Inheriting the Trade

I had never heard of “Flat Stanley” when my lifelong friend Mike Godfrey wrote and asked if his son could send me his “Flat Justin” to spend some time with me. Mike and I grew up together because our parents were best friends. We went on vacations together and our families jointly owned a cabin in the mountains. We had some serious snowball fights over the years. I’m not sure there is anyone I spent more time with growing up than Mike until I moved to Oregon to attend college almost 40 years ago. I was honored that JJ chose me to send Flat Justin to.

As I understand it the Flat Stanley Project is an international literacy and community building project where elementary school students create a Stanley character that can be mailed in an envelope. Students from one school would mail their flat characters to students from a school in another part of the country (or the world) and those students create a journal that tells about where Flat Stanley is visiting.

So, variation on this theme, Mike’s son JJ sent his Flat Justin to me and I was to create a journal with pictures of Flat Justin in various places in and around our Central Oregon home/community. Well, Flat Justin learned about our home town all right, but my life takes me to many places around the country so I took Flat Justin with me to Alabama last week where I spoke at three different colleges in Birmingham and Mobile. I don’t know if JJ expected to learn about Birmingham in addition to Bend, but he’s going to nonetheless. I spent most of a day last week touring sites that were significant to the history of the Civil Rights movement and I hope that JJ, his classmates, his teacher, and even my buddy his father, are inspired to search more deeply into our nation’s history than is often the case; that JJ will know more than I did at his age about truth, justice, and equality and just how hard they are to achieve and maintain in our sometimes-not-so United States. (For anyone interested in seeing more photos than are included here, I’ve loaded quite a few onto my Facebook page).

After giving Flat Justin a tour of Central Oregon, here’s what I wrote to JJ:

In addition to being a writer, I speak at colleges and universities around the country about events in the history of the United States that have often been hidden. There are some pretty shameful things that have taken place that have caused a lot of harm to people. Many of those things continue to cause damage to people today. SO, we’re off! Tom and Flat Justin hopped on a plane and flew to Portland, then on to Atlanta, and finally to Birmingham… a LONG day’s travel.

Birmingham, Alabama was the sight of some of the key events in the Civil Rights movement in the 1960’s. This is the first time that I’ve had the opportunity to spend time there. I’m so glad that Flat Justin could go with me. I hope that my grandchildren, and YOU, JJ, have the opportunity to visit Birmingham some day. It is important to learn about our nation’s true history in order to understand why things are the way they are today. When you are a little older I hope you will read A People’s History of the United States in order to understand history from the perspective of people from other cultures, the workers, and disenfranchised people. It’s important to see things from all sides and to have compassion for others.

We went to Kelly Ingram Park (formerly West Park). This is a place of both “revolution” and “reconciliation.” Many black people were attacked by white people. Policemen with dogs even attacked black children. Kids as young as you, JJ, were arrested and thrown in jail for wanting to have equal rights with white children. Black people were attacked with dogs, fire hoses, bricks, chains, and bombs. It is hard to believe that these things took place during your dad’s and my lifetimes. There were so many brave people who stood up to injustice in non-violent ways. They changed America and the world. They helped us get closer to “liberty and justice for all.” They are my heroes.

This is 16th Street Baptist Church. In 1963, white men, members of the Ku Klux Klan, planted dynamite at the entrance to the basement of this church. When it exploded, four little girls (one was 11, the other three were 14) who were in the basement were killed because of the acts of these terrorists. It took many years before some of the men who killed these girls were finally convicted of the murders. There is a wonderful movie called 4 Little Girls that your dad and mom can rent that tells the whole story. I hope you watch it someday. It is hard to watch because what took place was so horrible. But knowing the truth, seeking justice, and working for peace is what matters.

This is a statue of Fred Shuttlesworth outside the Civil Rights Institute. He is one of the true heroes of the Civil Rights Movement from Birmingham. He worked closely with Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and helped found the SCLC (Southern Christian Leadership Conference) which was one of the leading civil rights organizations.

Reverend Shuttlesworth is 88 years old and today he lives in downtown Birmingham. I would love to meet him and thank him for his commitment to justice & freedom.

We next traveled from Birmingham to Mobile on the bus. I thought about the Freedom Riders, black people, and some white people, who rode buses into the Deep South in the early 1960’s to protest segregation. They were non-violent protesters and did not fight back when they were attacked and beaten. We had a layover in Montgomery and a friend picked me up and drove me by Dexter Avenue Baptist Church where Dr. King was the pastor from 1954-1960. This is where the Montgomery Bus Boycott was organized in 1955 after Rosa Parks was arrested for refusing to give up her seat on the bus for a white person.

