Over the last 24 hours I have felt less proud and more, well compelled to tell the rest of my story. The part of my story that is not so beautiful, that is not so inspiring. The part of the story that I have been forced to face especially since reading Josh Bryan's blog Charlottesville was my Fault. The part that makes Charlottesville my fault...
I don't suppose anyone would have ever considered my family of origin racist. And I can assure you soap would have been eaten if either of my parents had ever heard us use the n-word or any other racist language. But...
The story was told many times about my mother crying for hours after seeing the movie Guess Who's Coming to Dinner because she had two baby girls and worried that might one day be us. We "weren't racist" but we had family and friends who were and after visits with them we were lectured on how wrong it was, but no one ever said anything while we were there instead choosing to keep the peace. And then we went to Charlottesville...
In 1987 I transferred to UVA the school I had sworn I would never attend. (In fact I may have told Dean Jack Blackburn to his face that he didn't need to waste the stamp sending me an application; yep I was that kind of kid) On our drive to Charlottesville my grandfather died which we learned when we arrived at my aunt and uncle's home. My uncle was an English professor at UVA and former Dean of the College of Arts and Sciences. We made a plan to quickly move me into my university housing apartment so Mama and Daddy could drive back to Augusta. Meredith, my sister, and I would fly back two days later.
We arrived at the apartment and entered finding warm, smiling faces lounging in the living room--warm, smiling black faces. We introduced ourselves to them, explained what had happened and quickly moved my things into my room. I don't remember much about the next 24 hours but I remember this...
Shortly after arriving back in Augusta for grandfather's funeral my parents took me aside and said, "We can get you moved. We've already talked to Uncle Irby." I'd like to say I was aghast, offended and outraged, but I wasn't. I told them I'd think about it. And I did.
Again, I'd like to think my decision was based solely on my principles but I think it was based as much on not wanting to have to pack up and move. I do remember thinking, "I'm not going to move just because my roommates are black." but again I'm not sure that was based on some moral stance as much as defiance. (Remember I was that kid in Dean Blackburn's office....)
I arrived back in C'ville very late and tired. As I walked into my room there lying on my bed were flowers and the nicest card that I still have. My roommates, Angelique, Sondra, and Carmella, came into the room, asked how I was and then we sat down and talked about the apartment and living together.
I loved living with them. There were many late nights of laughter; there were many days we gathered around sharing stories and making fun of each other. They began to call me Kunta Kanto and the name stuck. Very quickly African American students all over Grounds would holler out "Hey Kunta" when they saw me. Here's the thing, it made me feel special. I liked being known; I liked knowing so many people. It was about me and me feeling included and accepted, and not about me reaching out But here's the truth no one talked about.
In the apartment we were close; when I went to watch Carmella play basketball (she was on the women's team) we were close; but not once did we socialize outside of the apartment. Not once...(unless you consider the one time they invited me to a step show and then persuaded me to try...I give thanks daily there was no such thing as iphones then...)
But my University story doesn't stop there. That was also the year for the first time the University had a "wear jeans to support gay rights" day. And no one, myself included, that I know did.
I am not proud of any of the above, but as Dr. Catherine Meeks shared several weeks ago in the Dismantling Racism workshop, unless we own our own stories, acknowledge our part in the system, and repent then we cannot move forward.
I am truly ashamed of that year, but I also know that year was the beginning of a change in me, and I'd like to believe that year was the beginning of the story that is continuing to be told today through my daughter. I truly wish I was as resolute then in my beliefs as my daughter is now. I can blame it on the times or I can just own my story and seek forgiveness.
Thank you UVA for being part of both of our stories.
And now I pray....
Most merciful God,
we confess that we have sinned against thee
in thought, word, and deed,
by what we have done,
and by what we have left undone.
We have not loved thee with our whole heart;
we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves.
We are truly sorry and we humbly repent.
For the sake of thy Son Jesus Christ,
have mercy on us and forgive us;
that we may delight in thy will,
and walk in thy ways,
to the glory of thy Name. Amen. (BCP)
God of all mercy, we confess that we have sinned against you, opposing your will in our lives. We have denied your goodness in each other, in ourselves, and in the world you have created. We repent of the evil that enslaves us, the evil we have done, and the evil done on our behalf. Forgive, restore, and strengthen us through our Savior Jesus Christ, that we may abide in your love and serve only your will. Amen. (Enriching Our Worship)
2 comments:
I am now a blithering idiot sitting in front of my computer screen after reading this. Why do you always hit the nail on the head and make me cringe at my failures! This forced me to look back on my college career and check out just how soft a racist I was. My first year at UT Knoxville was the first year African-Americans were allowed to attend. My father almost made me change schools when it happened. I think there were all of 12 of them - in a student body of 13,000. In looking back, there was never a time that I even had contact with one and no reason to talk - or stay silent as others talked - about anything other than football, choir, and parties. My soft racism has been in later years as I stayed silent when I should have talked. I work on this daily and hopefully I have become better at saying what needs to be said. "What would Jesus do?" has become more important to me than staying "safe." Thank you for much needed pushes.
Sandra Taylor
I remember thinking that the University was very self-segregated back then. Sure, we knew that there were some people and organizations that were racist. But for the most part, everyone broke off into their own groups. I lived with several black women in the dorms and they were very nice. We all got along great. But we didn't have a lot in common, so we all found our own groups to hang out with. Same with my white roommate - she had her own friends, which didn't really overlap with mine. But just because we didn't socialize outside of where we lived, that doesn't make us racist. We each, black and white, found our place in the University - where we hung out with others who were like us and with whom we felt comfortable. In a perfect world, it would have been more integrated and I certainly hope it is now.
Post a Comment