same story in the other Ivy League schools. As I understood it, from reading their many papers and letters about the experience, it was because I (unintentionally) had oppressed them. They went through systematic oppression—or rather “reverse oppression.” Let me explain. Almost everywhere, I saw the students in the same way they saw themselves: as basically good, well-intentioned, caring people who really wanted to do good for blacks, the poor, and society. They didn’t see themselves as racist and often rationalized it away: “I’m a good Christian, so I can’t be racist,” etc. They felt they were doing right, but over the hours of the show, I gradually broke down their defenses and showed them step by step how they were doing wrong, how everything they did was oppressing blacks. During intermission (after the first two hours), many would still have their defenses intact and in their hearts blame others (e.g., people in the South) for being the real racists. Or a few, such as a hospital administrator in Philadelphia would attack me, the messenger. But after five hours, all their escape routes had been blocked, all their defenses broken down, and I saw them night after night walk out crying, heads bowed in guilt. Some, like the hospital administrator, asked, “How can I put money into your project so it can be spread all over America?” When teachers asked the white students to put words to their emotions, I was astonished to find that they chose almost verbatim the same ones that blacks listed when asked to put words to what they suffer from daily because of our racist thinking, which constantly tells them they’re doing wrong and blames them for everything, leaving them with almost no escape, no light at the end of the tunnel. When you yourself feel you are doing right, but from birth are endlessly bombarded with messages that you’re wrong, you certainly don’t end up with very constructive feelings. This is what effective oppression is all about, and the white students suddenly experienced it in themselves, which was so shocking that the next day they skipped classes to try to heal their racism—a change I believe couldn’t have been achieved in a two-hour academic lecture (without pictures and music) even by the best of my main competitors on the lecture circuit, such as Angela Davis or Coretta and Yolanda King. For this reason, some universities, such as conservative Dartmouth, even forced all their freshman students to go through my “reverse oppression” program before starting classes. I should point out that I had a long-standing conflict with Angela Davis after an interview with her about black self-hate in my first show. Even after a personal presentation in her own home, she never agreed with me and refused to finance the show every time her students in UCSC brought me back. Luckily, I had the support and endorsement from most other leading black spokespeople, such as James Baldwin. People in France and Amherst were always trying to bring us together. Finally, he drove two hours in a terrible snowstorm to see the show, after which we talked the whole night. He felt it was the closest thing he’d ever experienced to describing his own view of white racism, but he was already sick and, sadly, died only a couple of months later from stomach cancer. In the end, Yolanda King was my strongest competitor during Black History Month, but somehow we joined forces and put together a show for president Clinton at the Kennedy Performing Arts Center in tribute to Martin Luther King. I also presented it at the King Center for Nonviolent Social Change in Atlanta. Afterward, the family wanted to show it there permanently, “for it shows better than anything what Martin fought against, which today’s black youth doesn’t know much about.” And so I continued for 30 years until we got the first black president elected, after which I retired in the belief that things were moving in the right direction. Well, again I was a bit naïve, and the rest is history …. Racism exploded in Europe and in my own country, Denmark, where I now felt it was my duty to be the same kind of messenger in a divided society. I watched in horror at how Trump was inspired by the way racist European politicians won elections by using