Many years ago, in 1971,
when I was a freshman at a high school within the metropolitan area of Pittsburgh, PA in the smaller city of Duquesne, two senior student athletes got into a serious fight on a school bus coming back from a track meet. Word about the fight spread quickly throughout my high school. "Did you hear about the fight?" "Who won?" Everyone seemed to have an opinion or thought they knew the cause of the fight. Later it was learned that the fight was over a cheerleader, one that both of them had eyes for. The cheerleader was black. One of the athletes was white. The other was black, and in addition to being an outstanding track star, he was also an outstanding football star. The black cheerleader and the black athlete were known to have dated. She was also friendly with the white athlete and things were misinterpreted and it went downhill from there. After the fight was broken up and the athletes disciplined, school officials thought the matter had been dealt with. How wrong they were!
Now it didn't help that
this was three years after the contentious, but absolutely necessary, voting
rights act was passed. Bobby Kennedy and
Dr. King had been tragically assassinated, and there were riots at the 1968
Democratic Convention. Protests of the
Vietnam War were still on passionate display throughout the country. At some level these events made a lasting mark
on all of us, even an awkward husky white teenager who played on the high
school football team.
My dad had coached our
Little League team, which had nearly as many black players as white, and our
home was often the meeting place after practice or a game because my mother
would cook meals for the entire team. Some of my fondest memories are the
camaraderie we shared, the foolish trouble we got into, the music we all
listened to and artlessly attempted to dance to, and the games we played. Oh the
games we played!
Having lived for a time in
a housing project, my brothers and I knew about "tough times," but
the difficulties we faced weren't racial. They were mostly financial and
behavioral. If anything we were all "brothers in the struggle"
and formed bonds and friendships, that for many of us still exist to this
day.
Now back to that fight over
a cheerleader.
Not satisfied to move on
and let it go, some upperclassmen who were influenced, I'm guessing, by the
racial, social and political tensions going on in the society at large,
continued to fan the flames of racial unrest and somehow managed to turn a
fight between two athletes over a cheerleader into a full blown race riot at my
local high school.
The flashpoint came one
morning when the class bell rang and instead of going to class, white students
and black students defiantly walked out of separate exit doors, assembled
across from one another in the streets and with fists, sawed off bats and other
homemade weapons fought each other, in one of the most disgusting displays of
racial unrest my 14 year old eyes and mind ever witnessed. Thankfully no one
was killed. There were a few broken limbs, lacerations and bruises for
sure, but no loss of life or critical injuries.
This went on for a solid
week, regardless of the threats and warnings of suspensions and expulsions
being delivered by school administrators. The morning class bell would ring. The
entire high school would ignore the bell.
Black and white students would walk out en masse to the streets and
commence fighting. Local police would be
called, and after some difficulty they would succeed in breaking up the fights.
After the walkouts and fights were
broken up, classes were generally cancelled for the remainder of the day.
My city and my high school
were featured stories on the local Pittsburgh news channels, and some of the
racial unrest spread throughout the city. Finally the school administrators and the
local police appealed to the Governor who called in the National Guard. Students
were suspended and armed guardsman patrolled the hallways to ensure that no one
walked out when the bell rang. This went
on for a few days until we were deemed safe and some sense of normalcy
returned.
We were all impacted and
caught up to some degree in this senseless and ugly display. My three younger
brothers were still in middle school so they were spared the direct fall-out. Some parents kept their children home from
school. Most however, wouldn't even have thought about skipping school. The
daily drama being played out proved too irresistible to just simply ignore.
You may be wondering about
the awkward husky white freshman. When the bell rang, did he file out with the
rest of the students, or did he go to class? Did he line up on the side of the street with
the friends from his little league team with whom he had spent so much time
making great memories, or across from them? Did he participate in the fights, throw a rock
or land a fist? I wish I could tell you
that I went to class and took no part in it.
Like the overwhelming
majority of my fellow high school students, when the bell rang, sadly I went
along to get along. I went to the side of the street that the older students
told me my whiteness had dictated and predetermined. "But, but, but these
are my friends, my brothers in the struggle, my neighbors..." But, but, but didn't matter. I either got my butt in line or I would suffer
the consequences, humiliation and shame. I struck no one and mostly kept
to myself or with a few other freshmen who like me could make little or no
sense of what we were all witnessing.
I know many of my friends across
the street were feeling the same way. I
could see it in their sad eyes as we looked across at each other. I know
because even years later I have talked with a few of them and they shared the
same feelings and regrets that we had allowed things to get that far.
Why did we lack the courage
to stand up to those older students?
Why didn’t we at least attempt to be peacemakers and reconcilers? Why
didn’t we condemn racism, in all its ugliness and twisted views of humanity?
If only this man who has
had an encounter with the greatest Reconciler of all, who has devoted a
significant part of his adult life to healing racial and other wounds, could go
back in time and talk some sense into that awkward husky white freshman, what
would he tell him?
He would tell him that his
first instincts were right. He would tell him not to walk out of class. He
would tell him to talk to as many of his classmates as he possibly could, to
plead with them to stop. And if they
wouldn't, then go out into the street and stand in the middle, arm in arm with his
black friends and white friends and with voices raised in unison, speak peace
and healing to his fellow classmates that had become an angry hate filled mob. But I can't go back in time. I can only deal
with the here and now.
Now, along with many others,
I am witnessing protests and demonstrations throughout the country with greater
frequency that have and are becoming increasingly physical and turning violent,
with everyone looking for someone to blame. I am witnessing candidates for
elected office trying desperately to force people to choose sides. Organizations and organizers foment social and
political tension, that even when it results in physical violence, is excused
or ignored, as long as it suits their long rang goals and political
ambitions.
I am hearing that high
school class bell ring all over again and I am watching so many of my fellow
classmates walkout on civility, humanity and common decency, and into the
streets.
They are taking sides
against one another. I am watching a
society increasingly unable and unwilling to see through the looking glass, to
see the other, to see that we all are the other, that there really never was
the other and that we all are our brothers’ and sisters’ keeper.
In days of old, the word of the Lord came to the prophet
Ezekiel: "I looked for someone to stand up for me against all this, to repair
the defenses of the city, to take a stand for me and stand in the gap to
protect this land so I wouldn’t have to destroy it. I couldn’t find
anyone." Ezekiel 22:30
And I am asking the great
Reconciler to give my brothers and sisters and me the strength and courage to
go out into the streets, not choosing sides, but arm in arm, with our voices
raised in harmony, rejecting all forms of hate and bigotry. Standing
forever, if need be, courageously in the gap. Healing wounds. Repairing the breach.
I know that I could never
have done it alone in '71 and I cannot do it alone now. Stand with me.
