How Shall We Respond to Dr. King's Dream?

If past is prologue, then a letter from some white Birmingham ministers in 1963 illustrates how nice established society continues to respond to racial inequities to this day.

If society can address social ills with little disruption to the status quo, that seems to be the preferred modus operandi. Such measures, however, are usually tentative and ineffective. Often the status quo is threatened by calls for justice, as is seen in some of our political commentators. One example is the way that prominent political commentator Andrew Sullivan has addressed our country’s racial issues. Sullivan has been a critic of The 1619 Project which seeks to educate the public about the crucial role slavery played in our country’s beginnings and the essential contributions black Americans have made throughout our history. It is little wonder that Mr. Sullivan has a similar problem with critical race theory. In an article published May 28, 2021, “Removing the Bedrock of Liberalism: What the ‘Critical Race Theory’ is really about,” Sullivan expresses concern that CRT is a threat to our Western liberal society. He claims that CRT rejects the principles of Enlightenment that western liberal societies are founded upon and thereby is “a very seductive and potent threat to liberal civilization.” (Read Sullivan’s article here)

White Southern Clergy 2.0

Mr. Sullivan’s approach is reminiscent of those white ministers Martin Luther King wrote a letter to from his jail cell in Birmingham. Eight white clergy signed a letter to Martin Luther King in 1963 asking him to stop his demonstrations in Birmingham. The letter states that those clergy realize that there are racial inequities that the community must address, but they are concerned that marching in the streets will only lead to violence.

To his credit, Sullivan acknowledges that the evils of slavery and genocide are factors in American history that we must realize and deal with. However, when he claims that critical race theory will threaten liberal civilization, it truly is the same song, second verse that the Southern white clergy of Birmingham gave in their criticism of Martin Luther King and the civil rights protests.  They, too, acknowledged that there were racial inequities, but feared that calling attention to it in the streets would only cause violence. They wanted Dr. King to be patient and let them deal with the problem through local leadership. (Read the Birmingham Clergy Letter here)

In other words, they wanted to keep their nice society and they wanted black activists to let whites deal with the problem on their own timetable. Never mind that it had already been ten years since Brown v. Board of Education, and 100 years since a war had been fought to end slavery. In his Letter from Birmingham Jail, Martin Luther King, among many other things, reminded them of Chief Justice Warren's words, "justice too long delayed is justice denied.” (Read the entire Letter from Birmingham Jail here).

In a similar manner, Andrew Sullivan is afraid CRT will upset this nice society we enjoy. Sure, slavery was bad, he says, we get that. Sure genocide was bad, we agree. He wants us all to let the genius of liberal enlightened society do its work in improving life for everyone. The problem is, if you let those in power continue to say, "Yes, we understand the evils of racism" without actually doing something to correct it, those who live in comfort will continue to let things rock along unchanged while minorities continue to suffer injustice. (Read a brief overview of what critical race theory is here)

How Can We Move Toward that Beloved Community?

If we are to move closer to racial equity, it will require more listening. Sullivan and others approaching critical race theory as if it were a threat to liberal civilization is not likely to make those in power more willing to listen. On the contrary, if civic leaders can paint champions for justice as troublemakers, it is much easier to dismiss their cause out of hand. When arguments are dismissed, inequities can be more easily ignored. 

The Tulsa Race Massacre that occurred 100 years ago is an example of racial inequity being ignored by the white population at large. It was an incident not mentioned in textbooks in most public schools. A whole generation grew up with no knowledge that it even occurred until the story began to be told in television documentaries such as The Tulsa Lynching of 1921: A Hidden Story (2000). Another example is amplified in the book An Indigenous Peoples' History of the United States, by Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz. There one can learn of the unspeakable atrocities committed by men like Andrew Jackson against Native Americans which are not even mentioned, or at best glossed over in our education.