divisive, hate-filled rhetoric. After many years of American politicians speaking politically correctly and only using coded racism, this now happened in America too. When as a result we started seeing overt hate and racism exploding in America—the Klan groups I’d worked with now came out in the open, and the racism of the police allowed them to openly justify the killing of blacks—I felt it was difficult for me to sit as a passive witness. And when I saw the rise of the biggest movement against racism I had experienced in all my years in America, I wanted somehow to support it. Especially when I saw how many of the idealistic young participants did not understand how the anger driving the Black Lives Matter movement had much deeper roots than today’s visually recorded murders of black men. How could I help visualize for them all the oppression which led up to it effectively? Lots of good books are now published about it – not least by blacks – but hardly any with pictures showing it all as effectively as todays videos. And then came the idea to try to make a book like my old effective slideshow bombarding the reader with images showing the roots of all the oppression I myself personally have witnessed. Let me see if I can oppress my readers raising all the same defenses and emotions in you – on paper – as I could with my audiences in dark rooms. I will even include musical links to the songs along the way. Perhaps it will take longer than 5 hours of internal struggle to read it as a book, but in the end you can also here check and see if your reactions to my reverse oppression is the same as it was for 30 years for “the best and the brightest” of the students. Let’s go to the start of my “show”: This is a pictorial lesson on oppression and the damage it does to us. Most important is the adult oppression of children. Everywhere in the world children are hurt very early by the irrational behavior of adults. This causes severe patterns of distress resulting in hurtful behavior. Later in life we re-enact these distress patterns on our own children or on each other e.g. in sexist, racist, nationalist, totalitarian, anti-Semitic, anti-Muslim, homophobic, age, handicap, or class oppression. In most of us these patterns have become so chronic that we become defensive when challenged and end up blaming the victims. We dare not face the fact that in such systems we are both victims and oppressors. There are few places in the world where the main ingredients of oppression are as blatant as in the relationship between blacks and whites in the USA. From this tragedy I feel we can all learn something about ourselves. While going through this book, it is important to understand the damage we go through in a segregated society. Black or white, we are born naturally open and curious with no inborn racial biases. Then things go wrong. We hear things like “Niggers are dirty, stupid and lazy. They belong on the bottom.” For the loving and affectionate child this is irrational, confusing and hurtful. While we are hurting our mind no longer thinks rationally and a rigid scar is created on our thinking. After years of such hurtful messages, we end up accepting and internalizing these limited definitions of ourselves and our society. As seen through the eyes of a foreigner I hope it will be easier to see how such racial attitudes cripple our character, whatever our color. Though there is plenty of racism in Europe, I was fortunate to have my childhood in Denmark during years when I was not severely hurt by social insecurity and racist conditioning. I was also fortunate that the first people I stayed with in America were not white. Most European visitors stay first with white Americans, who warn them, “Don’t walk three blocks this way or two blocks that way,” and immediately frighten them into accepting white fear and rigid segregation. My experience was just the opposite. The first American home to take me in was a black home on the south side of Chicago. With all their love, warmth, and openness, I immediately felt at home and saw whites only as cold distant faces on TV or in hostile suburbia. Later, traveling into the white world, I was no longer as vulnerable to its racist patterns of guilt and fear. I hitch hiked 118,000 miles and stayed in over 400 homes in 48 states. I had arrived with only $40. Twice a week I sold my blood plasma to earn the money I needed for film. Traveling in such a deeply divided society inevitably was a violent experience: 4 times I was attacked by robbers with pistols, 2 times I managed to avoid cuts from men with knives, 2 times frightened police drew guns on me, 1 time I was surrounded by 10-15 blacks in a dark alley and almost killed. 