"MEMORIAL DAY"

 “MEMORIAL DAY”

    According to historian David Blight, Memorial Day was started by formerly ensIaved African-Americans on May 1, 1865, just a few weeks after the Confederate surrender at Appomattox.  It happened in Charleston, SC, to honor 257 dead Union soldiers who had been buried in a mass grave in a Confederate prison camp.  They dug up the bodies over a two week period and buried them properly, with a processional of many thousands bringing flowers to honor the service of the soldiers who had helped to end slavery.   

    I served my country as a conscientious objector to the Vietnam War from 1970-72.  My alternative service was a staff person (and later director) of Opportunity House in Nashville, a halfway house for men being released from prison.  It was here that I got my first glimpse of the horror that is the American prison-industrial complex.  It was quite an education for me, and ever since then I have been involved in ministry to those in prison in one form or another.  

    Because of my CO status, Memorial Day is always complicated for me.  I honor the men and women who serve our country in the military.  My adopted father, Gay Wilmore, served in the US army in World War II.  In the midst of my ambivalence about Memorial Day and about nonviolence and the efficacy of violence in service of social justice, I want to give thanks to my father-in-law Herman Leach, to my father, to Charlie Callier, to Bob Wetzel, and to so many others who have served our country.   My mother’s almost fiancé, Bob Buford, was killed in WW II.  I was in seminary and gave up my deferred status in 1970 in order to try to start a movement with others to end deferments for ministers and seminary students.  I never felt that the Vietnam War was anything but a misguided attempt to kill and maim people of a different color.  In saying this, I do not intend to demean the Americans who served there – I had two friends killed in that war.  

    My longtime friend John Cole Vodicka also has a complicated history with Memorial Day, but I will save that story for another day.  In his great ministry as a human rights’ advocate and prisoners’ rights advocate, he has found a powerful way to recognize Memorial Day – to honor those Black veterans of World War II who are known to have been lynched in Georgia after they returned home from serving their country.  This past Friday he led a group of 60+ people in remembering these 9 men, some of whom were lynched while still in uniform.  There was a strong article by Ernie Suggs about this in last Friday’s AJC – here is the ink to it  https://www.ajc.com/news/different-kind-of-memorial-day-marks-black-soldiers-deaths-in-georgia/QZZYNR2SIZB7NL3QWIWOGA6K6Q/

Here are the names of the 9 Black men who fought for freedom overseas and were lynched in Georgia as a result of their service:  Felix Hall, Willie Lee Davis, George Franks, Curtis Hairston, Maceo Snipes, George Dorsey, Walter Lee Johnson, Joe Nathan Roberts, and Lemuel Penn.  With his permission, I am including John’s remarks at Friday’s service.

“Why we are here:

The Memorial Day weekend is a time for all of us to remember the nine known African American WWII veterans who died not in Germany or France or North Africa or Japan or on some remote Pacific Island, but who were lynched by their own countrymen in Georgia. In the United States of America.  

 These nine men enlisted, perhaps with the hope that fighting for America in the “war to destroy fascism and preserve democracy” would earn them respect and human dignity at home—something they’d not experienced in their own country. 

 Instead, these Black soldiers were targeted by white terrorists while they were on active duty or after returning to their homes. White America feared that Black veterans asserting and demanding equality would disrupt the social order built on white supremacy and that Black soldiers would reject their second-class status in the country’s racial hierarchy.  These nine veterans became a threat to the country’s—and especially the South’s, and Georgia’s—caste system.  Black WWII veterans threatened to upend the myth of racial superiority.  Racial insubordination had to be swiftly and violently crushed.  

 Athens’ Veterans Memorial Plaza sits adjacent to the county’s courthouse. The courthouse, in my estimation, is in many respects the present-day place where Black women and men are routinely and systematically subjugated by a system that believes Black lives don’t matter.”

    Thanks, John, for your witness and courage, and thanks to all who have served (and who now serve) to develop and deepen our commitment to the idea of equality:  that all people are created with equal dignity in God’s eyes.  

