Gingerism

During a recent telephone call with my sister, I casually used the word “gingerism.” She had no idea what I was talking about. Of course, she’s brunette, as are her children, husband and grandchildren, so it’s not surprising the term is news to her—and maybe to you, as well?

Urbandictionary.com’s most popular definition of gingerism is: “a form of discrimination that is considered racism by some. This form of racism is still acceptable by societies [sic] standards and is just as wrong as discrimination against Blacks, Asians, Hispanics [or] Middle [E]asterners.” Wiktionary.org defines the term as “prejudice or discrimination against people with red hair.”

Gingerism has recently reared its parti-colored head in mainstream news media. According to the Los Angeles Times, on November, 30, 2009, three 12-year-olds in Calabasas County, California, were arrested “in ginger attacks.” They’re accused of beating up at least seven red-haired schoolchildren in honor of “kick a ginger day.” And in British Columbia, Canada, the RCMP recently arrested 20 teens for attacking redheaded kids.

Some trace the origins of the word to a 2005 episode of South Park called “Ginger Kids;” but in England, particularly, gingerism predates the show by several years. A 2000 NPower ad showed a red-haired family under the header: “There are some things in life you can’t choose.”

Say what? Why, I oughta . . .!

But it gets worse. Canada.com cites a BBC report of the first “serious anti-red-hair hate crime” occurring in 2003, when a 20-year-old Yorkshire man was taunted by a crowd and then stabbed three times in the back simply for having red hair. Numerous suicide attempts have been attributed to the bullying some redheaded teens have suffered at the hands (and kicking feet!) of “gingerists.”

As you may know, my two children, four grandchildren and I are all genetic redheads; so, I may be especially sensitive to the problem. But don’t think for a minute that it’s not a problem for you, too. Apparently, the idiot faction is running out of acceptable minorities to hate. So, what’s next—will society experience a real-life version of Jane Elliott’s Blue Eyes/Brown Eyes Experiment? Don’t tell me: those of us with green eyes will be considered inferior to browns, blues and hazels. Will merely freckled people be next, or will future inferiors be those with beauty marks, eyeglasses or high cheekbones? Stabbings over big feet, bald heads, bad posture and big butts can’t be far behind. So to speak.

Redheads represent only about 1% of the world’s population, red hair being the rarest natural hair color; and I realize that world-wide gingerism isn’t a new phenomenon by any means (my other redhead blogs touch on a few centuries-old stereotypes and prejudices held against the copper-maned).

It’s thought that modern-day hatred of redheads stems from the fact that the coloring is primarily a Celtic trait and the English historically have disrespected, disenfranchised, enslaved and warred with Scottish, Irish and Welsh peoples. The fact that redheads are a small, very visible minority, even in the UK (at about 4%), makes it that much easier to single them out for abuse.

And titian hair certainly does stand out, much like a dark face in a white crowd.

You might even notice that the “G word” is an anagram of the “N” word. Coincidence? Who knows; all I know is that the next time I hear the word “ginger,” and there isn’t an Asian dish, a plate of cookies, or a bottle of Canada Dry nearby, the speaker had best proceed, shall we say, gingerly.

Summertime, and the livin' is queasy.

Relentless sunshine, every day, everywhere I turn. Not a proper sentence, that last one, but I don't care. While the rest of humanity (above the equator) frolics in the August outdoors, I'm stuck inside, dreaming of the arrival of the blessed equinox to formally announce the end of hell and the beginning of autumn.

Ah, autumn (forgive the exclamation point)! It's the time of year when wicked, glaring old Sol lowers his blaze to a lemony wash; the season when the foliage matches my own. Autumn sounds the twinkling onset of short (thank you jebus!) days, crisp appley (appleish?) air and long sleeves that don't cause passersby to wonder about my sanity in the noonday sun.

I love sailing. I'm not especially good at it, but I've done lots of it on both coasts. However, summer sailing is a misery. While all the barefoot, nut-brown sailor boys and girls, donning their Hawaiian print short shorts and tank tops, cavort (bareheaded!) on deck, I'm reduced either to cowering in the heat of the cabin below or covering myself entirely in a man's white shirt and a straw hat with a brim the size of a jumbo pizza pie.

It sucks.

It's not just sunburn and chapped lips. No. Because we redheads are designed to produce tons of vitamin D with next to no sun exposure, we become ill from too much of the goddamned stuff. Too many units of it in the course of a day can kill us. Seriously: we're talkin' dead redheads. Global warming, obviously, is a huge issue to us. It's personal.

But come September (Damn, I love months that end with -ember. Or even -ary. They just have a refreshing ring to them, no?), I'll remove the economy sized tube of SPF 70 from my purse and walk the streets and sail the rivers quite naked. Well, not quite naked; but when everyone else covers up, redheads get to show their stuff. And highly attractive and brightly colored stuff it is, in my opinion, thank you very much.

Sadly, black- and brown-skinned folks (bastards) only absorb a tiny bit of potential-killer vitamin D from the sun; otherwise, it would kill them, too, with all their equatorial, half-naked, mahogany and olive skin on display all summer long. Come winter, the nut-browns suffer from vitamin D deficiency, which can also kill a person, whilst my clan gets more than enough of the stuff during the first five minutes of a drizzly Oregon winter's morning.

Tough. I won't pity them in the least; not one bit.

Let them eat supplements.