The Sugar Mill

Last year, I was doing some repair work as a volunteer for a family that lived in a town with a sugar mill. The mill smelled so bad, I had to breathe through my mouth or shirtsleeve until I got used to it. It was terrible - almost metallic, but also an organic burning smell. Indescribable and distinctive. The first thing our volunteer coordinator told us when she met us was, "They say it's not supposed to be dangerous."

At the house toward the end of the week, the white owner told us that the black people living close to the sugar mill got some kind of a subsidy in exchange for putting up with the smell. He was jealous of them, and wanted a subsidy himself. They got all the breaks, in his estimation.

I didn't say anything at the time because the man was seriously ill, and was being very gracious about letting us help out. What I wanted to say, though, was that his problem wasn't with the people living in the stench of the sugar mill, it was the sugar mill itself.

There's a saying that if you can't face your real enemies, then you should pick smaller enemies. I think that's exactly what racism does - distracts people from their real problems, and keeps them from teaming up with people who are living with the same awful smell that they are.