I usually fill my blog posts with pictures I've taken to showcase our wonderful foothills of western North Carolina. Not this time. This time I want to share a part of the state not mentioned in tourist magazines.
There was an underbelly of society that preferred to stay hidden when I was a white child growing up in a segregated community, and I've recently been reminded of this fact through a book I read. I'll talk about the book in a future post. I want to preface it with my own experiences.
I'm talking about the KKK. The Klu Klux Klan.
I had no idea of its existence when I was in grade school. Life was just peachy. We had our school. The black community had theirs. It's the way it was. Our bus passed the black kids waiting in line for their bus. There was no interaction except the normal back of the bus meanines who screamed less than nice jeers out the window while the rest of us (including me) snickered. I drank from the correct water fountains. I entered the theater through the front door while black children entered through the side. I was too caught up in my own world to question things.
I don't remember many individual sermons preachers preached to me, the ADHD kid before it was ever a diagnosis. I was labeled squirmy. But the Sunday before school started when I was in sixth grade, Rev. Crawley spoke to us from his heart and I listened. It was the day before school integration at a time when people were pulling their children out of public schools and heading to church-sponsored schools. He was announcing that his son would be sitting in the classroom with black children the very next day. His Christian faith led him to stand up and speak out. About fairness. About Jesus loving all the children. My conscience began chipping at me.
My senior year in high school, a boy at my lunch table bragged that he was going to a klan rally the next Saturday night. We laughed about his plans to grab a sheet out of the linen close on his way sneaking out the door. I joined in the giggles, a little uncomfortable, but not enough to stand up and speak out.. It was the thrill of it all. The shrouding. The slinking. Monday he didn't offer much commentary other than he was not going back.
Years ago the husband of a friend of mine told me he wanted to attend a KKK rally that was planned in his neighborhood. I had some suggestions.
"Don't let them know you are from up north."
"Why not?"
"They might think you are a carpetbagger. And don't let them know your last name is Polish."
"I like my last name. Why wouldn't they?"
"They don't think you are American." I watched him shake his head in disbelief. "And don't let them know you are Catholic."
"Are you kidding me?"
"Just who do you think these people are? They look for someone to hate and if you are not one of them, then you will be convenient to turn on."
So he went to the rally. No one wore a sheet, which disappointed him. He said they just sat around and complained about the Mexicans taking their jobs. He didn't offer much additional commentary other than he was not going back.
For both of these guys, the thrill turned into slime. They felt dirty.
This post isn't rosy. I needed to write it to begin the conversation about kindness and goodness replacing hatred, and I see hatred growing in this world. Strong hatred that, if not checked, will cause us to turn against ourselves and eat at us.
Stop the madness!
Catch of the day,
Gretchen