It seems that Mr. Sullivan would rather preserve the status quo and say, "we'll deal with all of that later" than to give credit to those who are trying to make us aware of current injustice which has its basis in our original sins of slavery and genocide. When he says we need to acknowledge the evils of racism, but he does not want anyone to talk about the 1619 Project or CRT, he is placing himself in the same camp as those white ministers in Birmingham in 1963 who told Martin Luther King to please not raise such a ruckus about it.

Though we have been sorely tested in recent years, I still have hope for the liberal western civilization that Andrew Sullivan cherishes. The true test of that civilization lies in how we handle our disagreements and how we move toward a society that works for everyone. Dr. King had the dream, but we all hold the key.

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Growing Up under Southern Apartheid (Part 2)

Downtown Wedowee as it looks today (photo by Courthouselover at Flickr)

What's in a Name?

When I was a year old, my family moved to Wedowee, Alabama when my father became pastor of the First Baptist Church. We lived there until I was six, so many of my first-experiences happened in Wedowee. It was where I had my first best friend, my first explorations of the Five & Ten Cent store, my first time to attend Sunday School and kindergarten. My understanding of family and community was honed during that time. I was happy and protected as any toddler or preschooler’s life should be.

Naturally, my first awareness of race emerged in those young years in Wedowee. One early encounter that I recall was when I was playing alone out in the front yard of the pastorium where we lived. It was a quiet neighborhood, and I was rolling about in the leaves near the street. As I sat there on the ground, I saw a Black man walking by. I was a shy, quiet kid, so I said nothing, but I watched the man as he walked by. He looked down at me as he walked and said, “I ain’t gonna hurt ya.” As he kept walking by he repeated, “I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

I had no fear of being hurt, and I remember wondering why he was saying that. Later I went to my mother and I mentioned the Black man walking by and I asked her he kept saying he wouldn't hurt me.  As I recall, my mother said something like, he probably wanted to make sure I wasn’t afraid of him, that I need not worry.

In our small town, there was never any sense of danger that I can recall. My older brother has said that on any given Saturday when he went off to play with friends, the only direction he got from our mother was, “Just be back by suppertime.” Everyone knew that everyone else would be looking out for the kids.

Careful with the N-Word

It would have been in the late 1950s when my brother was riding his bike to meet friends and I was at play in my yard. Having contact with Black people was common, whether it was a worker walking to a job, or a maid in a household. In those days, the word we used to refer to Blacks was negro. It was the accepted term that even Martin Luther King used in his speeches in the early 1960s. When we used the term, however, with our southern dialect it was pronounced “negra.”

One day when I was playing with one of my friends, I'll call her “Jane,” who lived just up the street, a Black man was walking by. In those days there was a lot more walking, especially since there were so many who could not afford a car and also given the fact that Wedowee was too small a town to support any kind of public transportation system. I said to my friend, “There goes a negra,” simply commenting on the man I saw walking by.

“Uh-oh!” she exclaimed, “You’re not s’posed to say that word! I’m tellin’ ” With that she went skipping off into her house to report to her mother. Her mother came straight out to inform me that I was never to use that n-word, that I should say “colored” instead. My bashful self tried to explain that I didn’t say “that word,” but all I could do was to swallow my words and say, “Yes ma’am.”

Jane’s parents were always kind and generous. On that day, they wanted to make absolutely certain that I did not use any derogatory term when talking about Blacks. Even though I was not using “the n-word” that they thought I was using, the conversation was not lost on me. By the time I started school as a first-grader, I had decided that it was easier to avoid any confusion by saying “colored people*” instead of “negro” (or negra) so that my dialect did not communicate something unintended, to show I meant no disrespect.

Jane’s father was an Alabama State Trooper. He went on to become part of Gov. George Wallace’s private security detail. Serving as his primary bodyguard, he was injured by gunfire during the assassination attempt on Wallace's life. He was then appointed by the Governor to be the director of the Alabama Department of Public Safety. Years later when he died by suicide while being treated for terminal cancer, the AP news story ran in The New York Times and The Washington Post. George Wallace personally lamented the loss saying, “He was almost like a member of my family.”

