Bearing Witness as a Concerned Ally, Part I

Several things have been on my mind over the last few weeks. The Demonstration of Black farmers in DC on March 1 along with the expulsion of two Black representatives from the House in Tennessee (along with their reappointments) have set me to thinking.

My thoughts center around “bearing witness” and serving as a supportive white ally. Bearing witness is a notion that finds its roots in working with victims of trauma and allyship involves support but recognizing my own lane and staying in it.

Bearing witness involves a lot of things from the person of the listener in relationship with the person(s) and woundedness: active listening, acknowledgements, recognitions, naming the wounds and the origins of the wounds, identifying strengths and resilience in the midst of pain and suffering, simply being there when there are no words, understanding that “it’s not about me,” and serving the person(s) with the wounds in overt and often understated ways.

Trauma comes in different shapes and sizes. People are traumatized by gun violence, by interpersonal violence, school yard bullying, and many other things. As I reflect upon these things, violence at the hands of racist employees of the USDA/FSA results in trauma to the farmer and family members. When that racist behavior is experienced over a long period of time, those traumatic wounds get deeper and deeper. Some wounds are emotional, others are relational, and still others are physical. And some die young, way too young.

Being a good ally is important to me. Being asked to join the battle for justice for Black farmers, knowing what my skill set is and how those skills can serve the cause of justice, those are important to me as an advocate.

In his autobiography, “Black in Selma: The Uncommon Life of J. L. Chestnut, Jr.,” Chestnut draws vivid pictures of the power of white people in his community and how Black people are made to be subservient to them. His is a riveting narrative. He writes graphically about “bloody Sunday,” and its devastation. He then describes the march to Montgomery two weeks later. His observation is that the event is a Black-led event, with an overwhelming number of Black people prepared to do the 50 miles in five days. He does, however, comment that there is a large group of white supporters. They are there to support. They are not there to lead. Black people are leading. That event, according to attorney Chestnut signifies a turn for the African American population of Selma as they take on a stronger leadership role for themselves.

Those descriptions linger as I ponder events and images of the DC Demonstration. It was Black-led and Black-orchestrated from the get-go. It was, however, attended by a few white people who were there for support as allies in the battle for justice for Black farmers.

The afternoon following the Demonstration marked another important event as some 35 or so of us gathered in Senator Booker’s conference room.

Senator Elizabeth Warren entered the conference room and I could feel the temperature change. We moved from conflict and distrust to trust and engagement. She had come to listen to the stories. I watched carefully from the far end of the conference room, standing behind the gentleman who had prompted the temperature to rise, and now listened to the senator who appeared to focus intently on stories of pain and suffering and misdeeds at the hands of the USDA. This went on for a while. No one seemed to be watching the clock.

At some point, it felt obvious that she needed to leave and return to her other work. As she was preparing to wrap up, I felt an urgency to make a comment or two.

“Senator Warren, thank you for the opportunity to work with your staff on your policy for Black farmers.” Her reply, “Well, they are right here. You can tell them yourself.” And I did.

I continued, “It’s obvious that you are talking with the survivors of the persistent and intense racism that Black farmers experience at the hands of the USDA/FSA. Racism is painful and unrelenting. People die. People die way too soon. We are mindful of those people who are not with us today because of the stress of farming while Black in America. We must remember that. Thank you for coming and listening.” She nodded a knowing nod.

What had I done? What had given me the right to say those things to her? I wondered out loud to a friend as we left the building, and he said that the words were well spoken and needed to be said.

Still, I wondered. There would be more wondering. To be continued. 

Our Own Civil Rights Mini-Tour

For some time, my wife and I had planned a brief trek across the South to see and experience some pivotal scenes in the history of civil rights in our country. Though the time was short, the experiences were deep.

