Forgiveness

It gets harder, this Sermon on the Mount. We have to remember that the Galilean wasn’t speaking to his “Base” out there in Judea. These were strangers. Most were there, probably, because they had heard of the miracles. They may have shown up for personal reasons. Then this dude springs the following on them.

“Ye have heard that it hath been said, Thou shalt love thy neighbour, and hate thine enemy. But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.” Matthew 5:43-44 (KJV)

If you wonder how Franklin Graham can stand to look at himself in the mirror each morning, join the crowd.

I’m not sure what he, the Galilean, not Franklin, would have done if a bunch of bandits had attacked just then. Maybe he was talking just about the normal kind of enemies, say the kind that run against you for political office. Such an “enemy” is not really out to do us either physical or lasting harm. They are, shall we say, “competitors” more than enemies. When did we begin to think of them as enemies and treat them as such?

If we want better to understand the current plight of our country, we don’t have to listen to an endless parade of pundits. Just consider Ruby Bridges. Whether one remembers or not, Ruby was a six-year old child who was the first black student to attend a previously segregated white school in New Orleans in 1960. It is at once a terrifying, cringe-worthy, and uplifting story about a young girl who marched among federal marshals and before a sweating crowd of people screaming obscenities and curses each morning and afternoon. On some days, they even carried a child’s coffin with an African-American doll in it.

Some so-called “mothers” led the crowd. They soon gained the nickname, “The Cheerleaders” and John Steinbeck, who made a special detour to watch them, reported that some of the crowd came just to watch the women in action. Their hatred had created a national following. Norman Rockwell even captured the time in a painting.

Throughout it all, little Ruby just marched by to her schooling. At first, she was the only child in the class, the white students refusing to attend. People saw her praying as she walked by. This, a grown Ruby now attests to. What was she praying for, or whom? The narrator in this video says that she told him she was praying for her tormentors. It may sound a bit convenient to our cynical ears, but if it is true, The Galilean has at least one victor in America’s recent history.

Again, if one wants to know what’s wrong with America now, watch a film of Ruby walking by the crowd. Those kids hanging with their parents in the mob are in their sixties now, or beyond. They have had a lifetime to teach their children who are now teaching their children.

What, exactly, are they teaching? Well you can bet your sweet buttooty it ain’t always The Sermon on The Mount.

Oh, and a brave parent of a white child eventually brought his son to join Ruby, then another, and another. Someone had heard of The Sermon. The crowd finally lost the battle, but judging from current headlines, not the war. But we press on, despite being called names ourselves. I like “Libtard” the best. Some of my friends prefer “Snowflake.” We keep on, though. With the image of Ruby Bridges in our minds, and the words from that Judean hill, it should be a litter easier. The Galilean would have it no other way.

Who was this man who broke the pattern? A Catholic? A Baptist? A Pentecostal? A Church of Christer?

No. He was a Methodist minister.

Resilience

Headed off today to a city where I’ve developed many good friends over the years. That would be Forrest City, Arkansas, partly nestled on the western slopes of Crowley’s Ridge and partly flowing into the flatlands of the Arkansas Delta.

Crowley’s Ridge is a strange and unique phenomenon, a large serpentine hill that runs north to south on the eastern side of Arkansas, pretty much parallel to the Mississippi River. Some geologists in the past posited that it forms a testament to the remains of erosion resulting from the forming of two rivers. I vaguely remember someone, after a pitcher of beer at the old Shakey’s Pizza in Little Rock’s Riverdale area, calling it an “eroidial remnant. I don’t think that’s a word but is sounds as good as anything. There are some places down east of Monroe, Louisiana where you can see where the ancient banks stood 4,000 years ago when the Universe was formed. (A joke, son. That’s a joke.)

Anyway, some think our city was named after one of the most effective, but morally-challenged generals of the American Civil War, Nathan Bedford Forrest, former slave trader and Confederate commanding officer at the notorious Fort Pillow massacre, a battle fought on April 12, 1864, on the Mississippi River in Henning, Tennessee. The battle ended with a massacre of African-American Union troops and their white officers attempting to surrender, by soldiers under the command of, yes, you guessed it, Major General Nathan Bedford Forrest. Ironically, The Fort Pillow massacre increased Northern support for the war. Go figure.

So, is one of my favorite cities guilty of the aggrandizement of such a villain, by naming itself after him? Not exactly. After the war, a crew headed by then civilian contractor Nathan Bedford Forrest traveled to a remote area in eastern Arkansas for the purpose of working on the construction of a railroad, including a bridge. At some point at the western base of Crowley's Ridge, the crew chief said, “We camp here.” As it achieved somewhat permanent status, everyone called the site “Forrest’s Camp.” The name stuck and shortened itself over the years to Forrest City.

Later, in a surprising move, leaders established it as the county seat of St. Francis County. They did this by slipping over the ridge one night and stealing all the public records from the town of Madison, then the county seat.

Back when we built things in America, Forrest City became the site of the, then, largest industrial location in the state when Sanyo Corporation began building TV sets there. The plant was long-closed when community leaders convinced the federal government that, since it had located federal prisons in every state in the Union except ours, it would be nice to build one right there near the old site of Forrest’s Camp. Surprisingly, they did.