"ASIAN AMERICAN PACIFIC ISLANDER DESI HERITAGE MONTH"

 “ASIAN-AMERICAN PACIFIC ISLANDER DESI  HERITAGE MONTH”

    The official celebration of Asian-American Heritage (APIDA) began in May, 1979.  It began as a week of celebration and expanded to a month in 1990.  The month of May was chosen to commemorate the immigration of the first Japanese to the USA in 1843 and to remember the work of the Chinese workers on the Transcontinental Railroad, which was completed in May, 1869.   In the evolving American system of race, people of Asian descent have not reached “ethnic” status as people of Hispanic/Latinx have.  So, they are still classified as a “race,” even though no one really fits under that oppressive word, designed by Anglo men to be able to exploit labor and lands as those who were on top of the racial ladder. Pacific Islanders were added as a category with Asian-Americans in 2009.  Recently “Desi” was added to the month to indicate that South Asians (Indians, Pakistanis, Sri Lankas, etc.) are included in this fluid “racial” category.

The killing of Asian-American women in Atlanta in 2021 is a reminder of the deadly power of race in American culture.  A young man classified as “white” blamed Asian-American women for his sexual addiction, and rather than seeking a group to help him cope with his addiction, he decided to seek to eliminate what he took to be the source of the problem.  He saw Asian-American women as the “other,” as the enemy.  There is an enraging and long history of this kind of treatment of people of Asian heritage in USA, from the Chinese Exclusion Acts to the Japanese internment camps of WW II to the blaming of Asian-Americans for Covid, leading to many random vicious attacks. 

         Because the system of race has so long focused on Black and white issues, it is not clear where Americans of Asian heritage fit into the system.  Using Isabel Wilkerson’s category of “caste,”  people of Asian heritage would be considered in “the middle caste,”  not quite Black but not white.  We had a few Asian families in my small hometown of Helena, Arkansas, and in our separatist school system, they went to the “white” school.  At that time, people categorized as “Asian” were seen as descendants of what we then called “Far-East Asia,” such as Chinese, Japanese, Korean, and Vietnamese.  As far as I can recall, we had no families of Indian or Pakistani or Sri Lankan heritage in Helena, but they now are incorporated into the category of “Asian.”

         Asian-Americans present a profound problem for the system of race, because many of them routinely beat those classified as “white” on national test scores for academia and research. If those classified as “white” are superior to all other racial categories, then why do Asian-Americans score higher on the intelligence tests?  One of my good friends, Inez Giles, has long asserted that Korean-Americans will one day be absorbed into the racial category of “white.”  Part of this assertion is the sense that people of Korean heritage have never been enslaved in American history, as have their cousins from Japan, China, the Philippines, and other Asian cultures. 

    Because Asian-Americans tend to bust the categories of race, it is not surprising that SCOTUS has agreed to reconsider the lawsuit on affirmative action against Harvard and University of North Carolina.  This was a suit brought by those classified as “white” and those classified as “Asian-American,” claiming that those two universities favored those classified as “Black” and as “Latina/o” over “white” and “Asian” in admission policies.  After a lower federal court threw out the suit, and a federal appeals court upheld that decision, the plaintiffs appealed, and SCOTUS heard the case in January.  A decision is expected soon in this case, and given the composition of the current SCOTUS, it does not look good for the long-established doctrine of affirmative action.  I do have to hand it to Inez that she was on the money on this prediction, mainly because she as a Black person understands the system of race much better than I do.

    As we celebrate and give thanks for the contributions of APIDA folk to our common life, let us also remember the complicated and oppressive system of race into which they and we fit, and let us work to break down the barriers that the system of race creates – its main goal is to promote white supremacy, and that is a goal that we all must oppose.  We give thanks to the many people of APIDA heritage who have persevered and worked to help us move towards the idea of equality, which is a beacon for us and for all people.