1 time I was ambushed by the Ku Klux Klan, several times I had bullets flying around me in shootouts, 2 times I was arrested by the FBI, and 4 times by the Secret Service. I lived with 3 murderers and countless criminals..... ...but I have never met a bad American! That I survived I owe to my stubborn belief in these words by Jose Marti: You must have faith in the best in people and distrust the worst. If not, the worst will prevail. I hope you will share my love for this country while you read the book.... ....and afterward will work together black and white to undo the hurt we do to each other and thus heal the division and violence we inflict on our society. To begin our painful journey toward that goal, let us take a boat trip together....

"Det var de bedste tider, det var de værste tider, det var visdommens tidsalder, det var tåbelighedens tidsalder, det var troens epoke, det var vantroens epoke, det var lysets tid, det var mørkets tid, det var håbets forår, det var fortvivlelsens vinter." Charles Dickens: En fortælling om to byer Disse berømte ord beskriver fint mine følelser, da jeg i 1970 forsøgte at bygge bro mellem to samfund - mit eget danske og mit nye amerikanske - samt min uønskede nye identitet som "hvid" med en separat parallel i det "sorte" samfund. Håb og lys syntes at omslutte alle et par år efter borgerrettighedsbevægelsens triumf, som bragte løftet om at en bedre og racemæssigt integreret fremtid snart ville komme. Ligesom mørke og fortvivlelse syntes at omslutte alle, der forsøgte at stoppe mordet på millioner af vietnamesere. Omfanget af dette blodbad gjorde mig og millioner af unge mennesker over hele verden ret antiamerikanske, og jeg havde ingen interesse i at blive i USA, da jeg blaffede fra Canada på vej til Latinamerika. Allerede en af de første dage i landet blev jeg overfaldet med pistol af vrede sorte, men jeg blev også inviteret til at bo som den eneste hvide i Angela Davis' Che Lumumba Club, og jeg blev ført ind i grupper som Black Panthers og hvide antikrigsgrupper. I dette blændende tusmørke mellem mørke og lys mistede jeg snart min oprindelige orientering, mens jeg rejste gennem dette (nord)amerikanske samfund, der kæmpede for at finde sin egen nye identitet. Jeg blev fuldstændig forelsket i de unge i deres søgen efter sandhed - og dermed i Amerika. Jeg anede ikke dengang, at denne kærlighed ville fortsætte, ligesom mit arbejde med de unge, resten af mit liv. Jeg skrev endeløse dagbøger og breve til mine forældre om de mennesker, der inviterede mig ind i deres liv, og til min store lykke sendte de mig et billigt halvformatkamera "så du kan sende nogle billeder hjem om dine oplevelser". Jeg havde aldrig fotograferet før, men jeg fandt, at det var en meget hurtigere måde at huske mennesker og begivenheder på (end med ord), og efter næsten seks år vendte jeg hjem med 15.000 billeder. I lang tid brugte jeg kameraet som min fotografiske dagbog, men efter at jeg havde overvundet min indledende frygt for ghettokvarterer, som fik mig overfaldet igen og igen, var det som om jeg blev taget ved hånden og trukket ind i en verden, jeg ikke vidste eksisterede. I min danske skoletid havde vi hørt om Martin Luther King og borgerrettighedsbevægelsen, men det havde ikke ændret vores fremherskende verdensomspændende opfattelse af Amerika som værende grundlæggende et hvidt land. Tilsyneladende foretrak de fleste amerikanere også at se det sådan, og da de fleste af de chauffører, der samlede mig op, var hvide, befandt jeg mig hurtigt i rollen som budbringer mellem to helt adskilte og ulige samfund. I min egen naivitet så jeg ikke dette som (resultatet af) racisme, men var vantro over, at de hvide kunne tillade, at sorte levede under så forfærdelige forhold - ofte lige ved siden af - uden at gøre noget ved det. Hvad værre