As part of the deal, the State of Arkansas was to build a bypass from Arkansas Highway One to allow direct access to the prison, avoiding the complexities of transporting prisoners through town. The trafficway opened 12 years after the prison, and is the purpose of today’s visit. Maybe it’s time for some re-thinking about future land uses along the corridor.

Forrest City is a diverse community. Historically, it created, as such cities do, segregated neighborhoods and segregated areas of entertainment. One area, the locals called “Downtown” and it once housed, among other niceties, an opera house. The locals called another street “Silk Stocking Lane,” and I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Robert Johnson or Bill Broonzy performed at one of its venues.

In short, the city has faced and dealt with many racial difficulties that so-called “white-flight” cities could only imagine. During a dark period of American’s history, locals reportedly lynched a man from the very railroad bridge built by Forrest and his crew, within sight of the opera house.

But there are no “Sundown Signs” marking the entrance to this city. The modern community faces difficulties bravely, has produced quality leaders over the years, and continues to do so. If there is a Heaven, and if there are special places set aside in honor of cities that, during my professional career, did the Galilean’s work earnestly and devoutly while watching the rains of good fortune fall elsewhere, I’m sure that one such spot will be named after Forrest City, Arkansas.

Yesteryear

My Redacted Life: Chapter 35

As I was about to be married and settle into a career as an urban planner, I had no doubts of success in either endeavor. Marriage was an accepted social mainstay. Likewise, my career involved an old and interesting field of study.

Learning about marriage was easy. All I had to do was look around and see how happy couples dealt with it. Most of them seemed happy. They owned new cars, had produced children, and were buying or building houses. I knew many of them from college and remembered when they had started dating. All I had to do was pick up points and note what led to a satisfied union. Emulation was the key to success.

My fiancée seemed to respond well to this approach. As long as I emulated her father and respected her mother, our union would be sound. She shared my distaste for social pressure, country clubs, parties, and the thought of most sports, save fishing. Sometimes we sat on my apartment patio and talked of the future. We agreed on almost everything except the quality of her favorite book and movie, A Clockwork Orange. I remembered that happy couples embraced mutual idiosyncrasies and we never quarreled about it. This marriage thing was going to be easy.

I learned, along the way, more basic principles about urban planning. My bosses had learned them in graduate school and they taught them to me. The most prevalent was that neighborhood schools were the foundation building block of urban development. They were to exist within easy access to surrounding residential development and would serve as the magnet for community life. There was no principle more important.

Armed with this priceless guidance, I pressed on against whatever currents that might appear in my river of life.

Many strong ones lay in wait. Consider for example, the married couples I had chosen to emulate because of their apparent happiness and contentment. Within five years more than half would find themselves divorced and sharing custody of the young children produced by the apparent happy union. It would prove a shock.

Oh, and neighborhood schools? What about them? Well, given the systemic cultural basis on which our country had settled, one fact had hidden from consideration. Neighborhood schools tended to be segregated. They also suffered from unequal funding and attention. A federal court ruling waited on the horizon, a ruling that would shape urban development in America as no other phenomenon ever had. The concept of neighborhood schools would be the first victim of a wrenching realization that cities, like individuals, often experience what psychologists call the “flight or fight response.”

This ain't gonna be no big deal.

Morning Thoughts: April 5, 2018

Ahh. Ever remember hearing something and trying to verify it later? Just did. You know what a fool I am for verisimilitude, when it suits me.

This one involved something I heard on an NPR segment years ago while driving. It spoke to the percentage of colonists who actually took part in the so-called “American Revolution.” Point was that the percentage taking an active part was smaller than one might be led to believe. I remembered it was 20 percent or so but had been able to find a source to cite. Well, I found one.

Reading A People's History of the United States  by Howard Zinn late last evening, I ran across this passage quoting John Shy, (author of A People Numerous and Strong) and John Adams (second president of the U.S., but hell, you ought to know that).

“Shy estimates that perhaps a fifth of the population was actively treasonous. John Adams had estimated a third opposed, a third in support, a third neutral.”

At the time, I applied this to the gains made in civil rights in the 1960s. The efforts then, of a few, were bolstered by a significant segment offering tacit support, that segment being appalled by the likes of George Wallace, Ross Barnett, and others. The sight of Bull Conner turning dogs and fire hoses on children certainly grew support throughout the nation for the rights of minorities. Good Americans felt disgusted at the tactic of using violence and venom against children as a political tool, particularly when those children were only seeking basic human rights.

In short, the forces of good gained support with each evening broadcast of television news.

Here we had, though, in the 1700s, perhaps 20 to 33 percent of active participants, backed by another 33 percent of the population as non-participants, defeating perhaps the most powerful army in the world.

That is why it troubles me so to see people who, in my opinion, are on the right side of history acting in ways that offend and diminish that vital segment of the center. Blocked freeways, riots, blind allegiance to third-party candidates, self-denigration, single-issue voting, and harsh vitriol do not build support among the non-participants.

Just an opinion troubling my thoughts this morning.

Scenes like this build support
in the struggle against injustice.