In
January, 2006, The African American Farmers & Land Legacy Summit was held
in Memphis, Tennessee. It was led by Dr. Clenora Hudson-Weems, author of an
important work on Emmitt Till. Other
prominent persons were there, Jackie Frazier-Lyde, Habiba Ali, Habiba Alcindor,
Dr. Ridgley Muhammad, Gary Grant, Harry Young, Mayor A. C. Wharton, and many
others.
Since
I have journaled for years and have kept those “mental meanderings,” I looked
through my notes for January, 2006.
It
was an interesting summit. It was predominantly an all-black crowd with the exception
of Phil Morasky, Dewayne Burger, Charla, and me. I felt both in and out. I felt
called to the cause of justice for Black farmers, but that did not mean that my
face was any different from the oppressors at the county office of the USDA.
I
was a part of a panel that convened on Saturday morning to discuss “Physical
and Mental Health Challenges of Black Farmers,” moderated by Dr. Alfred Brown
who in his high school years had played with the classmate who later formed
Booker T. and the MGs. Dr. Harry Davidson, Co-Chair of the Association for
Black Psychologists; Dora Anderson, founding president of the Society for
Disabled Citizens; Phil Morasky, rural chaplain and farmer from Michigan; and I
were the panelists.
It
was life changing and gut wrenching. Much of it is a blur. Dora was quiet and
understated as she shared her story of advocating for her daughter in the
automotive industry. Phil Morasky, like me a white guy, spoke gently and
articulately about the spiritual challenges of farming while black. I spoke and
some of my ideas were challenged by the panelists, but strongly supported by a
physician/farmer from Mississippi. I remember him to this day with much
gratitude. His name was Dr. Wheeler, an internal medicine doctor from central
Mississippi.
Dr.
Davidson and his intense speech and rhetoric were chilling to me as a person
who just wanted to do well with the stories that had been told to me. Our paths
had actually crossed a day or two earlier when I thought he was going to
challenge me. Dr. Muhammad, Dawson, Georgia, spoke words of encouragement about
our previous work in South Georgia back in October.
I
remember that Dr. Davidson was enraged, spoke long and intensely, and was
vehemently opposed to white oppression and oppressors. I was one of those. It
got hot on the platform that day. A gentleman who has since become a good
friend recognized that and spoke words of grace to me afterwards, brief but
profound. “You did well,” was all he needed to say to me.
After
the panel was completed, I still recall part of a conversation with Dr.
Davidson. I mumbled something that I do not remember, but as he autographed his
book with the words, “To Waymon, peace & love, Dr. Davidson,” he said
quietly, almost beneath his breath, “you have to learn not to take things so
personally.” That was all. Panel over. Calm restored. Intensity remained. Autograph received. Chill. I have still not
read the book, but it is on my list. It will be a hard read, one I need to do.
The title? “The Ultimate Conspiracy: An
Assault on Democracy, Reason and Religion, Man’s Fall from God, the Role of
Secret Societies, and Skull and Bones.” Long title for an intense book written
by an intense man.
So,
with that long story as a backdrop, what is the point? What are the
points? There are several for me. In
this day and age of what we can learn from each other, what whites can learn
from blacks, and what blacks can learn from whites, and how we can learn to
live in peace and harmony, that encounter still is striking.
For
me, among other things, is the lesson to learn and grow, and to apply what
needs to be applied, to be part of the solution and not part of the problem. To
let people have their say, to value the perspectives of others, and too
understand that we bring ourselves to the table of understanding. My white way
of looking at the world is only one way of making sense of things. That people of color have their life
experiences and their ways of looking at the world is something I continue to
learn.
To
live with differences is not to disregard others. To hear and to not take
personally those things not intended to take personally, that is the challenge.
To hear, take personally, and commit to change is perhaps the bigger challenge.
Sounds like you were walking in tall cotton that day! Odd, now that I use that phrase: I’m not really sure what it means. I learned it to mean that you were in good company, among a special crowd, which it sounds like you were. But then the only time I picked cotton was on a farm with some tall cotton and I didn’t have to bend over much to pick it. That experience was, I’m sure, nothing like the folks that I have seen picking cotton in fields with the cotton no more than a foot and a half tall. That was some back-breaking work and of course much different from what I was doing as a city kid just visiting the farm. So maybe tall cotton means easy—which wouldn’t apply to what you did that day. And then again the phrase may mean something completely different. Those phrases that we pick up in life we tend to put meaning on them that may not be anything like the originator intended. But I digress.
ReplyDeleteYour experience in Memphis reminded me of a time in my youth. In the eighth grade my family moved across town so that when I got into the ninth grade I was going to school with kids that I had not grown up with and didn’t know. Perhaps because few people knew me and more likely because two girls from church were upperclassmen and campaigned for me, people took a chance and I was elected Freshman Class president. When it came time for the one and only class meeting that we had that year I was little prepared for what I faced that day. We had about 300 students in our class and we all met in the theater auditorium. Not very well lighted and about 40 rows up the incline. I didn’t much know what to do so I opened it up to the audience to make suggestions for a fundraiser that we could carry out and accomplish something for our school. We heard suggestions and in good parliamentarian style got a first and a second and voted. We were going to have a sock hop and raise funds (I didn’t really know much about sock hops since I was from a group that frowned on dancing but I did my duty and represented my class). Then the class sponsor pulled me aside and informed me that the administration would not permit a sock hop. Red-faced I broke the news to the group, now feeling more like a mob, and we tried to find a more acceptable project. I think we chose about three projects and each time we were vetoed and the bell rang and we went back to class without having decided anything. At least I thought we hadn’t. On the way back to class I was told that three black girls had made a decision-- they decided they were going to kill me. Now I knew that the meeting had been a disaster but I didn’t think bloodshed was deserved for my feeble attempts to direct the class into some worthy project. It turns out the girls were up on the top row of the auditorium and they had been shouting and waving to get my attention and give their opinions about the projects being suggested by those closer to the podium. They were sure that I was snubbing them or, even worse, was prejudiced against them because they were black and I was white. Honestly I had not seen them. (That was the year before I set some records for strikeouts in summer league baseball and my coach suggested I have my eyes examined which I did and hit somewhat better the next few years.) Obviously they did not kill me that day and by the end of the school year I think I had convinced them that I was worthy of trust and a degree of friendship. After that brush with death, though, I never did run for class office again.
I say all that to say that I believe that during that school year I heard, took it personally and committed to make some changes in my life and in life around me. Thanks for your inspiration, Waymon.
Jeff Burton
Thanks, Jeff, for your story, and for how you used it as a catalyst for change in your own life. Keep sharing them!!
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