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< Part 1, The Long Shadow of Jim Crow                           Part 3, A Matter of Complexion >
 

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* As the Civil Rights Movement unfolded in the 1960s, finding the proper terminology to use when referring to Black people began to evolve with some terms falling in and out of favor. While "negro" was used in official writing and discourse, "colored" was seen by many as the polite term for everyday use in the 1950s and early 60s. Soon "Black" became the accepted term ("colored" and "negro" were out), and then the term "Afro-American" was in vogue for a while. In recent years, "African-American" and "Black" have both been in use. It was just last week that the Associated Press announced new writing style guidelines to capitalize Black "when referring to people in a racial, ethnic, or cultural context." The New York Times has followed suit, and I have chosen to follow those guidelines in my writing about segregation here.

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What is Memorial Day to You?

This essay was originally posted in 2010. I'll be working on Memorial Day because hospitals must operate 24/7 and Monday is one of my days to be on duty. 

I hope you will take some time to reflect on ways we can remember past wars without instigating new ones. War always wreaks untold havoc when we unleash it.

I don’t recall much being made of Memorial Day when I was growing up. It was barely on my radar. I suppose there were Memorial Day sales, but as a holiday it was not high up on the list. Several years ago, Alison, a young colleague at work started talking about her childhood memories of Memorial Day. “I was always excited about the holiday because I would get brand new clothes. My mamma would always take me shopping. She would tell me, ‘We were going out to get your Memorial Day dress.’ That was the big thing about Memorial Day.” She was a young African American woman talking to me and Kevin, another colleague who was white. Kevin and I looked at one another in mild amusement. We had never heard of such a Memorial Day tradition.

“You mean ya’ll didn’t get new clothes on Memorial Day?”

Kevin and I said no we didn’t.

“I wonder if my mamma was just telling me that. I sure thought new clothes were a Memorial Day tradition.”

It got to my young black colleague so that she went to another black co-worker to ask her about it. Alison returned later with a big smile on her face. "I asked Phyllis about it – she said it was a black thang.” We all three laughed about it.

That incident led me to ponder how and what we remember, and how we mark special days of observance. A quick look at the history of Memorial Day reveals the difference in how I, Kevin, and Alison had grown up observing the holiday. Memorial Day first came to be observed to commemorate Union soldiers who died in the Civil War. After World War I it became a day to honor Americans who have died in all wars. In my white southern heritage, Memorial Day had no strong observance because it was not a thing that my white ancestors would have particularly wanted to honor or remember. To our black neighbors’ ancestors, however, Memorial Day would have signified a new beginning, new hope and opportunity (even though it took 100 more years for Civil Rights to be enacted). It makes perfect sense that our black neighbors would have celebrated with new clothes for a new beginning.

How then should we observe the day in the 21st century, after so many other wars have given us so many other soldiers killed in the service of our country? On Memorial Day it is certainly fitting to remember those soldiers who have paid the ultimate price for our country. It is also fitting to be thankful for the freedom we enjoy in this country. We would be remiss, however, if we did not pause to consider the price all of our soldiers pay during wartime. Rather than glorifying the fight, we should consider what our brave soldiers actually endure. We do not honor our soldiers by holding on to fantasies about the glories of war. By really understanding what it is we ask our soldiers to do, perhaps we would not be so quick to enter into armed conflict.

Nancy Sherman of Georgetown University writes of the invisible wounds of war in an article, "What Good Soldiers Bear". The article appeared in America magazine and was written after interviews with soldiers fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan. Well stated and insightful, I recommend the article which you can find by clicking here.

For another reflection on the origins of Memorial Day, check out this 2011 op-ed piece in the New York Times, Forgetting Why We Remember, by David W. Blight.


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Photo by Mark Wilson (Getty Images)



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