Hate - are we born with it?

Are we born with hate in our hearts or is hate the result of learning? While there have been studies conducted, on this very question, by learned people, I have my own, personal opinions as well. I'd like to share with you a 'sample,' if you will of both. That is, a condensed article depicting a factual, insightful occurrence as well as a brief consideration of my own views on this matter. 

One of the most famous demonstrations of how quickly hate can be taught occurred in 1968, the day after the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr.. Jane Elliott, a third-grade teacher in Iowa, wanted to show her students what discrimination felt like.

Day 1: The First Division. Elliott told her all-white class that students with brown eyes were superior. They were smarter, cleaner, and better than those with blue eyes. The brown-eyed children were given extra recess and seconds at lunch, while blue-eyed children had to use cups to drink from the water fountain and sit in the back.

The Transformation. Almost immediately, the brown-eyed children became arrogant and bossy, even bullying their blue-eyed friends. Academic performance also changed: the "superior" group's test scores improved, while the "inferior" group’s scores plummeted.

Day 2: The Reversal. The next day, Elliott reversed the roles. The blue-eyed children, now the "superior" ones, also began to discriminate against the brown-eyed children, though they were slightly less vicious because they remembered the pain of the previous day.

The Lesson. When the experiment ended, the children were relieved and some even cried. They realized that their eye color hadn't changed, only the narrative they were taught about it had.

The Science: How Hate is Taught

Psychological and developmental studies highlight how this process unfolds in childhood.

Early Awareness: Infants as young as 6 months can notice differences in skin color, and by age 3, children can form judgments or show preferences based on those differences.

Social Conditioning: Hate is often absorbed from families, media, and peer groups. Children act like "sponges," picking up on subtle cues, such as how parents speak about certain groups or the "us vs. them" mentalities prevalent in their communities.

A "Constructed" Emotion: Unlike instinctive emotions like fear or sadness, hate is a complex construction often fueled by fear and misinformation. As Nelson Mandela famously stated, "If they can learn to hate, they can be taught to love, for love comes more naturally to the human heart than its opposite."

There is a lot more regarding the 'science' of this pondering. I mean, the above is a drop in the bucket as far as the amount of information that can be found out there. But let's face it. This is a blog and it's a  blog created and maintained by a relatively unlearned individual, that is, me. After 3+ decades as a full-time law enforcement officer, I feel it's safe to say, I've seen examples of outright hate that I believe would shake some otherwise, stauch residents of the Baton Rouge area and beyond. Again though, that's not the purpose of this little piece. Let me put this out there.

Let me share a quick, real-life memory, of mine, to lay a foundation for that which I believe on this subject matter.

At the age of five, prior to my only sibling, my brother, being born, we (my parents and I) lived in Natchez, Mississippi, the town where my mother was born (she was born in 1932 at Natchez Under-the-Hill) and where, later, in 1957, she gave birth to me (just not at Natchez Under-the-Hill). 

Anyway, my parents, together, ran a very busy Pak-A-Sak foodstore and they worked a lot of hours at that store, daily. As such, Mom hired a maid, who also doubled as a nanny to me. Her name was Noni. Noni was a grey-haired lady, who had several grown children of her own. And, before I go any further, I want you to know, I loved Noni with all of my heart. Make no mistake about it. That love, which I held for Noni, was genuinely returned tenfold. She loved 'Ronnie,' like I was her own. I have nothing but fond memories of Noni, a grey-haired, black lady, who reminded me daily that "Jesus loves Ronnie."

Now, some reading this, provided you have made it this far, may be wondering just what this "Noni memory" has to do with the overall article itself. Well, I'll tell you. Just stay with me, as you might recall, I said above, I'd throw in my own feelings on this matter and well, you're reading the foundation of those feelings which I'm pouring out now.

Noni, me and this entire story are from a timeframe in 1962. You'll understand a little more as to that time period, here shortly.

One day, I recall quite vividly, Noni did not come to 'work.' I place emphasis on 'work,' as she was quite adamant that 'taking care of Ronnie' was not work. It was a "pleasure, a privelege and a gift from God." Okay, relax, I know but she said it and well, she was elderly.

Okay, so Noni didn't make it in. Now, at five years old, I honestly didn't think much about it. But Mom, it turns out, had called Noni's house and spoke to one of her grown children, a son. He said his Mom was there but in bed, sick. He had taken off work just to be there for her. 

Well, folks, this was all my Mom had to hear. Mom went to work, there in the kitchen, at home and began cooking. All I remember is she cooked a big pot of soup and a couple of other things, wrapped it all up, securely, then placed it in a box. She said "come on son, we're going to go see Noni."

Now, this part coming up, I recall it like it took place yesterday.

Noni lived in an area that was known, back then as "the quarters." Trust me, I'm not saying that derogatorially or in any way to speak down about anyone in this story. I call it what it was called back then. Noni's house was on a short, narrow, dead-end street, which dead-ended into a then, unused gate, leading into the property and visible plant, known as Armstrong Tire & Rubber Company. Even at five years old, I knew I had three uncles (all brothers to my Mom) working at that plant (they all retired from there). 

We drove up in front of Noni's home, a wooden, 'shotgun' styled structure, with a wooden porch stretching across the short but full width of the house. Sitting in a chair on this porch was a black gentleman whose eyes got as big as saucers, when he saw me and Mom get out of that car. Folks, I'll never forget his words to Mom. "Ooooh, Mrs. Cowart, ooooh, ma'am, you shouldn't oughta be here, no ma'am." He was looking every which a'way and you could feel the concern that was emitting from him. Mom, of course, said "nonsense, I'm here for Noni, take me to her please." 

Well, it was a short trip to get to Noni, as she was lying prone in a fold-away cot, there in the living-room. When she saw me and Mom, she echoed her son's feelings that Mom should not be there. Mom simply replied "I'm here and I don't care who says or thinks what, I'm staying. I'm here to make certain you have food to eat and any medicine that you may need, so the sooner we get to that, the sooner I can leave you getting better."

Noni cried and reached out to me. I didn't hesitate to go and give my second-Mom a hug and she said, "baby, just seeing you makes me feel better." Poor thing really was sick.

Mom left the pot there, with plenty to feed them then and the next day. I remember her saying "I'll get the pot and dishes later. You take this medicine and get to feeling better." Noni just said "Mrs. Cowart, you know I love you and Ronnie." Mom looked at her and replied, "now, Noni, if we didn't love you, do you really think we'd be here?" Noni, I can virtually see and hear it now, burst out, crying like a baby. Mom turned to look at Noni's son and lo & behold, he was crying to beat sixty as well. 

I shared that story to say this. I was raised to never hate, never look down on anyone. If I were to do anything, it was simply to extend a helping hand and do what I could. That is what I was taught and what I took with me through life. Folks, I may not support or like or approve of a particular platform but (and you can take this to the bank), I'm not going to condemn those who do. That's not my place. Judge not, lest you be judged. I'm not looking forward to answering for my own sins. I certainly don't have the time nor do I possess the mental capacity to harbor any ill-will, thoughts or hatred for anyone else.

I'll close with this.

The path to Heaven is narrow while the one to Hell is wide. I believe that Satan uses hatred as a tool to get those on the path to him as soon as he can. 

Matthew 5:43-44 - New King James Version

Love Your Enemies

43 “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ 
44 [a]But I say to you, love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who spitefully use you and persecute you,

Nobody ever suggested it would be easy as the path to doing anything right is contrary, by and large, to the rest of the world. Believers, on the other hand aren't trying to compete with or impress the world. Their single goal is to follow His Word.

I'd like to leave you now, with this video.