We visited Money, Mississippi and the infamous Bryant's Grocery Store where Emmett Till was accused of whistling at the owner's wife. He died a brutal death within hours, and his murderers were deemed "not guilty" by an all white, male jury. Here are three scenes: 1) the marker in Money, 2) the store in its day, and 3) the gin where a 75 pound fan was seized and attached to his body before it was dumped in the Tallahatchie  River.

Marker at Bryant's Store

Store at it was in the day

The gin in Glendora

The gin is now the site of the Emmett Till Historic Intrepid Center in Glendora, Mississippi. At the gin we made new friends from Friendswood, Texas and Greenwood, Mississippi. That was a memorable conversation.

New friends from Mississippi and Texas

The following day, we had a most remarkable experience. We wanted to visit the site of the iconic photo and demonstration of the Tugaloo students at the Woolworth's counter in Jackson, Mississippi. Woolworth's is now a parking garage, but the marker is there commemorating the event. Loki Mulholland, a friend in these battles for justice, has noted on numerous occasions and in his three documentaries that his mother, Joan Trumpauer Mulholland, sat at the counter. Before leaving town, we determined to deliver document to one of the principals in our black farmer documentary. Most people up and down Capitol Street. His office building was under reconstruction.

    A last ditch effort found us walking into an office that promoted the city. 

Woolworth's Capital Street, Jackson

Charla and I were twinsying on this particular day, wearing our match Black Farmer Land Loss Summit t-shirts.  While we stood at the desk discussing our agenda with the officer personnel, a woman walked past us, did an immediate u-turn, came back, and said, to me, "My father was a black farmer." A  lively conversation ensued.

Matching black farmer t-shirts

She immediately called her friend, the wife of the gentleman we wished to see. We were ecstatic.  This photo is taken after that wonderful conversation. We were amazed that the confluence of forces led us into that office, to her, to her friend, and from her friend to the office of the person we wanted to see.


Thursday was a most remarkable and heart rending day as we went to the Legacy Museum in downtown Montgomery, Alabama, on the very site in which enslaved Africans were warehoused prior to being auctioned. A dream of Bryan Stephenson, The Legacy Museum covers enslaved through mass incarceration via video, audio, photography, and other means to capture the brutality meted out upon the backs of the enslaved and its history up to the current time. Dr. Marsha Vaughn, friend, former student at Abilene Christian University, and faculty member at Judson University, Elgin, Illinois, was the inspiration and prompt for the tour. She is passionate about matters of justice.

National Monument for Peace

Telling the story by Akoto-Bamfo

Trinity County Texas

Up the hill a quarter of a mile or so is the National Monument for Peace and Justice. Immediately inside the large open space at the bottom of the hill is a gripping piece of sculpture by artist Kwame Akoto-Bamfo of Ghana.

The design of the National Monument was both intriguing and moving. Moving clock-wise, steel rectangular cylinders represented the county and state and the name and date of the lynched person. When I found my own county, Trinity County, Texas, I was deeply moved. And likely remain so for a while.

A trip to Alabama would be incomplete without a trip to Selma.  The home of the infamous Bloody Sunday, March7, 1965, in which those marching from Selma to Montgomery were turned around at the bottom of the bridge by police, guns, water hoses, guns and all manner of violence. My wife and I walked peacefully over the Edmund Pettus Bridge which symbolizes the best and the worst of America during the Civil Rights Movement, the worst because people died in Selma, and the best because justice was realized, ultimately. We had a lively conversation with three women from Chicago and Selma. 

Edmund Pettus Bridge

We walked the bridge and then we walked through the memorial garden on just below the bridge on the way to Montgomery. As we walked the bridge, we pondered the names and faces of people we have seen in the media, but more dramatically, we pondered the stories of people we have gotten to know who have given their very lives for justice. That list of people stretch across the south, up the eastern seaboard, and reaches into the Bronx. I plan to see Selma again along with a few more important movies. Someday soon, I will also listen to some interviews done with farmers through the years.  I will be moved. Their stories must be told. Their stories are the stories of the civil rights movement in America.