er, de "så" det ikke engang, eller de retfærdiggjorde det, fordi de ikke så de sorte som medmennesker. De samme hvide ville gøre alt for mig som udlænding, og da jeg til gengæld så dem som anstændige, kærlige mennesker, betragtede jeg dem ikke som rigtige racister og brugte næsten aldrig ordet racisme - et ord, som jeg forbandt med borgerrettighedskampen ti år tidligere og på Ku Klux Klan. Nej, jeg mente, at alle disse kærlige hvide bare var dårligt informerede og let kunne ændres, f.eks. når jeg tog dem med mig på besøg hos mine sorte venner ”across the tracks”. På denne måde startede mit uddannelsesprojekt. Jeg tog flere og flere fotos og satte dem i små bøger med passende bibel- og Shakespeare-citater, som jeg viste mine chauffører og værter på landevejen. Jeg gjorde det også af egoistiske grunde, da de ofte blev så rørte, at de gav mig et par dollars eller en madpakke "for at støtte dit projekt, for disse billeder skal ses af alle amerikanere". Jo mere jeg kunne bevæge dem, jo mere tid ville jeg spare ved ikke at skulle blaffe to gange om ugen til storbyerne og ligge i blodbanker i fire timer ad gangen for at sælge mit plasma for 5 eller 6 dollars - nok til to filmruller. Dette var min eneste indtægt, siden jeg ankom til Amerika med kun 40 dollars (200 kr), et beløb, der slog til i fem år takket være amerikanernes utrolige gæstfrihed. Efter ca. tre år begyndte jeg at føle, at jeg arbejdede på et eller andet projekt for at uddanne hvide amerikanere - en ad gangen. Vendepunktet kom den 8. marts 1974, da en kvinde tog mig med til et diasshow om kulminearbejdere på Santa Fe College, FL. Der var billeder, fortælling og musik, og selv om det var meget primitivt, var det ekstremt kraftfuldt, idet det fungerede ved hurtigt at skifte billeder, så det næsten virkede filmisk. Og det brugte to skærme, hvilket jeg straks kunne se ville være en effektiv måde at formidle mit eget chok over at opleve kløften mellem det hvide og det sorte Amerika på. Ofte samlede lærere mig op og inviterede mig til at tale for deres klasser på universiteterne. Hvor meget mere effektivt ville mit budskab ikke være, hvis jeg kunne omdanne mine små billedbøger til diasshows, der kunne præsenteres for hele klasser ad gangen? Jeg må indrømme, at jeg dengang ikke i min vildeste fantasi havde forestillet mig, at jeg blot få år senere ville ende med at præsentere dem for op til 2000 studerende ad gangen i amerikanske universiteter. Ikke desto mindre var jeg fra nu af klar over, at jeg arbejdede på et diasshow. Det var kun et år før jeg måtte flygte fra Amerika - et år, hvor jeg sad fast i et ægteskab i San Francisco. Jeg brugte meget af den tid uproduktivt, idet jeg skrev talrige ansøgninger for at få penge til at købe bedre kameraudstyr - "Hvis bare jeg kunne få et rigtigt Nikon!" - men forgæves, selv når der sad sorte i fondene. Et af de problemer, jeg havde i de år, hvor alle følte, at "raceproblemet var blevet løst", og at det nu gik fremad, var, at mange succesfulde sorte følte ubehag ved mine billeder - både af skam over, at deres egne brødre stadig levede under disse forhold, og endnu mere af frygt for, at billederne ville stereotypisere sorte negativt i den hvide bevidsthed. Min egen fornemmelse var, at disse stereotyper allerede var så dybe, at de hvide derfor havde brug for at blive oplyst om deres eget ansvar for at tvinge sorte uforholdsmæssigt meget ud i fattigdom og kriminalitet. Selv om jeg ikke brugte ordet "racisme" så ofte som "systemet af vores daglige undertrykkende tænkning" (min betegnelse for "systemisk racisme", før udtrykket blev opfundet, hvilket gjorde os ansvarlige, ikke "systemet"), følte jeg, at mine billeder tydeligt viste den menneskelige ødelæggelse, som racismen havde skabt rundt omkring os. De mange moralske spørgsmål om, hvad der sker med ens eget hvide sind, når man i flere år primært bevæger sig rundt i den sorte underklasses ødelæggelser uden megen interaktion med bedre stillede sorte, vil også blive diskuteret i denne bog. Et resultat var, at jeg i det sidste år følte, at jeg ikke kunne fuldføre mit projekt uden også at tage til lande som Haiti, Jamaica, Cuba og Brasilien med deres anderledes former for slaveri. Ellers ville jeg ikke oprigtigt og objektivt kunne se, forstå og beskrive