"ANNIVERSARIES"

 “ANNIVERSARIES”

This is a big week in American history, with May 14 being the date in 1607 when Anglo colonists landed in Jamestown, Virginia, starting the European dominion and bringing enslaved African people to this land.  On May 18, 1896, SCOTUS ruled 8-1 that “separate but equal” was the law of land in Plessy v. Ferguson.  That ruling was reversed 58 years later on May 18, 1954 in a unanimous SCOTUS decision in Brown v. Board of Education. On May 15, 1947 the new nation of Israel began to expel Palestinians from their homes, beginning a grim anniversary known as “Nakba,” meaning “disaster” or “catastrophe.”

But, May 18 is also an important date for Caroline and me – it is our 49th wedding anniversary!  We got married in Ed Loring’s back yard in Decatur in 1974 with Ed and Sandy Winter officiating.  Neither one of us changed our names, and that confounded many folks, including the Dekalb County office, which initially refused to give us a marriage license.  When we got our first call to a church in Norfolk, Virginia, we interviewed in March, 1975, with the Norfolk Presbytery Committee to see if they would approve our coming to be co-pastors of St. Columba Presbyterian Church there.  Noticing that we had different last names, and wondering if we were really married, they asked early on: “Are you two living together?”  We both replied: “Yes,” and we let it sit there for a few seconds before we added “but we are living together because we are married.”  They called us to be the co-pastors of St. Columba, and we were the first clergy couple to serve in a local church in the former southern Presbyterian Church (PCUS).

Last week we were up in Chattanooga to say good-bye to our friends Collin and Vienna Cornell, who are moving to Houston this week, where Collin will be on the faculty at Fuller Seminary there.  We also visited with Caroline’s brother Steve and his spouse Babs, and we were giving thanks that this June will mark their 50th wedding anniversary.  They got married in Babs’ home church in Knoxville, and Caroline was part of the wedding ensemble.  While Caroline was in Knoxville for the wedding in 1973, she was interviewed by the Knoxville News Sentinel for the “Women’s News and Feature Section.”  The title of the article was “New Pulpit Image,” and it has a photo of Caroline in the wedding party clothes and another photo of her in “regular” clothes.  

The author of the article was a woman and clearly was amazed that Caroline was a woman minister – she was then a campus minister at Georgia Tech.  Early on in the article, the author writes:  “The locks are long, brown and wavy.  The figure curvy.  Marital status, single.  Sex FEMALE (in caps so we wouldn’t miss the point). The name Caroline Leach.” The article continues to relate Caroline’s story as an ordained minister.

The author cannot resist asking Caroline about her relationship to men, especially any men that she might be dating.  She asks Caroline how her status as an ordained minister set with “eligible, datable men.”  Caroline replies:  “Well, it takes a special kind of man.  If he is one who can handle the fact that you are a professional (like a woman doctor, lawyer, business executive, etc.) then there’s no problem.  If he sees the ministerial robes before he sees you, forget it!”

I would come along a couple of months later, and we would start dating – I was one of the men who saw Caroline first rather than her ministerial robes.  Indeed her already being ordained as a Presbyterian minister was intriguing  to me.  The wavy, long brown hair and the curvy figure didn’t hurt either!  I was mostly interested in her intellect and grit and determination in grinding out her calling when most people and institutions said “No.”  I was glad that she seemed interested in me, too!  

After 49 years, we have made a life together, with many ups and downs, and we were blessed to serve 5+ years in Norfolk as copastors, then later 30+ years as copastors at Oakhurst Presbyterian in Decatur.  And we were also blessed to have two wonderful children, David and Susan.  We’re still rolling, and we give thanks to God for it!

"MOTHER'S DAY"

 “MOTHER’S DAY”

    As I have noted before, I was raised by a single mom, Mary Armour Stroupe, and we lived with my great-great aunt Bernice Higgins (I called her “Gran.”) My father abandoned my mother and me for another woman when I was an infant, and I never met him again until I was 23 – he never contacted me or ever came to see me. 

