The Great Divide

I attended the recent appearance of civil rights advocate Myrlie Evers-Williams at Moorpark High School and there were more than a few surprises.

My first incorrect presumption was that there would be plenty of parking. It was raining but half an hour before the program was to begin, there was not a single space available in front of the school, on the sides or behind the school. The supermarket lot across the street absorbed the large overflow.

That led to my next miscalculation. I really didn’t think that Evers-Williams would draw a crowd. Sure, there would be the students who were probably required to attend, some teachers and a few older folks who actually remembered when civil rights was the absolute hot button issue.

I remembered my high school years when a few suburban kids would traipse to the Southside of Chicago to hear the young, dynamic Rev. Jesse Jackson speak at his organization called Operation Breadbasket.

Then the wind shifted. When Detroit was burning in 1967, my father’s Chicago Southside factory was on the main strip and he would tell of military tanks patrolling the streets. Still, as a suburban kid, it was all quite far away from my daily life.

So I surprised myself, and the high school boy next to me, I’m sure, when I had an emotional reaction to a video clip from the documentary “KeepYour Eyes on the Prize.” As I watched a dignified and well-dressed black man being harassed by a large crowd of white men, I was horrified. The mob would shadow him and one person would reach out and knock his hat on the ground. The black gentleman would retrieve his hat and place it back on his head. This happened several times, each time with the mob becoming more menacing. I had to look away.

Then there were the familiar scenes of white people, their faces hideously contorted, as they screamed at young black women dressed in skirts and sweaters. Then you saw those same confused young women being harshly dragged by white police officers in armor, swinging their batons with fierce accuracy before  herding the women together and throwing them into a police van. The fire hoses, the police dogs, the rocks, the curses were all aimed at people who were merely exercising their constitutional right to assemble and march peacefully.

I noticed I had tears streaming down my face. So I shook my hair to fall closer to my eyes, tried to nonchalantly wipe away the evidence only to find more tears following the path down to my chin. I was devastated to see Americans hating Americans to the point where violence was inevitable.

Those five minutes of a familiar documentary brought me to my emotional knees. For the first time I truly understood the deep sorrow that was segregation and the searing hatred that desegregation sparked.

Color still divides the country. This time it is not blue and grey, it is not black and white, it has become red and blue. But the seeds of bitterness and distrust and determination to eliminate those with whom we may strongly disagree are growing every day, fertilized and watered by the Tea Party Movement. 

It is up to us to regain control. The Constitution encourages and even requires dynamic and passionate political discourse. It is now time to rediscover the tolerance and civility that still lies within and sublimate the absolute need to win and then vanquish. 2012 may be our last chance to halt the relentless march toward the worn out claim of “real Americans” and “true patriots” battling the less pure interlopers whose unforgivable crime is that of disagreeing with the cacophony of disrespect.