Tuesday, February 13, 2007 at 12:12am
Not enough, not nearly enough
Column: Life at First Sight
It's a mission of mine to gather the stories of those who personally experienced the demoralizing — and often dangerous — effects of racial segregation in America, as well as the tumultuous process of desegregation that sought to correct it.
I want to do this because the stories have been given so little attention, and I fear that they may be lost if we don't gather them soon. Also, I'm hoping that if they are shared creatively, especially with younger readers and listeners, they'll provide a different sort of window on a piece of our history that education often views as though looking through the wrong end of a telescope, or in dim black-and-white images, but seldom in terms of real lives and real people.
I also consider these stories significant because the actions of those within them often exemplify the very qualities and traits we need as a nation to overcome a legacy of unconscious superiority and suspicion that, fueled by blind imitation and fear, still keeps us so separate. My guess is that until we get this long-standing imbalance right, the rest of our mounting problems, both at home and in the wider world, won't go away.
The idea to collect these was born during an African American History Month event when I sat next to a friend who, as the keynote speaker remarked on the progress made in America's race relations, said quietly under her breath, "But not enough. Not nearly enough." She's a community-minded person who's well-liked and respected, whom no one would see as a complainer. But in those quiet undertones, I could hear her disappointment and pain as a black woman.
The stories I've been gathering are often simple ones — a 17-year-old's first brave trip to the only lunch counter in his tiny town; a young woman's difficult days as the first black student in a newly integrated school; a white businessman confronting an angry mob in the doorway of the African-American home where he had arrived to visit his friends. But they show in everyday ways the courage and moral conviction of blacks and whites alike who stood up to something that was clearly wrong, no matter what the mass of those around them did or didn't do. They were everyday sorts of heroes who sacrificed their personal comfort or safety, or even risked their lives, to represent truth in the face of seemingly unyielding ignorance, indifference and injustice.
What has surprised me about such stories is that, while they evoke lots of feelings, which is part of what can make them so effective in healing a divide we often have trouble acknowledging, those feelings aren't always about anger, hurt or sadness. One story reminded me that sometimes, the very ignorance behind injustice can actually be the agent that helps to rectify it.
A man described a time when he was traveling home on leave to Indiana after basic training at a military base in the South. Weeks later, he would ship out with many other black Americans to boost the struggling U.S. forces in Korea. But on this day, dressed in his stiff khakis, he was waiting at a bus depot in the Deep South. It was a day of three-digit temperatures before noon, and the starched collar of his uniform was tight on his neck. As he entered the depot, he looked longingly at the air-conditioned waiting room to one side.
But instead, he turned toward the cramped, stifling room marked "Colored" and ordered a cheeseburger at its small counter. His family, like many African-American families, showed a wide variety of skin colors owing to a heritage of African, Native American and European ancestry. The options that this gave the light-skinned man were quickly brought to his attention when the man behind the counter leaned over to talk with him.
After some cordial chat, the older man lowered his voice and told the young soldier, "Now look, there's no reason for you to get that nice uniform all mussed in here where it's too hot to breathe. You're serving your country, you deserve a break. Nobody here's gonna know the difference if you go over there with the white folks and have your lunch where it's cool."
The room grew quiet as the young soldier thanked the man, then told him that he was happy to stay where he was. If others could put up with the discomfort, then he could, too. His reply drew warm smiles and nods from around the room.
He'd just taken the first few bites of his lunch when two white police officers strode in. The room fell silent as the two made their way toward him. As he braced himself for what was coming, he was the most surprised by the conciliatory tone of the officer who did all the talking.
"Son," the officer said, "you've obviously made a mistake. We know you're probably not familiar with the way we do things around here. But there's no reason for you to stay where you don't belong. You just take your lunch and come on over next door where you can be comfortable."
When the soldier began to explain, the man behind the counter gave him a warning look and the police officer said, "Now, we sure don't want any trouble. You'd best come with us and be with your own kind." His tone had grown firm.
There was another moment or two of silence, and then, in the face of such insistence, the soldier shrugged and rose to comply.
One officer stooped to heft up the young soldier's duffle bag while the other policeman carried his plate and glass of milk carefully.
Every single pair of eyes in the room watched as the two accompanied the young soldier deferentially, as if escorting a visiting dignitary.
The most memorable moment came after the room's double doors closed behind the three men and, after another beat of silence, the entire room broke into a chorus of delighted cheers and applause.
The soldier, now a grandfather, says he figures that a whole lot of his ancestors must have been cheering right along with them.
While America has made some strides to unite as a nation, the road still curves out far ahead of us. If you, or someone you know, have stories that you'd like to share, I'd love to {email columns@bahai.us}hear from you{/email}.
As Baha'u'llah exhorts us to remember, "Know ye not why We created you all from the same dust? That no one should exalt himself over the other. Ponder at all times in your hearts how ye were created. Since We have created you all from one same substance, it is incumbent on you to be even as one soul, to walk with the same feet, eat with the same mouth and dwell in the same land, that from your inmost being, by your deeds and actions, the signs of oneness and the essence of detachment may be made manifest. ... "
— — —
Phyllis Edgerly Ring, mother of two, is a writer and editor. Her current book project addresses how adults can recognize and nurture children's spiritual nature. She is a former program director at Green Acre Baha'i School in Eliot, Maine, and has been a member of the Baha'i Faith for more than 30 years. Email her at {email columns@bahai.us}columns@bahai.us{/email}. See the website of the Baha'is of the United States for more information. © copyright 2007 by Phyllis Edgerly Ring
I want to do this because the stories have been given so little attention, and I fear that they may be lost if we don't gather them soon. Also, I'm hoping that if they are shared creatively, especially with younger readers and listeners, they'll provide a different sort of window on a piece of our history that education often views as though looking through the wrong end of a telescope, or in dim black-and-white images, but seldom in terms of real lives and real people.