    Though we lived in a patriarchal world in Helena, Arkansas,  my mother escaped much of it because she worked as a beautician at Ted’s Beauty Shop in downtown Helena at the other end of Porter Street, about a mile from our house.  I don’t know how or when Mother started that job at Ted’s – she was there when my memories began.  In my younger days, I thought that it was owned by a man named “Ted,” but Mother let me know that it was named after the woman who owned it – Ted Bostick.  I can remember nothing else about Ted, but as I write this, I am just realizing that such female ownership reinforced the sense that beauty shops in the 1950’s were a woman’s domain, whether one was classified as white or Black.  No males, except salesman, were to be found in those beauty shops.  

    Ted’s was located in the Cleburne Hotel, which had been opened in 1905 and named after Confederate General Patrick Cleburne.  It had a colonial revival style with huge columns in the front, facing Cherry Street, the main downtown street.  In its youth, it was quite a grand place, near the railroad depot for travelers to stay, housing barber and beauty shops and other stores. I would often stop by Ted’s Beauty Shop on my way home from school.  It was a fascinating place to me – a woman’s world!  All women beauty operators, and all kinds of white women there, getting their hair done, getting pampered, getting listened to, getting a chance to share their stories and local gossip, getting a chance to exhale and be accepted without the censoring or lustful eyes of men to put them in their places.  

    It was a refuge from patriarchy, even though they were often getting their hair done and having themselves made up for their men (and other women).  When I would enter Ted’s, there was an intriguing set of smells wafting through the air, a mixture of perfume, shampoo, dyes, chemicals, hair spray, and cigarette smoke.  As a young boy, the women there - both operators and customers – would fawn over me, and I loved the attention.  Part of it was my relationship to Mother, and part of it was that in my childhood, I was still in my innocent youth, a young male fascinated by being allowed to enter this women’s world, not yet so tainted by the crushing patriarchy (and sexuality) that awaited them outside the confines of the beauty shop. 

    I remember when I was about 6 years old, waiting on our front porch for Mother to come home from work.  We had no car, and she had to walk a mile home from Ted’s after being on her feet all day.  I was waiting with great anticipation because I wanted her to play catch with me, to toss the baseball around with me.  I remember feeling excited when I saw her - in her white beautician’s uniform and heavy white shoes - climb the big hill on Porter Street, now only about a block from our house.  I would run up to her and say, “Mama, let’s play catch!  I’ve been waiting a long time.”  I do not ever remember her saying to me: “Nibs, I’m just too tired. Let’s do it another day.”  My memory of her is that she always said “Yes, Nibs, let’s do that – let me change out of my uniform, and we’ll throw the ball around.”  

    I never realized what I was asking of her until I had my own kids – how tired she must have been, how stressed out she was with our tenuous financial situation, how she likely longed to sit down for a while and put her feet up.  Later in her life, I asked her if she ever said “No” to me when I asked her to play catch right after work, and she said: “Of course – often I was just too tired.”  I am intrigued that I do not remember those times – my memories are focused on the “Yes,” not the “No.”

       And, that’s how I remember my mother – the one who stayed, the one who loved me, the one who gave me life.  I know that some people have trouble with the idea of Mother’s Day – bad relations with their mothers, the sentimentalism and commercialization of Mother’s Day, those women unable to have children – but for me, it is an opportunity to say “Thank you” to my mother, to Gran, and to all the other women who provided mothering love to me.  It is also a reminder that all of us, regardless of our gender identity, are called to share that mothering love with one another – comforting, enduring, challenging, nurturing.  Let us be mothers one to the other.

"TILL"

 “TILL”

The death of Carolyn Bryant Donham last week revived memories of a horrible lynching in Mississippi in the summer of 1955 – a teenage boy named Emmett Till was jerked from his uncle’s home and tortured and murdered because of false allegations that Carolyn Bryant had made against the Black teenager from Chicago, who was visiting his family down South for the summer.  Bryant’s husband and brother-in-law kidnapped young Till in the middle of the night, tortured him and then killed him, dumping his body in the Tallahatchie River.  This story was depicted well in the movie “Till,” which came out late last year.  The movie centered on Mamie Till Mobley, whose deep grief and then searing anger at the murder of her son, turned what was an “ordinary” and horrible event in the South, into a catalyst for the civil rights movement.