In Mobile, which was heavily damaged by Hurricane Katrina, we visited the University of Southern Alabama where I spoke to a sociology class. That evening I spoke at Spring Hill College at the invitation of a group called “The Quest for Social Justice.” I’m so happy that there are lots of people around the United States who believe in peace and justice and equality and truth and compassion and continue to work for all of them.

JJ, I don’t know if you were expecting to learn things about the Civil Rights movement when you sent Flat Justin to me, but here you go. I believe that we have come a long way on the road to justice in the United States during your dad’s and my lifetime. I also believe we have a long way to go before everyone has an equal chance for “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.” I hope you will read many, many books about our nation’s history. More of them tell the “whole story” now than ever before. I hope you have teachers with the courage to tell all the stories, no matter how difficult they are to hear. It is important to learn the whole truth. A wise person once said, “the truth will set you free.” If you ever want some good ideas on books to read or movies to see that will help you on your journey toward justice and peace, just let me know. There are good stories for boys and girls your age and there are more for when you grow older.

There is a lot I didn’t go into with JJ. I hope this introduction will peak his interest and that he’ll explore more on his own and with his dad’s help. For instance, 45 years ago this past weekend, March 7, was Bloody Sunday, when hundreds of Civil Rights marchers attempted to walk from Selma to Montgomery and were brutally attacked by police with billy clubs and tear gas.  It is a challenge to figure out how to tell our children the truth about American history. Some of it is horrific beyond words.

But this is our work if we want to leave our descendants a more just and peaceful world than the one we inherited, and the one we currently live in. I look forward to hearing back from JJ once he has a chance to read my journal of Flat Justin’s travels to Oregon and Alabama.

JJ, there are many more places to go…

On January 22 I had the privilege of listening to Rev. Dr. Joseph E. Lowery speak at the University of Rochester. His presentation is now available to watch online. This is one of the most inspirational evenings I’ve experienced in a long time, as I wrote about here.

Do yourself a huge favor, watch “Civil Rights: The Courage, Persistence, and Vision of a Movement.”

A few days ago I received an e-mail from Carla Bluntschli, who lives in Haiti. Carla is one of the co-founders of the N a Sonje Foundation; 25 years in the making, focused on transforming experiences in this sacred country. From the website:

“N a Sonje” is a simple phrase in Haitian Creole that translated into English means “we will remember”. They are words that bring to mind memories of what was worthy of community value from the past through alluding to lost, forgotten or simply untold histories of the present.

It has been more than a month since the devastating earthquake struck Haiti on January 12. There has been lots of news coverage, an outpouring of generosity, love, prayers, and support for the people of Haiti, and for most folks, I believe, an accompanying sense of frustration. Many of us don’t know a lot about Haiti or its people. We only know that there has been tremendous loss of life and many people continue to suffer from illness, lack of basic needs like shelter, food, water, and medical support.

I was deeply touched by Carla’s powerful and clear picture of the human—physical and spiritual—tragedy the people of Haiti are experiencing. I’ve not seen any news reports that capture what she describes here. With Carla’s permission, I share her words in the hope that more people feel the shared humanity from which we are so often disconnected.

Loved ones of ours,

Today Feb 11, the day before the month marker of this “event” (as it is commonly referred to now) which will begin a 3 day national time of prayer and fasting, normally the pre-carnival time 12th-14th, was one of the lowest days so far for me.

I am deeply grateful as an undeserving human who was not buried in the rubble of a planetary shakedown. We were somehow spared even as the church just a few yards above our house crashed, pancaking on itself during those fatal seconds. Fortunately, no one was within its unsuspecting death-chamber-like walls, but I am still reeling from the truth of the real disaster as it reveals itself out of the dust.

The ensuing chaos continues to be upon us. It almost feels immoral or unjust to me (is this survivor’s guilt?), having been spared death, physical suffering or any loss of property through the quake but now even more so as the threatening clouds of the rainy season promise more disaster for the thousands cast out unceremoniously into the streets by this catastrophic itch in the underskin of mother earth. This year those long awaited rains for the expectant farmers to plant and the welcome relief to the months of tongue coating dust film, (now mixed with cement and human remains), seems more like a death certificate awaiting those who have not been fortunate enough yet to get a tent or just a tarp. Many families are sleeping with only a cotton sheet and scraps of plastic between themselves, their children and the cold evening downpours that will surely provoke sickness and more suffering will inevitably follow.

These crushed concrete schools, churches, businesses, homes have turned into spontaneous tombs for the unretrievable bodies of loved ones decaying in undignified circumstances. But, for me, the spiritual weight of all these instantaneously snuffed out lives is much heavier than the concrete and steel that smothers them.

