Cards on the Table

Here I am in Mississippi. I’ve been trying to get out for well and good all my life. Mississippi is like a cage for the soul, but that’s not to say it’s a bad place.

We have nice weather, except during hurricane season. People mostly leave you alone and let you do your thing – as long as you’re a white, straight, MSEqualChristian, well-spoken man. If you’re black, gay, don’t believe in Jesus, stutter, or happen to be a woman, well. Mississippi might give you a bit of trouble.

Earlier this year, we had a nasty fight over a bill in the Legislature that was basically an argument over whether businesses could turn paying customers away because of their sexual orientation. Mississippi said no to that. I know because I watched the debate on the floor of the state house of representatives, and the house couldn’t pass it as it was originally written.

Instead, there was some fast talking, the bill went to a conference committee, some language was changed, it was passed while no one was looking, and the governor signed it.

So, what’s the point of even having representatives if they’re going to pass things while no one is looking, is my first question. Where’s the democracy in that? It’s more a mockery, really. The way Tolkien’s orcs are a mockery of elves. This was a perversion of the legislative process.

But something good came out of it. Now we have these little stickers, and t-shirts to go along with them.


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More reasons to be proud of #Mississippi: #Race, #Education, #CriminalJustice, #CivilRights

I was puttering around yesterday, making a little to-do list, checking in with my tweeps, thinking I’d take it easy and recharge my batteries a little for the week ahead. Unfortunately, I picked up this news story on twitter. It’s about a 15 year-old student at Olive Branch (just south of Memphis) being suspended because he flashed his football jersey number in a photo and administrators interpreted it as a gang sign. I’m not going to summarize all the details – it’s a long article and it’s worth a read.

Now, before I write one more word about this, let me just say: I don’t make a habit of bashing my home state for the fun of it, nor do I go in for using negativity just to attract internet traffic. I’m writing this because the situation deserves a closer look, and because the hour I’ve spent digging into school discipline in Mississippi raises some questions that I believe it is fair to ask.

Without direct personal knowledge of this situation, here is what I think:

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Feminist Friday; Why It’s Important

My friend Alva wrote this back in December, and I linked to it a few weeks ago because at the time, I wasn’t able to reblog Alva’s Almanac. That problem is sorted out now, and given the number of followers we’ve picked up since this was published, I think it’s worthwhile to reblog it for Feminist Friday. Enjoy!

What Dr. King did.


Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr.
January 15, 1929 – April 4, 1968

I picked up this essay about Dr. King on Facebook yesterday, and something made me click through the link and read it. I am glad I did. It is a personal essay. I would copy and paste the whole thing if I could, but since I can’t, read this excerpt.

At this point, I would like to remind everyone exactly what Martin Luther King did, and it wasn’t that he “marched” or gave a great speech.

My father told me with a sort of cold fury, “Dr. King ended the terror of living in the south.”

Please let this sink in and and take my word and the word of my late father on this.  If you are a white person who has always lived in the U.S. and never under a brutal dictatorship, you probably don’t know what my father was talking about.

But this is what the great Dr. Martin Luther King accomplished.  Not that he marched, nor that he gave speeches.

He ended the terror of living as a black person, especially in the south.

I’m guessing that most of you, especially those having come fresh from seeing “The Help,” may not understand what this was all about.  But living in the south (and in parts of the mid west and in many ghettos of the north) was living under terrorism.

It wasn’t that black people had to use a separate drinking fountain or couldn’t sit at lunch counters, or had to sit in the back of the bus.

You really must disabuse yourself of this idea.  Lunch counters and buses were crucial symbolic planes of struggle that the civil rights movement decided to use to dramatize the issue, but the main suffering in the south did not come from our inability to drink from the same fountain, ride in the front of the bus or eat lunch at Woolworth’s.

It was that white people, mostly white men, occasionally went berserk, and grabbed random black people, usually men, and lynched them.  You all know about lynching.  But you may forget or not know that white people also randomly beat black people, and the black people could not fight back, for fear of even worse punishment.

This constant low level dread of atavistic violence is what kept the system running.  It made life miserable, stressful and terrifying for black people.

White people also occasionally tried black people, especially black men, for crimes for which they could not conceivably be guilty.  With the willing participation of white women, they often accused black men of “assault,” which could be anything from rape to not taking off one’s hat, to “reckless eyeballing.”

There’s nothing I can add to that, except to note that I grew up in the South, and I’ve talked to enough people about those times to know that this really is what life was like for a lot of people in those days. We need to remember it.

Here’s one more. It says more about the Civil Rights Movement  in 300 words than I could say in an entire book:

The question is, how did Dr. King do this — and of course, he didn’t do it alone.

(Of all the other civil rights leaders who helped Dr. King end this reign of terror, I think the most under appreciated is James Farmer, who founded the Congress of Racial Equality and was a leader of non-violent resistance, and taught the practices of non violent resistance.)

So what did they do?

They told us: — whatever you are most afraid of doing vis a vis white people, go do it.  Go ahead down to city hall and try to register to vote, even if they say no, even if they take your name down.

Go ahead sit at that lunch counter.  Sue the local school board.  All things that most black people would have said back then, without exaggeration, were stark raving insane and would get you killed.

If we do it all together, we’ll be OK.

They made black people experience the worst of the worst, collectively, that white people could dish out, and discover that it wasn’t that bad.  They taught black people how to take a beating — from the southern cops, from police dogs, from fire department hoses.  They actually coached young people how to crouch, cover their heads with their arms and take the beating.  They taught people how to go to jail, which terrified most decent people.

And you know what?  The worst of the worst, wasn’t that bad.

Once people had been beaten, had dogs sicked on them, had fire hoses sprayed on them, and been thrown in jail, you know what happened?

These magnificent young black people began singing freedom songs in jail.

That, my friends, is what ended the terrorism of the south.  Confronting your worst fears, living through it, and breaking out in a deep throated freedom song.  The jailers knew they had lost when they beat the crap out of these young Negroes and the jailed, beaten young people began to sing joyously, first in one town then in another.  This is what the writer, James Baldwin, captured like no other writer of the era.

Please let this sink in.  It wasn’t marches or speeches.  It was taking a severe beating, surviving and realizing that our fears were mostly illusory and that we were free.

When I was much younger, I regretted the fact that I was born too late to witness the Civil Rights Movement. I don’t feel that way now. I am white, and Southern. I’ve lived most of my life watching older people of different races, classes, and ideologies struggle to deal with the things they witnessed (and in some cases, things they did) during that time. I am glad I missed it, but I think it’s important to remember it, and remember it honestly. If you lived through the 50’s and 60’s in the South, you should think about writing your experiences down or look into giving an oral history.

If you only read one thing today, let it be this.

image: public domain via American Rhetoric