forskellen mellem "ægte sorthed" og "resultatet af undertrykkelse". For i den forstand er vi alle, der lever i et samfund med systemisk racisme, fanger i Platons hule. Det ville imidlertid have været et endeløst akademisk projekt, der lå langt udenfor rækkevidde for en uuddannet som mig. Så jeg hævder ikke med denne bog at være mere end en "street-wise" hulemand i mit forsøg på at give stemme til de lige så fortabte "street-wise" mennesker i ghettoen, som altid sagde: "Hey, mand, det her er ikke andet end slaveri." Kan der, spørger jeg i en bog skrevet fra dette frøperspektiv, være nogen sandhed i sådanne udtalelser i et såkaldt "frit samfund"? Som jeg nævnte, ville det selvsamme samfund ikke give mig støtte fra fonde til mit projekt. Til sidst måtte jeg vende tilbage til Danmark, men først efter at jeg næsten var blevet myrdet og levede i frygt for, at FBI var ved at konfiskere mine fotos. Jeg var meget desillusioneret, da jeg vendte tilbage til mit barndomshjem i en landsbypræstegård. Min far, en præst, lånte mig penge til tre diasprojektorer, og på mindre end to måneder lavede jeg et diasshow, som jeg kunne vise i hans lokale kirke. I det landlige område havde jeg ikke adgang til et bibliotek, hvor jeg kunne lave research, og Google var endnu ikke opfundet. Det var som om fem års indestængt social vrede bare væltede ud af mig. Jeg troede, at jeg altid kunne lave research, når jeg vendte tilbage til Amerika med "showet" (et diasshow ledsaget af indspillet musik), men rygterne om det spredte sig så hurtigt, at det snart blev vist over hele Europa af sorte amerikanske frivillige, og ofte stod tusinder af mennesker i kø for at se det (selv om jeg stadig ikke havde tid til at kontrollere fakta, sagde de sorte god for det hele). I løbet af mindre end et år blev det til en bestseller, og vi oprettede en fond, der skulle give alt overskud fra showet og bogen til kampen mod apartheid i Sydafrika. Men kun en måned efter offentliggørelsen fandt jeg ud af fra KGB, at Sovjetunionen havde til hensigt at bruge bogen over hele verden imod præsident Carters menneskerettighedspolitik. De mente (fejlagtigt) at billederne viste, at menneskerettighederne havde det lige så skidt i USA som i det kommunistiske Sovjet. Da jeg var en stor fan af Carter - den første amerikanske præsident, der ikke væltede demokratisk valgte regeringer i hele den tredje verden - besluttede jeg juridisk at stoppe salget af min bog over hele verden. Derefter flyttede jeg tilbage til Amerika med mit diasshow, hvor jeg følte, at det hørte hjemme. Her blev det også en øjeblikkelig succes, og i de næste 30 år stod jeg på scenen i et nyt college næsten hver aften på mine turnéer i fyldte sale. Også her oplevede jeg mørke og lys på samme tid. Jeg var låst inde i mørke auditorier fem timer hver aften og skiftede diasbakker hvert femte minut. Efter 7000 forestillinger endte det med, at jeg havde tilbragt 35.000 timer af mit liv i mørke. Sikke et spild af liv, hvis det ikke havde været for det lys - eller den gensidige oplysning - jeg oplevede næste dag i mine racismeworkshops. Her deltog de "chokerede" studerende, besluttede på at bearbejde deres egen racisme, og her forstod de sorte, hvordan deres internalisering af racismen havde stækket deres vinger. Her lærte jeg mere om racismens omkostninger for de hvide, end jeg nogensinde gjorde i løbet af mine fem års vagabondering gennem dens sorte ødelæggelse. Alligevel talte jeg og Tony Harris, min sorte assistent, med hans dybe psykologiske indsigt og hans evne til at trække på sine egne ghetto-erfaringer, næsten aldrig om racisme. For det tog timer og ofte hele dage at hjælpe eleverne med at blive bevidste om og helbrede de skader, de hver især havde lidt under deres opvækst - selv de mest succesfulde og på overfladen "privilegerede" Ivy League-studerende. Som regel var der en masse udladninger eller gråd i rummet, når de alle efterhånden indså, hvordan deres smerte var fælles, og hvordan de sad i samme båd - sorte og hvide - sammen. Efterfølgende startede de ofte ugentlige "American Pictures unlearning racism"-dialog/helings-grupper på campus, efter at Tony og jeg rejst videre - og inden for et år bragte de normalt showet tilbage til campus for at hjælpe med at ”bombe” flere studerende ind i