Albany Herald,
EDITOR'S PICK - Aug 18, 2017
https://goo.gl/fyVgn4
I grew up in the
segregated south to a poor family — but a family favored with what has come to
be known as the power of whiteness.
My dad’s family goes back
generations in south Alabama and the Florida panhandle. They probably even
owned slaves. But, I can’t turn back the clock and undo the past.
Slavery was an
abomination that ended in the United States 150 years ago. What really makes me
sad is that we Southern whites found a way to keep slavery alive for another
hundred years. I saw the evidence with my own eyes. I remember the “colored”
restrooms and drinking fountains, and the “white only” waiting rooms and
country clubs. It makes me uncomfortable to remember that it took heroic effort
and bravery for African Americans to earn the rights that a free people should
have had all along.
So, what heritage am I,
as a white Southerner, allowed to be proud of?
I am proud of the people,
both black and white, of my generation and older who are able to put all of
that behind them and work together in friendship and brotherly love.
I am proud of a Southern
heritage of politeness where we say hello to strangers on the street and we
teach our youngsters to say “yes, ma’am” and “no, sir” to their elders.
I love it that we make
Northerners uncomfortable when we move in for a hug.
And I am proud of my
parent who in the 1970s, when the schools in St. Petersburg, Fla., were
integrating, sent my younger brother to a high school that had been all-black
for generations. While the rest of the white community was huffing in indignation,
my parents had the courage to stand up to the “white-flight” that caused others
to flee to the suburbs.
My brother was an athlete
who excelled at football and basketball. He was the only white player on the
football and basketball teams his junior year. That meant my parents were the
only white faces in the stands.
I can be proud of my
Southern heritage without being proud of everything my ancestors did. But my
Southern heritage is complicated. It is a heritage of white folks versus black
folks, and a heritage of Southern gentility alongside the ugliness of racism.
I can’t change who I am –
a white, Southern male – and I can’t change the past, but I don’t need a
Confederate battle flag or the statue of a Confederate general to remind me of
who I am.
I know there are plenty
of good, decent white people who are appalled by the message of the Neo-Nazis
and white supremacists. But this issue is not going to be resolved by more
marches and sit-ins by people of color. This particular brand of evil needs to
be squashed by white people standing up to other white people and telling them
they don’t speak for us.
As for me, I’ll write
about it. I’ll shout about it. And, if need be, I’ll stand up against those who
preach hatred. It just makes me sad that nearly 50 years after the death of
Martin Luther King, we are still having this conversation. “Make America Great
Again” rings kind of hollow right about now.