I also consider these stories significant because the actions of those within them often exemplify the very qualities and traits we need as a nation to overcome a legacy of unconscious superiority and suspicion that, fueled by blind imitation and fear, still keeps us so separate. My guess is that until we get this long-standing imbalance right, the rest of our mounting problems, both at home and in the wider world, won't go away.
The idea to collect these was born during an African American History Month event when I sat next to a friend who, as the keynote speaker remarked on the progress made in America's race relations, said quietly under her breath, "But not enough. Not nearly enough." She's a community-minded person who's well-liked and respected, whom no one would see as a complainer. But in those quiet undertones, I could hear her disappointment and pain as a black woman.
The stories I've been gathering are often simple ones — a 17-year-old's first brave trip to the only lunch counter in his tiny town; a young woman's difficult days as the first black student in a newly integrated school; a white businessman confronting an angry mob in the doorway of the African-American home where he had arrived to visit his friends. But they show in everyday ways the courage and moral conviction of blacks and whites alike who stood up to something that was clearly wrong, no matter what the mass of those around them did or didn't do. They were everyday sorts of heroes who sacrificed their personal comfort or safety, or even risked their lives, to represent truth in the face of seemingly unyielding ignorance, indifference and injustice.
What has surprised me about such stories is that, while they evoke lots of feelings, which is part of what can make them so effective in healing a divide we often have trouble acknowledging, those feelings aren't always about anger, hurt or sadness. One story reminded me that sometimes, the very ignorance behind injustice can actually be the agent that helps to rectify it.
A man described a time when he was traveling home on leave to Indiana after basic training at a military base in the South. Weeks later, he would ship out with many other black Americans to boost the struggling U.S. forces in Korea. But on this day, dressed in his stiff khakis, he was waiting at a bus depot in the Deep South. It was a day of three-digit temperatures before noon, and the starched collar of his uniform was tight on his neck. As he entered the depot, he looked longingly at the air-conditioned waiting room to one side.
But instead, he turned toward the cramped, stifling room marked "Colored" and ordered a cheeseburger at its small counter. His family, like many African-American families, showed a wide variety of skin colors owing to a heritage of African, Native American and European ancestry. The options that this gave the light-skinned man were quickly brought to his attention when the man behind the counter leaned over to talk with him.
After some cordial chat, the older man lowered his voice and told the young soldier, "Now look, there's no reason for you to get that nice uniform all mussed in here where it's too hot to breathe. You're serving your country, you deserve a break. Nobody here's gonna know the difference if you go over there with the white folks and have your lunch where it's cool."
The room grew quiet as the young soldier thanked the man, then told him that he was happy to stay where he was. If others could put up with the discomfort, then he could, too. His reply drew warm smiles and nods from around the room.
He'd just taken the first few bites of his lunch when two white police officers strode in. The room fell silent as the two made their way toward him. As he braced himself for what was coming, he was the most surprised by the conciliatory tone of the officer who did all the talking.
"Son," the officer said, "you've obviously made a mistake. We know you're probably not familiar with the way we do things around here. But there's no reason for you to stay where you don't belong. You just take your lunch and come on over next door where you can be comfortable."
When the soldier began to explain, the man behind the counter gave him a warning look and the police officer said, "Now, we sure don't want any trouble. You'd best come with us and be with your own kind." His tone had grown firm.
There was another moment or two of silence, and then, in the face of such insistence, the soldier shrugged and rose to comply.
One officer stooped to heft up the young soldier's duffle bag while the other policeman carried his plate and glass of milk carefully.
Every single pair of eyes in the room watched as the two accompanied the young soldier deferentially, as if escorting a visiting dignitary.
The most memorable moment came after the room's double doors closed behind the three men and, after another beat of silence, the entire room broke into a chorus of delighted cheers and applause.
The soldier, now a grandfather, says he figures that a whole lot of his ancestors must have been cheering right along with them.
While America has made some strides to unite as a nation, the road still curves out far ahead of us. If you, or someone you know, have stories that you'd like to share, I'd love to {email columns@bahai.us}hear from you{/email}.
As Baha'u'llah exhorts us to remember, "Know ye not why We created you all from the same dust? That no one should exalt himself over the other. Ponder at all times in your hearts how ye were created. Since We have created you all from one same substance, it is incumbent on you to be even as one soul, to walk with the same feet, eat with the same mouth and dwell in the same land, that from your inmost being, by your deeds and actions, the signs of oneness and the essence of detachment may be made manifest. ... "
— — —
Phyllis Edgerly Ring, mother of two, is a writer and editor. Her current book project addresses how adults can recognize and nurture children's spiritual nature. She is a former program director at Green Acre Baha'i School in Eliot, Maine, and has been a member of the Baha'i Faith for more than 30 years. Email her at {email columns@bahai.us}columns@bahai.us{/email}. See the website of the Baha'is of the United States for more information. © copyright 2007 by Phyllis Edgerly Ring