lignende de-programmeringsgrupper. Vi modtog mange breve fra dem om, hvordan det efterhånden havde "renset deres sind" og "hævet deres intelligens". Som følge heraf var de mere "nærværende" i klasserne og fik højere karakterer i skolen. Det var et levende vidnesbyrd om, hvordan racismen og dens beslægtede undertrykkelser skader vores tænkning, intelligens og velvære. At bekæmpe racisme, insisterede vi på, var i vores egen interesse. Alligevel var vi ikke så naive at tro, at vi kunne gøre en ende på deres racisme. Vi forsøgte blot at gøre dem til engagerede antiracistiske racister, anti-sexistiske sexister osv. Bevidste om, at de altid ville være ofre for samfundets systemiske racisme, men dedikerede til at arbejde med dens indvirkning på dem selv i solidaritet med dem, som racismen ødelægger - især når de siden kom i magtpositioner, der gjorde det muligt for dem at hjælpe med at ændre den systemiske racisme. Jeg blev ofte inviteret til at deltage i deres grupper 15-20 år senere, når de mødtes igen for at evaluere, hvordan showet havde ændret deres liv, nu hvor de havde stillinger i regering og erhvervsliv. Meget af det, de lærte mig, forsøger jeg at formidle i denne vanskelige bog. Ja, "vanskelig" for de fleste. For enhver, der kender lidt til campuslivet i USA, ved, hvor kort de studerendes opmærksomhedsspændvidde er. Når talere kommer til campus, begynder de studerende ofte at vandre ud efter en halv time, hvis de ikke mener, at de kan bruge foredraget til at få højere karakterer. Hvis de havde vidst, hvor lange mine forelæsninger var, ville de aldrig være mødt op til dem. Og slet ikke hvis de havde vidst, at det handlede om racisme! Så vi var altid nødt til at narre dem til at komme, og når de først var der - fortalte de os - kæmpede de med deres skyldfølelse over opgaver, som de absolut skulle have skrevet samme aften. Alligevel blev de som regel i de fulde fem timer. Og de pjækkede endda fra alle timerne næste morgen for at deltage i vores racismeworkshops i stedet. Hvordan var jeg i stand til at opnå dette og få fulde huse - selv på Harvard, hvor de ved mit første besøg fortalte mig, at de samme uge havde tre verdensberømte statsmænd som talere (som kun havde tiltrukket omkring 20 studerende)? Barrack og Michelle Obamas "Harvard Black Law Students" bragte mig tilbage 18 gange i løbet af årene - til "standing room only"-publikum. Det var den samme historie på de andre Ivy League-skoler. Som jeg forstod det, efter at have læst deres mange artikler og breve om oplevelsen, var det fordi jeg (utilsigtet) havde undertrykt dem. De gennemgik systematisk undertrykkelse - eller snarere "omvendt undertrykkelse". Lad mig forklare. Næsten overalt så jeg de studerende på samme måde, som de så sig selv: som grundlæggende gode, velmenende, omsorgsfulde mennesker, der virkelig ønskede at gøre noget godt for de sorte, de fattige og samfundet. De så ikke sig selv som racister eller bortrationaliserede det ofte: "Jeg er en god kristen, så jeg kan ikke være racist" osv. De følte, at de gjorde det rigtige, men i løbet af de timer, som showet varede, nedbrød jeg gradvist deres forsvar og viste dem trin for trin, hvordan de gjorde det forkerte, hvordan alt, hvad de gjorde, undertrykte de sorte. I pausen (efter de første to timer) havde mange af dem stadig deres forsvar intakt og gav i deres hjerter andre (f.eks. folk i Syden) skylden for at være de virkelige racister. Eller nogle få, som f.eks. en hospitalsadministrator i Philadelphia, ville angribe mig, budbringeren. Men efter fem timer var alle deres flugtveje blevet blokeret, alle deres forsvar var brudt ned, og jeg så dem aften efter aften gå grædende ud med hovedet bøjet af skyldfølelse. Nogle, som hospitalsadministratoren, spurgte så: "Hvordan kan jeg putte penge ind i dit projekt, så det kan blive spredt over hele Amerika?" Da lærerne bad de hvide elever om at sætte ord på deres følelser, var jeg forbavset over at opdage, at de næsten ordret valgte de samme, som de sorte opremsede, når de blev bedt om at sætte ord på det, de lider under dagligt som følge af vores racistiske tænkning. Den, som konstant fortæller dem, at alt hvad de gør, er forkert, som giver dem skylden for alting, så de næsten ingen udvej har, intet lys ser for enden af tunnelen. Når