I:
Saturday I went to the temple and I found myself sitting behind a beautiful African American woman. To my surprise, my eyes started brimming with tears. I suddenly recalled a local historian telling me that my great great grandmother, in her day, had written a number of letters to the first presidency pleading with them to allow her friend, one of the first African Americans to be baptised, to take out her endowments. Her pleas were unsuccessful, but I admired my grandmother's wisdom and courage to recognize and fight for equality for all.
It struck me how blessed I felt, just four generations later, to sit and worship in the temple where all worthy members are welcome, without any regard for race or gender.
II:
I'd been thinking.
Recently a friend made a comment about how she had never been able to understand racisim. As I contemplated her statement, I came to the conclusion that racism occurs when children fail to question the ignorance of their parents, leaders, teachers and peers. The state of the society in which they are raised.
Racisim stems from ignorance. Ignorance about one's own identity and worth and about that of others. If the nonenlightened messages of intolerance or even hate from one generation go unquestioned by the next generation, ignorance will continue to breed ignorance.
The cycle is only broken when someone has the courage to question the status quo. Someone starts to believe that things are different and that the status should be, can be and will be better.
I recall a couple of instances in recent years when certain family members of previous generations made ignorant comments that completely shocked me. I was horrified. (I still am.) Eventually I realized they were merely repeating the teachings of their parents and that their ideas, while completely unacceptable to me and totally inexcuseable, were nonetheless quite consistent with the social construct of the times in which they had lived. It was like they didn't know any better.
Still, I found myself disillusioned by the realization of their bigotry.
Yet just as I look forward to a better future, trying earnestly to bring up my children to be more enlightened and tolerant environment than the one in which I was raised, I also look back now to see evidence of baby steps of progress in the past generations. When I consider where things began, those baby steps seem like giant leaps. It came about like this:
My brother and his wife were blessed to adopt a beautiful African American baby a couple of years ago. I still remember the day when I opened the door and saw them all standing there--new baby in hand. It was such a wonderful surprise! I fell in love with Sadie immediately, but to be honest I also found myself gearing up and preparing myself to be on the defensive if necessary should intolerance raise its ugly head via any of our extended family.
Yet I ended up being most encouraged by the acceptance and love universally bestowed. What touched me most was to see one of those whose comments had so shocked me attend the temple sealing and embrace her new great granddaughter with open arms. Behind those open arms were a newly opened heart and mind.
There is hope for progress--for a better future--not just at the hands of our children, but also from the hearts of our predecessors.
III:
I guessed she must have been about 60. Which would've made her about eight years old or so when Rosa Parks courageously stood up and said, "We're not going to take this anymore." Even so young, she must have felt the sting of the injustices of her time on some level. I'm sure as she got older the hurt must have wounded more deeply. It's even possible she still suffers ignorance and intolerance.
I found myself wanting to go to her and embrace her. To thank her for being there. And to somehow apologize for any pain she has suffered for the ignorance of man. It would've been inappropriate and not at all understood. It would also have been completely inadequate. But those were the desires in my heart.
I still remember the beautiful experience of witnessing the sealing of Sadie to my brother and his family. To us.
Looking back, I see how far we have come.
Looking forward, I know we have not yet arrived.
4 comments:
Good point. Racisim is a complex issue. I appreciate your comment and I love how you visit my blog less traveled by...
Good musings.
My mother was the fiercely pivotal figure in our Deeply Southern family, especially on the subject of racism. I can remember somebody calling her a "n_____-lover" when I was small because she cultivated friendships with—heaven forbid!—several black people, and—horrors!—they weren't even important ones! This is a subject I can get really wound up about. I remember very very clearly the announcement in church about the blacks receiving the priesthood, and how some members of our all-white congregation rejoiced, and others became angry. I remember a very nice woman down the street from us who disowned her white daughter because she married a black man and they had a baby. Wouldn't even receive her own grandchild! I remember as a little girl travelling regularly through a town on the way to our state capitol, and the recurring shock of reading an ancient billboard left standing on the main drag, issuing a horrible threat to blacks. I remember in the early nineties visiting my mom and her husband, and the KKK marched down her main street and held a rally in front of the federal building. She and I saw them in their bad boy hoods and robes. I remember my cousin getting pregnant while she was in the military—she and her black boyfriend chose to marry and settle down, and her parents overcame their own long-standing prejudices and accepted it graciously, heaping up love upon this new little family, and defying their rich white-folk neighbors who were openly scandalized. I can think of many many incidents like these just from my own life. I am so grateful my mother was one who questioned and encouraged me in my questioning. I know I haven't arrived yet either, not completely, but I"m glad to be on a promising road.
Rob and I have talked about adopting a black baby. Any baby, really. I don't think I could keep my fingers out the poor kid's curly hair though.
You need to see my niece. I can't resist every delicious thing about her. And then she dances. . .
my name is wade izatt. i am a single white male, 28 years old, mormon, the stereotype of the mormon and usa combined.... and would like to give you a hug for the corageous and true comments you wrote about racisim. i see it every day and i am doing my best to fight it....it is nice to know that at least one other mormon is on my side.
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