Racism

Juana la Cliker-Rooster

2008

Set in G1

Hey all. I came up with this tonight while prowling the Internet for information on the Australian Genocide era. I see racism all the time, or homophobia, and it always makes me angry. So I thought I'd address the issue in a fic to help get my frustrations out. I am not racist at all, but I get the feeling that someone out there is going to read the fic, ignore the Author notes and flame me, so I hope everyone reads this first.

I love the 2007 movie, but like everyone else, I was disappointed that the only "black" Transformer was killed, and while I'm sure it wasn't a race thing (Bay probably didn't even realize it when it was made), it was still a little unsettling. My black friends were annoyed by it too.

So, again, this isn't to glorify racism, it's to address it. If you guys don't know much about the Aboriginal genocide (Aboriginals are native Australians, not the white ones; those are from Europe), go check it out. It's devastating and the Prime Minister of Autralia ONLY JUST RECENTLY apologized to the Aboriginal population (of which only 1 percent is left). Is anyone else having trouble with not letting them use certain symbols?

The old man in this story is racist mostly towards African-Americans, which he groups Jazz and Blaster into, but you can make him just flat-out hateful if you want. I imagine him as a homophobe too, since, as a lesbian myself, I get to see and experience gay hate. You wanna see some extreme hate? Go to YOUTUBE. People are vicious over there.

-Juana


There were only three races on Cybertron: the Autobot race, the Decepticon race and the Neutrals. They were separated by their beliefs and their allegiances only, and nothing else. Color did not define them, nor did their pattern of speech.

But on Earth, racism was about the color of one's 'skin', as Spike told them after one very bad day for the Autobots. Optimus Prime and Bumblebee had been furious, and the others had been on the verge of killing someone. But the incident left Jazz and Blaster hurt the most; never before in their lives had they encountered such hatred.

Spike had decided that, on a beautiful spring day, the Autobots would benefit from a trip to the city to attend a festival. Prime agreed, saying that it was time for everyone to get out of the base for a while (although Red Alert and Prowl opted to stay in case of an emergency), and so Spike and Bumblebee led the way to the city, chattering about what went on at a festival.

Jazz had been the most excited, especially after he heard Spike say something about 'live music'. He and Blaster talked about what kinds of live music they would see, mistaking the idea for music that actually came to life. Spike chuckled and explained what he meant, and soon enough, they reached their destination.

"Wow!" exclaimed Jazz as they drew nearer, "lookit all these colors! And the people! Ah've neva' seen so many in one place before!" He transformed to get a better look at the crowd.

"Festivals bring people together, Jazz. It's a celebration!" said Spike with a smile.

"Well," replied the Autobot, "Ah sure like it! Blaster, let's go find that 'live music'!" Blaster was at his side in seconds. Optimus laughed, amused and said,

"All right, you two. Don't go too far, and keep your audios open for us in case we need you. And don't get into trouble."

"Don' worry, Prahme, we'll be fine." And with that, the two were off. Spike turned back to the others and said,

"Well, let's look around!"


Jazz and Blaster found the live music fairly quickly. Their audios, finely tuned as they were, picked out the sounds through the endless sea of laughter, chattering, and other city noises quickly. Pretty soon, they were in the middle of a large crowd singing and dancing along to a popular local band.

"Jazz, this is fantastic!" yelled Blaster over the screaming, cheering crowd.

"It sure is, my friend! Ah kinda wish we had somethin' like this on Cybertron, y'know?"

"Yeah, That'd be pretty rockin'." They jammed along with the band and their fans for a good hour before the band stopped playing and told their audience that they were off to take a break, go and check out the rest of the festivities and we'll be back in an hour. The people cheered, and soon the crowd moved on to explore the various other venues and activities being held. Jazz and Blaster were obviously disappointed, but they understood that humans were easily worn out.

"Well, whaddya wanna do now?" asked Jazz. Blaster shrugged and answered,

"I dunno. Maybe go see if they have a car show? Maybe we'll find someone cute to bring home!"

"Ah, now hang on a klik! Ah don' wanna go an' make Prowl jealous now, ya hear?" Jazz laughed jokingly, "but Ah think yer on t' somethin'…let's go!"

"Damn right you'd better go," growled a voice beneath him. Jazz looked down and saw an older man, perhaps in his seventies looking up at him with a disgusted look on his face.

