An Idea Whose Time has Come

I've just started reading An Idea Whose Time has Come. I heard an interview by the author on the radio a couple weeks ago, then got my name of the waiting list for it at the library. I only had to wait a week, which is funny since I think I'm something like 136th on the hold list for Divergent (which is fine since a friend loaned it to me so I could have mindless reading entertainment during my short convalescence).

Anyway, this book is about the battle for the Civil Rights Act of 1964, and I just read the first chapter last night. It's riveting. 

Here's a quote that puts the civil rights struggle in context for me:

The challenge of the civil rights as the 1960s dawned was simple yet profound: In the century since the Civil War, the nation had neither fully accepted the consequences of the conflict's outcome nor enforced the provisions of the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Amendments passed in the war's wake, guaranteeing full citizenship and the equal protection of the laws to all Americans, regardless of race--let alone the Fifteenth Amendment's promise of voting rights. In the Reconstruction era, Congress had at least tried, passing the Civil Rights Act of 1875, which granted full and equal access to public accommodations--hotels, restaurants, trains, and so on--to blacks and whites alike. But in 1883...the Supreme Court of the United States had held that Congress lacked the power to outlaw discrimination by private individuals, a decision that had never been overturned. In 1896, in the case of Plessy v. Ferguson, the High Court had further enshrined segregation by ruling that "separate but equal" facilities for blacks and whites were compatible with the Constitution.

What hit me here was that it had been one hundred years since the Civil War. That's a long time. And full citizenship and equal protection under the law were still denied to many, many people. I knew this already, but thinking about it in terms of full citizenship and basic rights under the law is startling. Because it's so very basic.

In the international community, segregation was "giving the United States an international black eye." Diplomats from the newly independent African nations were refused service in restaurants and motels between New York and Washington.

And here's a story that made me gasp:

The United States was already sending black troops to help the government of South Vietnam in its struggle against Communism, but it was not welcoming them back home with a communitarian spirit. One black Army captain, just back from his first tour in Vietnam and stationed at Fort Benning, Georgia, was tired and hungry one day after fixing up a modest rental house for his wife and baby son. He stopped at  a local drive-in in hopes of ordering a hamburger to go. He knew he could not be served inside, but thought he might get curb service. "I pulled in and after a small eternity, a waitress came to my car," he would recall.
"Are you Puerto Rican?" the waitress asked.
"No," the soldier answered.
"Are you an African student?" she wondered.
"No," the soldier replied. "I'm a Negro. I'm an American. And I'm an Army officer."
"Look, I'm from New Jersey," the waitress said, "and I don't understand any of this. But they won't let me serve you. Why don't you let me go behind the restaurant, and I'll pass you a hamburger out the back window."
I'm not that hungry," snapped the Captain, whose name was Colin Powell (that's where I gasped). "As I drove away," he would recall years later, "I could see the faces of the owner and his customers in the restaurant windows enjoying this little exercise in humiliation.

The Civil Rights Act was of course more about being able to buy a hamburger, but it wasn't less than that either. And that's what struck me as I read last night.

I have a too-big pile of books that I'm working through right now (which merits another blog post another day--titled My Book Problem as a follow-up to My Easter Problem), but I'm putting them aside for now to read this one.

W.E.B. Dubois

I’m taking part in a book club at our Reclamation Project office on Thursday nights. We’re making our way through W.E.B. Dubois’ The Souls of Black Folk. It’s challenging reading. I often have to slow down and reread passages, and some of the references to Greek mythology are lost on me.

The book was published in 1903, and he writes that, "The problem of the Twentieth Century is the problem of the color-line." 

I’ve learned a great deal from the book about the reconstruction period after the Civil War, information that I last read a couple of pages about in high school. Back then, the War was usually the focus of study, and a little information about carpet baggers is all I remember of the aftermath.

After my reading this week, I wonder…

If only there had been another way for slavery to come to an end. War left the South poor and hostile to the newly freed.

If only there could have been some effort at reconciliation like South Africa’s Truth and Reconciliation Commission after the end of apartheid.

If only long-term measures could have been put into place for help and support and infrastructure.

If only those freed had been given something to start out with—40 acres, a mule, and maybe even an apology. It would have been so very little.

I wonder the same thing about other groups who endure long-term oppression. We expect instant turnaround and success when the oppression stops, when in reality, the scars are long-lasting, and sometimes passed down through the generations. It was true of Irish immigrants fleeing persecution and famine in the 1800s and the Congolese who survived King Leopold’s brutal reign in the 1900s. It was true of those rescued from concentration camps. It is true of the oppressed in Syria, Central African Republic, North Korea and it is true for the young girl rescued from sex-trafficking.

So today I pray for for the oppressed and those coming out from under oppression. Whether the action of lending a hand is on the part of governments, churches, non-profits, or individuals, may it be wise and long-term and lead to wholeness of individuals and communities.