man selv føler, at man gør det rigtige, men fra fødslen bliver endeløst bombarderet med budskaber om, at man gør det forkerte, ender man bestemt ikke med særligt konstruktive følelser. Det er det, som effektiv undertrykkelse handler om, og de hvide studerende oplevede pludselig dette i sig selv, hvilket var så stort et chok, at de næste dag pjækkede fra undervisningen for at forsøge at helbrede deres racisme - en ændring, som jeg ikke tror kunne være opnået i blot et to timers akademisk foredrag (uden billeder og musik), selv ikke af de bedste af mine hovedkonkurrenter som foredragsholder, såsom Angela Davis eller Coretta og Yolanda King. Af denne grund tvang en del universiteter, såsom det konservative Dartmouth, faktisk alle deres førsteårsstuderende til at gå igennem mit program med "omvendt undertrykkelse", før de begyndte undervisningen. Jeg bør påpege, at jeg havde en langvarig konflikt med Angela Davis efter et interview med hende om sort selvhad i mit første show. Selv efter en personlig forevisning i hendes eget hjem var hun aldrig enig med mig og nægtede at sponsorere showet, hver gang hendes studerende på UCSC bragte mig tilbage. Heldigvis havde jeg støtte og opbakning fra de fleste andre førende sorte talsmænd, ikke mindst James Baldwin. Folk i Frankrig og Amherst forsøgte altid at bringe os sammen. Til sidst kørte han to timer i en forfærdelig snestorm for at se forestillingen, hvorefter vi talte hele natten. Han følte, at det var det tætteste, han nogensinde havde oplevet, der kunne beskrive hans eget syn på hvid racisme, men han var allerede syg og døde desværre kun et par måneder senere af mavekræft. I de fleste år var Yolanda King min stærkeste konkurrent i Black History Month, men på en eller anden måde gik vi sammen om at lave en forestilling for præsident Clinton i Kennedy Performing Arts Center som en hyldest til Martin Luther King. Jeg præsenterede også mit show ved Kings grav i familiens Center for Nonviolent Social Change i Atlanta. Efterfølgende ønskede familien at vise det der permanent, "for det viser bedre end noget andet, hvad Martin kæmpede imod, hvilket nutidens unge sorte ikke ved meget om". Og sådan fortsatte jeg i 30 år, indtil vi fik valgt den første sorte præsident, hvorefter jeg trak mig tilbage i den overbevisning, at nu gik det i den rigtige retning. Nuvel, jeg var igen en smule naiv, og resten er historie .... Racismen eksploderede i Europa og i mit eget land, Danmark, hvor jeg nu følte det som min pligt at være den samme slags budbringer i et opdelt samfund. Jeg så med rædsel på, hvordan Trump blev inspireret af den måde, racistiske europæiske politikere vandt valg på ved at bruge splittende, hadefuld retorik. Efter mange år med amerikanske politikere, der talte politisk korrekt og kun brugte kodet racisme, skete dette nu også igen i Trumps USA. Da vi som følge heraf begyndte at se åbenlyst had og racisme eksplodere i Amerika - de Klan-grupper, jeg havde arbejdet sammen med, stod nu åbent frem, ligesom politiets racisme nu åbent lod dem retfærdiggøre drab på sorte - følte jeg ikke længere, at jeg kunne sidde som passivt vidne. Så da jeg så fremkomsten af den største bevægelse mod racisme, som jeg havde oplevet i alle mine år i Amerika, ønskede jeg på en eller anden måde at støtte den. Især da jeg så, hvordan mange af de idealistiske unge deltagere ikke forstod, hvordan den vrede, der drev Black Lives Matter-bevægelsen, havde meget dybere rødder end dagens visuelt registrerede mord på sorte mænd. Hvordan kunne jeg hjælpe med at visualisere al den undertrykkelse, der førte op til det, effektivt for dem? Der er nu udgivet masser af gode bøger om det - ikke mindst af sorte - men næsten ingen med billeder, der viser det hele så effektivt som nutidens videoer. Derfor kom ideen til at forsøge at lave en bog som mit gamle effektive diasshow, der bombarderer læseren med billeder, der viser rødderne til al den undertrykkelse, som jeg selv personligt har været vidne til. Lad mig altså se, om jeg kan undertrykke mine læsere og vække de samme forsvarsmekanismer og følelser i jer - på papiret - som jeg kunne gøre det med mine tilhørere i mørke rum. Jeg vil endda inkludere musikalske links til sangene undervejs. Måske vil det tage længere tid end 5 timers indre