How One Mennonite Boy Faces Racism
As a child, I was an avid reader. The Underground Railroad was a fascinating topic to me. I liked to imagine I was living in a station on the Railroad. Where would I hide the runaways? In a secret compartment under the stairwell? No, that would be too obvious. Maybe I could build a fake wall in the attic. These were a part of my childhood fantasies.
Early on I believed racism to be a thing of the past. Surely people nowadays would never hate someone because of his or her skin color! As one grows older, the innocence of youth is replaced with the harsh realities of the human condition. As I read more about the Jim Crow South and the Civil Rights era, I realized that the tentacles of racism could not have been so easily eliminated. I understood that racism must still exist in my country, even if I couldn’t see its ugly face in my little world.
During my teenage years, Dr. King became my hero. I almost idolized this great man of faith. Here was an individual who refused to accept the lie that things could not change. He also refused to accept the other lie that said one must wait for change. He championed a peaceful, graceful response to the evils of racial discrimination. His tool was nonviolent resistance; his goal- reconciliation. I wanted to be like him. Someday I will stand on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial and recite “I Have a Dream.”
What would America be like today if a certain young minister had not stepped into history at the precise time when an oppressed people had endured just about all they could take?
When I was growing up in Pennsylvania, my family attended the Old-Order Mennonite Church. A source of great pride for me has been the fact that the Mennonites have historically been opposed to racism. (Mennonites and Quakers were the first religious groups to protest slavery in America.) Then I discovered my Mennonite grandfather was an exception to the rule. We had an argument one time where I tried in vain to persuade him to accept black people as equals. Through this experience, I was forced to accept the truth that prejudice can be found anywhere.
A friend of mine who has lived in Mississippi much longer than I have reminds me how cracked and dry the Mississippi clay was before the “oasis of freedom and justice” began to seep forth. As hard as it is to face the past, I believe it’s an essential step on the path toward greater reconciliation. Attending the Coming to the Table event at Tougaloo College opened my eyes to the power of storytelling. It enabled me to empathize with those who suffered the terrible injustice of racial bigotry and discrimination. We came from different backgrounds and races, but through the course of the day we became one race. We became brothers and sisters united with a vision for a world where all of God’s children can live together in love and harmony. I left the meeting with a strange new optimism for the future. I believe racial reconciliation and healing are possible. It all begins with this question: “How can I make it happen?”
