Color me dumbfounded You don’t have to travel far outside Portland’s borders to find racial ignorance in full force BY SHAY STEWART-BOULEY

Who says there is no diversity in Maine? Well, okay, I’ve done so, but let’s forget that for a moment. Within the context of a state so overwhelmingly white — and I don’t just mean when it’s snowing — there is impressive diversity.

In Portland.

In Portland, you see Somalis, Hispanics, Whites, African Americans, Arabs, and others — eventually. If you’re a person who requires Kosher food or Halal meat, you can find it. And if you hanker for Salvadoran food, you can find a restaurant that serves it.

Considering that the entire population of the city could be placed in a large Chicago neighborhood and still have plenty of elbow room, Portland isn’t doing too badly with diversity.

But just go a mere 30 miles south on the turnpike (hell, even 10 or 20), and you can encounter people who have never talked face-to-face with someone who isn’t white.

In these areas, it’s still acceptable in many circles to refer to African Americans as colored; I’ve been called colored more than once since moving here. I know personally of Vietnam vets who refer openly and comfortably to anyone with an Asian appearance as gooks.

These are things I can forgive, to some extent at least, in older people who grew up in different times. To be honest, I’d like to change their behaviors, and I try. But teaching an old dog new tricks is pretty hard.

What turns my stomach, though, is that terms like "colored" are coming out of the mouths of young people; teenagers who are inheriting general ignorance. That’s not a promising sign for progress.

For the past several months, I’ve been trying my hand at some substitute teaching in York County, and on more than one occasion, kids have said things to me that are pretty racist.

One kid asked me if I had ever been to the ghetto. Another one referred to me as the teacher "from the ghetto." Would I have attracted such comments if I were white? No. (And just to set the record straight, no, I didn’t grow up in, nor live in, any "ghetto.")

A woman who is a professional acquaintance of mine lives in a fairly moneyed community here in Southern Maine, and she works with teenagers. Somehow, the subject of race came up and the kids said they felt black people were dangerous. One teen had recently returned from a college scouting trip in our nation’s capital and she described how scared she was to be around so many black people.

When my acquaintance probed further, she discovered these teens’ parents still used terms like colored, and that the kids associated black people with images of pimps, hustlers, and other unsavory types on such enriching fare as MTV. (Damn, aren’t there enough other mindless programs on the WB and UPN that show black people in family settings and workplaces that don’t involve drugs, guns, pimps, and whores?)

She asked me if I would be willing to meet with the teens and talk about my life as an African-American woman. I told her I’d think about it. Maybe I should be jumping at the chance, but frankly, I’m tired of being the one who has to dispel ignorance. I’d like to see a whole bunch of white people pitch in for once.

Why is it that parents in Portland are able to better familiarize their kids with various cultures, whereas a short ride away kids walk around in a haze of racial ignorance? I don’t know, but let’s find out, okay?

It’s not enough for Portland to have a commitment to diversity. Yes, it’s great that newspapers like this one exist. It’s great that publications out here announce events that can expose us to a wide array of cultures and allow people like me to discuss issues like race.

But as a state, we aren’t doing so well outside of Portland. And we shouldn’t be leaning on the few black people here — or Asians or Hispanics or any other minority — to do all the educating. Eventually, we’re going to get burned out and start shutting down around y’all. I don’t want that; I’m trying to become a part of Maine.

The onus is on the white people in Maine to teach someone else about my culture. The roots of my black brothers and sisters dig down through 400 years of this nation’s history. The Native Americans were here long before that. Teaching kids to be knowledgeable and sensitive to other cultures seems like something every parent should do, even in Maine.

It’s great that parents provide food, shelter, clothing, and education. But if parents fail to expose their kids to other cultures, they are doing a grave disservice. Don’t we want our kids to grow up and be able to compete and achieve in the global marketplace? Don’t we want them to be able to visit a big city outside of Maine and not cause a ruckus because they referred to someone as a nigger, a camel jockey, or a chink?

I’m still thinking about whether I will actually speak to those teens my acquaintance told me about. In the end, I suppose I will. Because if just a few more people can discover the only real difference between me and them is that I don’t need a tanning booth, then progress goes forward.

But I’d really appreciate it if more of you — in the classrooms, the workplace and the grocery lines — would give us non-whites a little help in educating the masses. Because there’s still a lot of work to be done.

Shay Stewart-Bouley can be reached by email at shaybouley@msn.com