kamp at læse den som bog, men i slutningen vil I også her kunne aftjekke, om jeres reaktioner på min omvendte undertrykkelse er de samme som de var i 30 år for “the best and the brightest” af de studerende. Så lad mig bruge ordene fra starten af mit "show": Dette er en billedlig lektion om undertrykkelse og de skader, den gør på os. Den vigtigste er undertrykkelsen, som børn udsættes for af voksne. Overalt i verden skades børn meget tidligt af de voksnes ufornuft og irrationelle adfærd. Dette forårsager alvorlige lidelsesmønstre, der resulterer i skadelig adfærd. Senere i livet afreagerer vi disse lidelsesmønstre på vore egne børn og imod hinanden i f.eks. sexistisk, racistisk, nationalistisk, totalitær, antisemitisk, antimuslimsk, homofobisk, ældre-, handicap- eller klasse-undertrykkelse. Hos de fleste af os er disse mønstre blevet så kroniske, at vi bliver defensive, når vi bliver udfordret og ender med at give ofrene skylden. Vi tør ikke se i øjnene, at vi i sådanne systemer både er ofre og undertrykkere. Der er få steder i verden, hvor undertrykkelsens vigtigste ingredienser er så åbenlyse som i forholdet mellem sorte og hvide i USA. Af deres tragedie, mener jeg. kan vi derfor lære noget om os selv. Under oplevelsen af denne bog, håber jeg at vi forstår den skade, vi gennemgår i et segregeret samfund. Som sort eller hvid, indvandrer eller indfødt, fødes vi fra naturens side åbne og videbegærlige uden medfødte fordomme. Men så går det galt. Vi hører ting som "Niggere er beskidte, dumme og dovne. De hører til på bunden." For det kærlige og hengivne barn er dette irrationelt, forvirrende og sårende. Mens vi gøres fortræd, er vort sind ikke i stand til at tænke fornuftigt og et stift ar dannes i vores tænkemåde. Efter årevis af sådanne krænkende budskaber ender vi med at acceptere og indvendiggøre disse snævre opfattelser af os selv og vort samfund. Set gennem en udlændings ”neutrale” øjne håber jeg, at det bliver lettere at se, hvordan sådanne racebaserede holdninger forkrøbler vores karakter, uanset hvilken gruppe vi tilhører. Selv om der er masser af racisme i Europa, var jeg heldig at have min barndom i Danmark i år, hvor jeg ikke blev voldsomt skadet af utryghed og racistisk påvirkning. Jeg var også heldig, at de første mennesker, jeg boede hos i USA, ikke var hvide. De fleste europæiske besøgende bor først hos hvide amerikanere, som advarer dem: "Gå ikke tre husblokke denne vej eller to blokke den vej", og straks skræmmer dem til at acceptere hvid frygt og rigid segregation. Min oplevelse var stik modsat. Det første amerikanske hjem, der tog imod mig, var en sort familie på sydsiden af Chicago. Med al deres kærlighed, varme og åbenhed følte jeg mig straks hjemme og så kun hvide som kolde fjerne ansigter i fjernsynet eller i fjendtlige forstæder. Senere, da jeg rejste ind i de hvides verden, var jeg ikke længere så sårbar over for dens racistiske mønstre af frygt og skyldfølelse. Jeg blaffede 178.000 km og overnattede i over 400 hjem i 48 stater. Jeg ankom med kun 40$ på lommen. To gange om ugen solgte jeg mit blodplasma for at tjene de penge til filmforbruget. At rejse i et så dybt splittet samfund var uundgåeligt en voldsom oplevelse: 4 gange blev jeg overfaldet af pistolbevæbnede røvere, 2 gange undgik jeg stiksår fra mænd med knive, 2 gange trak skræmte politifolk pistoler mod mig, 1 gang blev jeg omringet af 10-15 sorte i en mørk gyde og næsten dræbt, 1 gang faldt jeg i et baghold af Ku Klux Klan, flere gange fløj kugler omkring mig i skudvekslinger, 2 gange blev jeg arresteret af FBI og 4 gange af Secret Service. Jeg levede sammen med 3 mordere og utallige kriminelle..... ...men jeg har aldrig mødt en ond amerikaner! At jeg overlevede, skyldes min stædige tro på disse ord af Jose Marti: Du må have tillid til det bedste i mennesket og mistillid til det værste. Hvis ikke, vil det værste få overhånd. Jeg håber, at du vil dele min kærlighed til dette land, mens du læser bogen.... ....og bagefter vil arbejde sammen - sort og hvid, indvandrer og indfødt - på at gøre en ende på den fortræd, vi gør hinanden, og dermed læge de sår, som splittelsen og volden påfører vort samfund. Lad os begynde den smertefyldte rejse mod dette mål ved først at genopleve en skelsættende skibsrejse sammen….