How do they get to be that way?
How would I feel if I were a brown student at Miller Valley Elementary School in Prescott, Arizona? A mural was created to depict some of the actual students in the school.Then a City Councilman named Steve Blair went on his local radio talk show and made some comments about the mural. I didn't hear him, but I can guess what he said. My dad says it's open season on brown people in this state. Anyway, for two months white people drove past in their cars and screamed angry words out the window before hurrying away. And the artists got back up on their scaffold and started making my face whiter.
We went over to my grandparent's house, and my grandmother cried and told me, "I prayed that was ending in my lifetime." Then there was more news: The City Councilman was fired from his radio show, the Superintendent of Schools climbed up on the scaffold with a bullhorn and apologized for the bad decision, and I guess the artists went back up and started making my skin darker again, but I didn't go to see, because I never wanted to go near that bullshit mural again.
The above is from a Journal entry by Roger Ebert. He went on to describe how he grew up in Champaign-Urbana Illinois pre integration in the South's schools. After reading it I replied to him:
By Sharon W Jensen on June 6, 2010 12:30 PM
"Roger, once again you've written from the heart. I am so glad Prescott is keeping the mural as intended. But your own thoughts of what the child might feel was shattering. And, to me, makes the point that the deed was done. Yes, reversed, but done. The pain from the first response still overshadows the corrected. My heart cries."
My mom used to live in Arizona. About 60 minutes from Prescott. Wonderful town, we visited it more than once. It had a very nice "feel" to it. Diversified, yes. Western, yes. So it came as a big surprise that this particular town would have such a racial conflict occur.
Every place has haters and racists. Every place. Some places you have to look for it. But, you don't have to look very deep to see it, hear it, feel it. Sadly, it lies close, under the surface.
My mom and dad were both involved with the civil rights movement in the 60's. My belief that we are all one, belonging to each other, despite the differences, was strengthen by them. I shall love them forever for giving me that gift. That "amazing grace."
In high school, in sociology class, I wrote a speech about the integration of the town I lived in. I told of the rumors, and dispelled them. I knew what was true and not true because my mom and dad had been strongly involved with that integration, along with several other Unitarians. Finishing my speech, I walked back to my seat hearing whispers. The whisper that was the loudest was "she must be part nigger." I never did anything to challenge that misconception. I was okay with it.
And so, the hardest part of the Prescott story, to me, is not that a racist bigot complained about the mural, and hurled racist slurs, encouraging others to do the same, but that the school board listened to him and was ready to change the mural, was changing the mural. They changed their mind after their decision to whiten up the place. That was hurtful. The young man whose picture was being lightened saw the true meaning and depth of the racism. It wasn't just one or two people. It was the school board. And if it was the school board...who else?