Black and White

For many years, my parents would take winter vacations lasting a couple of weeks, often in either Florida or southernmost Texas, but occasionally to the westernmost states. I was fortunate to be included in these vacations, even as a toddler. I count it as among the most enriching aspects of my childhood that, blessed with being a good traveler, that I had the opportunity to see many parts of the country while traveling by car. It provided me not only the opportunity to see the different aspects of the landscape, but to meet and interact with the residents of more than 40 of our 50 states, with occasional forays over the borders into Canada and Mexico. As I was a good student, my parents didn't mind packing up my books and taking me out of school for these adventures. (The down side of all that vacation traveling is that I have seen enough golf courses in this country to last me a life time.)

July 2nd marked the 45th anniversary of the landmark legislation, the Civil Rights Act of 1964. One of my earliest memories is of traveling in the southern United States, driving through small towns on our way to Florida. I loved the south, the food, the exceedingly friendly welcome of southern hospitality, the architecture, and of course the warmth in contrast to Minnesota in winter.

So when we stopped in a very old fashioned small town for more gasoline and the obligatory ablutions, I didn't think twice about using the drinking fountains; more specifically ONE of the TWO drinking fountains available, while my parents did their adult things. I was pre-school age, and mad as hell that I had to wait to go to school because I wanted to be able to read. Impatient with the age requirements, I had begun to teach myself how to read at the age of 2, but I was convinced that going to school would expedite my progress. So, I actually KNEW what the signs over the drinking fountains said: Whites Only, Coloreds Only. The 'whites only' fountain wasn't working, so I used the 'coloreds only' drinking fountain instead, standing on a crate to be tall enough to help myself. I didn't care; I was thirsty, and I was chronically impatient with relying on adult assistance.

What I did not expect was the alarmed response of my parents. I was a dare devilish sort of child, usually inured to their alarm. In this case, not only did my mother let out a shriek, she ran over, grabbed me by the arm pulling me off the crate, and dragged me back to the car, scolding me vehemently the entire distance. Even as a child, I was critical of many aspects of adult behavior, so I rather belligerently stood my ground, arms crossed, heels dug in, a defiant expression on my face. My response to my mother lecturing me on not using the 'coloreds only' drinking fountain was an obstinate "that's just dumb". My parents knew all too well that when I thought some custom or convention was 'dumb', I could be singularly, mulishly, spectacularly stubborn. I was utterly unrepentant for having quenched my thirst at the 'coloreds only' fountain, and I was warming up to express myself further on the topic.

What I had not expected was for my mother to gag me with her hand over my mouth, shoving me bodily into the backseat of the family car. What made the impression that will last me as long as I live was that - for a change - she was not so much angry at me, as afraid. Afraid of other adults. When we were on vacation, my parents tended to be very glib, very flippant, so this was a stark contrast to their usual demeanor. My father was clearly alarmed as well; this was a novel experience for me. I never saw my parents afraid of other grown ups before that day. Further conversation was distinctly paused until we were well away from the gas station.

At that point my parents began explaining to me that, as warm and hospitable as southerners were (both black and white), there were some people who 1. felt strongly about maintaining segregation; and 2. resented outsiders, especially northerners / Yankees whom they regarded as forcing changes to their chosen way of life. And 3. they explained about residual ill will dating back a hundred years to the Civil War.

And then they had to explain to their very young daughter about lynching, about the violence done to some people who had tried to change the status quo, and possibly the most disturbing of all their revelations, that law enforcement was sometimes party to that violence rather than preventing it. Given the Minnesota license plates on our car, my parents wanted me to be very, very careful not to give the impression that we were traveling in the south to promote rights for Negroes, or to overthrow segregation. Their fear succeeded, finally, in persuading me to shut the hell up, whatever I thought, when around southerners, and to be respectful, whatever my private thoughts were, about the coloreds only / white only differences from back home. Even at that tender age, it was clear to me that 'separate but equal' was always very long on separation, but very, very short on equal.

I loved the regional cultures of the southern states then, and I still love them now. I have friends in the south to this day, some of them descendants of VERY old, very white southern families. It was a shock to me that these lovely, friendly, charming people could have such an extremely opposite side, a violent side. That experience was very formative to my notions of being a citizen of the United States. I defined being an American as not having to be afraid of authority, either government entities or law enforcement. I defined being American as never having to fear 'being disappeared', by anyone, ever. I defined being American as never having to be afraid of someone from any region of the United States, because of regional history or differences. I thought of those things as defining dictatorships, in other less-fortunate countries.

I never feared that anyone would harm me, a child. I was well aware that I was a cute little girl with freckles and a mop of curly red hair that seemed to attract more adult attention than most other kids. My parents had gone to great lengths to ensure that I had (when pressed to use them) very pretty, very formal good manners, and the ability to use conversation beyond my years to charm adults. From that day with the drinking fountain adventure onwards, I internalized the idea that my behavior might endanger my parents whenever we traveled very far from home, and I acted accordingly (to my parents relief). I doubt that my parents would have included me as often as they did when traveling had I not; my younger sibling, in comparison, rarely traveled on these trips. That awareness definitely made me a more acute observer when traveling.

So, this anniversary of the Civil Rights Act of 1964, and the later companion legislation prompts a range of reflections on our history and current events. The race riots that took place in the context of what was effectively a kind of government coercion to change traditions resonates when viewing the hatred in the middle east generally, and the riots in Iran particularly. The political coalition, across party lines, of liberal Democrats Lyndon Johnson from Texas, and Hubert Humphrey from Minnesota, with conservative Republican Everett Dirksen of Illinois, to create regional bi-partisan support for a variety of civil rights legislation. It strikes me in the current political climate, that the next leader of a re-invented Republican Party would do well to examine the career of Everett Dirksen for the needed new ideas and new leadership. And it strikes me that Obama and Biden would do well to revisit the political careers of Johnson and Humphrey to pass some of their legislation, particularly in the area of DOMA and Don't Ask, Don't Tell. The GOP would do well to examine that era, which lost the southern 'Dixi-crats' for the Democratic party, but which in the current era is leading to the GOP becoming marginalized as a limited, regional influence. Bachmann's Anti-Census rants, including her references to the Japanese American internment camps during WW II remind me of the landmark cases involving allegations of racism, especially Korematsu v. U. S. The Civil Rights Act of 1964 originated the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission, which makes the recent US Supreme Court decision in the reverse racism case all the more piquant. And lastly, but far from least, the pattern of the U. S. Supreme Court in effectively reversing itself (albeit, indirectly) in subsequent decisions over the full history of civil rights precedents, dating back from Dredd Scott to date, is especially well worth noting, in view of the possibilities for alterations, even reversal of landmark decisions like Roe v. Wade.

The information is all available, more now than ever courtesy of the Internet.

In glorious Black and White.