This photo is of one of my best friend’s front “yard”, a place I’ve known for years, having visited a jillion times though always focusing on the beauty of laughter and the energy of life to blot out the sewage smell and uncleanable environment, the material deprivation in this ghost town ghetto was stark. This forced exodus from these once hot crowded spoonfuls of earth lay naked the truth of unbridled greed that crushed people into these conditions by an economic catastrophe that has been going on for generations. This photo is simple, but perhaps it can help tell the story of the lives and dreams of thousands of lives of loved ones crammed into the virtual fissures of bare cinderblock destined to having their bones and breath suffocated out of existence in a mere few seconds.

The uncomfortable question as to why an earthquake could kill the horrific numbers of people compared to earthquakes of equal seismic shock was asked during the Discovery program shown the other night. As the documentary camera zoomed into the rubble of Port-au-Prince, the condemning evidence of snapped off corner posts of schools and houses where too few bars of metal and sacks of cement were used in their construction gave some hints that should make us squirm. The economic choices that parents in these types of neighborhoods are constantly pressured into making is that they literally sacrifice themselves to pay for their children’s education at the expense of their own housing. This cosmic shudder exposed the worst of our human spiritual condition, stuffing a major part of humanity (most major cities have similar situations, but to a lesser degree) into indecent cracks and edges of life with no real choices. It has exposed an ancient catastrophe of racism, prejudice, exploitation and greed that exploded into this cataclysmic catastrophe of unjust proportions. There’s no more hiding behind the thin curtains of laughter any more, the wails of grief have torn it away.

As I drove by a temporary shelter camp made up in a park in one of the richer neighborhoods of Petionville the other day, I saw an older man stooping by the curb having found an unusually clean bit of water running in the gutter to scrub out his small washcloth. I thought about not looking at him, allowing him my respect for his privacy in a somewhat humiliating circumstance, but I was impelled to see him and to have him see me understanding our mutual humanity in the seconds of our passing glances. He smiled with eyes glistening into my own and cast out his hands in simple resignation.

N a Sonje

“We Will Remember”

Carla

If you are interested in peeking inside what it means to be a writer these days, I haven’t come across an article that describes the current state of affairs in the publishing world more accurately than this one in the L.A. Times.

I love what I do. And I recognize that the publishing industry is quite different from 30 years ago. There’s the “art” of writing and there’s the “business” of marketing and publicity that successful authors participate in.

I don’t agree with everything in this article; or,at least, this hasn’t been my experience…

The emphasis is on publishing, not on creating. On being a writer, not on writing itself. The publishing industry — always the nerdy distant cousin of the rest of media — has the same blockbuster-or-bust mentality of television networks and movie studios. There now exist only two possibilities: immediate and large-scale success, or none at all. There is no time to write in the cold, much less for 10 years.

It is, however, important to pay attention to such statements. A successful career as a writer involves more than writing. I’m convinced that my experience has been better than it has been for many other writers. I’m blessed (and lucky) to have been published by a smaller, non-profit, mission-driven publisher: Beacon Press. There is definitely still room for creating, for exploring, for focusing on issues that matter.

I’ll admit that I’ve thought about what a difference it would make in getting the message of my book out to more people if Oprah would give me a call. But there are many other ways to spread the word. Making a difference in the world requires flexibility and imagination. My publisher, publicist, lecture agent, friends, family, and other supporters have all helped.

With all the challenges writers face in the publishing world… I wouldn’t change a thing.

Fifty years ago today, on February 1, 1960 in Greensboro, North Carolina, four A&T College freshmen students, Ezell Blair (Jibreel Khazan) Jr., David Richmond, Franklin McCain and Joseph McNeil walked into the downtown Woolworth’s store and sat down at the whites–only lunch counter. They were denied service and refused to leave until the store closed.

Following their bold lead, twenty-five additional students from A&T and other Greensboro colleges joined them the next day. Before the end of February more than 250 demonstrations were held in cities across the United States. By the end of July that year, Woolworth’s was desegregated.

Through the Greensboro Sit-ins, these four young men demonstrated the power of non-violent resistance, increased the visibility and influence of the Civil Rights movement and helped change the course of history.

I’m troubled by the concept of Black History Month, which begins today and every February 1. I’m glad to see a focus on the significant contributions that people of African descent have always made in the United States of America; a focus that did not exist when I was a student and a focus that does not exist today in most school settings in months other than February. I’m troubled that in the minds of so many, Black history is seen as somehow separate from American history.

The story of the Greensboro sit-ins isn’t a story of black history in America. It is a story of brave Americans impacting American History.