International Blog Against Racism Week
Wednesday, August 8th, 2007 07:54 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rolanniI discover from Bear that it is IBAR week.
On December 1, 1955, in Montgomery, Alabama, a woman named Rosa Parks refused to move to a seat at the back of the bus, even though the bus driver ordered her to do so. Black people were supposed to sit in the back of the bus in those days; the good seats up front being reserved for white people.
I was born three years before Mrs. Parks' act of civil disobedience, in Maryland -- a border state, lest it be forgotten. My father was born in 1928. His father was born in 1894, twenty-nine years after the end of the Civil War.
I remember my grandmother's horror upon discovering that "they" could sit anywhere on the bus that they chose, and that some of the "insolent ones" wouldn't even surrender their seat to a white person on a crowded bus. I remember people coming in school buses from their neighborhoods to our "all white" movie theater. I remember my parents searching for and joining a "swim club," the charter of which specifically forbade black members. I remember being bused an hour across town so that I could attend an integrated school. I remember bringing one of my classmates to a cookout, and the fixed smile on my mother's face. I remember my grandmother talking to me very seriously, afterward, explaining that the law might require me to go to school with "those people," but that didn't mean I had to socialize with them.
I remember my father refusing to take my sister and me to Gwynn Oak Amusement Park after it was integrated, because "...people get drunk there now, and it's too dangerous for you girls."
I remember one of my co-workers who was bilingual -- "street black" and "white."
I remember Morgan State University making the news when it refused to grant minority status to white students.
I remember people in cars on Liberty Road in Randallstown, Maryland, in 1986-or-7, throwing bottles at me as I was taking a walk a block from my home, screaming, "Go home, whitey!"
I remember moving to Skowhegan, Maine in 1988, and my befuddlement at seeing so many white faces.
I remember that people are complicated, that change takes time, that fear of the unknown is common to us all, and that there are those among us who use fear and distrust for their own gain.
I remember all that, and I tell stories.
On December 1, 1955, in Montgomery, Alabama, a woman named Rosa Parks refused to move to a seat at the back of the bus, even though the bus driver ordered her to do so. Black people were supposed to sit in the back of the bus in those days; the good seats up front being reserved for white people.
I was born three years before Mrs. Parks' act of civil disobedience, in Maryland -- a border state, lest it be forgotten. My father was born in 1928. His father was born in 1894, twenty-nine years after the end of the Civil War.
I remember my grandmother's horror upon discovering that "they" could sit anywhere on the bus that they chose, and that some of the "insolent ones" wouldn't even surrender their seat to a white person on a crowded bus. I remember people coming in school buses from their neighborhoods to our "all white" movie theater. I remember my parents searching for and joining a "swim club," the charter of which specifically forbade black members. I remember being bused an hour across town so that I could attend an integrated school. I remember bringing one of my classmates to a cookout, and the fixed smile on my mother's face. I remember my grandmother talking to me very seriously, afterward, explaining that the law might require me to go to school with "those people," but that didn't mean I had to socialize with them.
I remember my father refusing to take my sister and me to Gwynn Oak Amusement Park after it was integrated, because "...people get drunk there now, and it's too dangerous for you girls."
I remember one of my co-workers who was bilingual -- "street black" and "white."
I remember Morgan State University making the news when it refused to grant minority status to white students.
I remember people in cars on Liberty Road in Randallstown, Maryland, in 1986-or-7, throwing bottles at me as I was taking a walk a block from my home, screaming, "Go home, whitey!"
I remember moving to Skowhegan, Maine in 1988, and my befuddlement at seeing so many white faces.
I remember that people are complicated, that change takes time, that fear of the unknown is common to us all, and that there are those among us who use fear and distrust for their own gain.
I remember all that, and I tell stories.
I REMEMBER...
Date: 2007-08-08 03:44 pm (UTC)Lorna Stutz