"Ah beg yer pardon, sir?" Jazz asked politely. The man's face tightened a bit, and he answered,

"I said, damn right you'd better go. Your kind isn't wanted around here."

"Oh, Ah see. Yer not a fan of us Autobots, are ya. Don' worry, yer entitled to yer opin—"

"I don't mean it like that, ya nigger," the man snapped. Several people walking around suddenly stopped and gasped, staring at the man as though he had three heads. Jazz and Blaster looked at each other, then at the people who had stopped. Blaster looked down at the man and asked,

"What was that?"

"Your one of them too," hissed the man, "it wasn't bad enough we have blacks running this place into the ground, now we have giant alien robot niggers. What's this world come to?" He raised his hands to the sky as though expecting an answer. Jazz and Blaster were still unsure of what the new word meant, and so Jazz proceeded to ask what it meant. The man yelled back,

"It means you're a worthless, uneducated piece of garbage! Your kind creates all kinds of problems for us decent white folk. You take our jobs, cause crime, rape our women. You disgust me!" Jazz's usually cheerful face fell; he couldn't recall ever doing such things to anyone before, and it hurt to be accused of them. And it still didn't explain what the word meant.

Luckily for them, Spike and the other Autobots were making their way towards them.

"Spike," started Jazz, "This man is calling Blaster an' m'self somethin' we don' understand. Can you clarify for us?"

"Sure," answered Spike, always eager to help his friends, "hi there," he said to the angry old man, "How can I help you?"

"You can help me by getting these damned niggers off my planet," the man growled. Spike gasped, then retorted,

"How dare you. They aren't hurting anyone, and you go and treat them this way? What's wrong with you? How can you judge them like that?"

"Are you listening to them? Talking like the rest of them, I tell you. Pretty soon they'll be selling their guns to the kids and there goes the neighborhood!"

"You listen to me, old man," Spike growled, incredibly angry, "they are hurting no one. Just because they talk a certain way doesn't make them bad. And even if they were human, who cares what color their skin is or how they talk? People are people, and no one race is better than the other. Ever hear of equality?"

"You brat!" yelled the man, "Speaking to your elders in such a disrespectful way! You ought to be whipped for that, along with your nigger friends!" Bumblebee reached down and snatched spike up before the teenager could slug the man's face. Jazz and Blaster both looked down at the man before Jazz said,

"Ah don't know what yer talkin' about, but whatever it is, Ah feel mighty sorry for ya. Ah can't imagine livin' with so much hatred pollutin' mah spark. Ya coulda' been a real happy person, ya know." And with that, Jazz began to walk away, an unfamiliar pain tugging at his spark. Blaster followed, then soon, everyone was off, leaving the angry old man behind to watch them go. He shook his head, then barked to the other bystanders,

"Get out of here, ya brats! Go on, get!" The crowd scattered, young people grumbling as they walked off.


The drive back to the base was quiet. Spike rode with Jazz and Blaster and explained what had just happened. The information he gave them broke Jazz's spark even further, and Blaster grumbled,

"Ah don't get it. If there are whole countries that are populated by black people, why would anyone consider their existence a bad thing?"

"Some people are just very closed-minded, Blaster," said Spike, "and they believe that being white is more pure, and the right way of life. It isn't, obviously, but some people's minds just can't be changed. Racism happens everywhere, but it was bad in the 1950s and '60s."

"Ya mean this kind of intolerance continued up until that far? But it's the 1980s now!" exclaimed Blaster, "Humans have developed so much from the other eras we've learned about! Why haven't they gotten over that yet?"

"Are there other kinds o' hate out there that aren't color-based?" asked Jazz quietly.

"Well, right now there's been a surge in hate for homosexuals thanks to the spread of AIDS," answered Spike, "and some people believe the disease was sent to punish gays, but I don't believe that. Maybe when our technology gets better we'll know how it began."

"Hmm," was Jazz's answer. He was upset, and the cogs were working in his head. One day, he decided, he was going to get rid of racism. It was only a matter of how.


So again, I am NOT racist. Racism makes my blood boil, but I do believe that people have the right to believe what they want. They just dont need to rub it in our faces and tell us they're right and we're wrong. That's more obnoxious than anything. R and R like grown-ups, please.

Also, this is badly written. I wrote it too fast in a passionate rage, and forgot to edit.

-Juana