I grew up in this era, on the Arkansas side of the Mississippi River Delta.  I lived 75 miles from Money, Mississippi, where these gruesome events happened, but I had no idea about them.  95% of those of us in the white South at this time were so captured by the racism and white supremacy of our culture that these kinds of events would seem “ordinary,” a terrible but true thing to say.  I checked with my good and long-time friend David Billings, who grew up with me in Arkansas, and he indicated that he also had no knowledge of these events at the time.  The depressing and disturbing part of our journey as young, white Southerners, is that even if we had knowledge of the lynching of Emmett Till, it would have not made any difference.  We might have winced a bit at Till’s young age, but we would have agreed that the order of white supremacy must be kept intact.

Because of Mamie Till Mobley’s courage and tenacity, however, the murder of her son became one of the sparks that ignited the civil rights movement.  She would not allow this lynching to be seen as “ordinary,” as part of the price that Black people must pay in the South.  She wanted to name this murder for what it was, and she wanted the world to know that it was barbaric.  She came down to Mississippi to get her son’s body, and she made the courageous but difficult decision to have the casket open at his funeral in Chicago.  She defied everyone to do this, because she wanted all to see how brutally her son had been tortured before he was killed.  

    Her decision became a powerful symbol for Black people of that and later generations.  Emmett Till’s body lay in state for 3 days, and over 50,000 people came to see it.  David Jackson, a photographer for Jet Magazine, got permission to publish photos of Emmett Till’s tortured body.   Those photos in Jet galvanized Black people all over the country, and Emmett Till became a symbol of the kind of life that Black people would no longer tolerate.  Later that year, Rosa Parks would say his name to herself, as she sat and waited for the police to come and arrest her in Montgomery.  In 1962 in the Albany Campaign led by Martin Luther King, Jr and SCLC, Reverend Samuel Wells called out to the crowd in a speech there:

 “My name is being called on the road to freedom.  I can hear the blood of Emmett Till as it calls from the ground….When shall we go? Not tomorrow! Not at high noon! Now!” They became known as the “Emmett Till generation.”

    The lynching of Emmett Till became one of four key events that re-ignited the civil rights movement in the 1950’s, joining the Supreme Court decision Brown v. Board which unanimously ruled in 1954 that legal segregation was unconstitutional; the Montgomery bus boycott started by Rosa Parks in Montgomery in 1955; and the Little Rock school crisis in 1957, in which President Eisenhower reluctantly sent federal troops to Little Rock to enable 9 Black kids to go to public school at Central High School there.  The famous series “Eyes on the Prize” led off with the lynching of Emmett Till.

    In 1956, Look Magazine (remember that one?) paid a hefty sum of $10,000 to William Bradford Huie to write a story about the Till case, including interviews with Roy Bryant and JT Milam, who had kidnapped, tortured and murdered Emmett Till. They admitted that they had killed Till, and they did so because they had already been tried and acquitted for the murder.  In a 2017 interview with Timothy Tyson, Carolyn Bryant admitted that she had not told the truth about her encounter with Emmett Till in that store in August, 1955, that indeed she had made most of it up.  The Leflore County district attorney had tried to indict her after that admission, but the grand jury refused to return an indictment.  The FBI also reopened the case that year but later closed it, with no action.  

    Not much changes in relation to race – Black folk and other people of color know how the system is structured.  Those of us classified as “white” refuse to acknowledge that the system works like this – indeed, Trump and others are building a case based on white grievance, the same base that executed Emmett Till.  May we hear his name in the way that Reverend Samuel Wells did in 1962 – it’s time now to act for justice and equity.