It's Killen Time and We're All Guilty
A Catholic and two Jews go into Neshoba County, Mississippi. They are there to register voters and investigate church burnings. They are found under an earthen dam, all three have been shot; the Catholic was also badly beaten. The preacher who arranged their murder is convicted 41 years later for three counts of manslaughter. Dang it, I never can seem to get my Mississippi jokes to come out right.
Oh sure, calling it “Mississippi-stan” to mock its backwards reputation is funny, but Mississippi-stan is no punch line. I figure the only people laughing in Neshoba County today are the friends and family of Edgar Ray Killen (isn’t just plum-perfect that his name is pronounced like “killin’”? Isn’t it? Isn’t it?). Oh, they’ll be upset that he’s been convicted, but they know that once his appeals are finished, the ailing Killen will likely be interred before he is incarcerated. And as one learns in any elementary tax or finance course, it’s better to owe taxes at the end of the year or even to pay a small fine than it is to receive a refund because during the time that you had use of your money you were receiving an interest-free loan from the government. The way I see it, Killen has had a 41-year interest-free loan on life. Going to prison a few months before his death to repay society for the brutal murders that took place in 1964 is a gift.
The three young men were, of course, James Chaney (black, Catholic), Andrew Goodman and Michael Schwerner (both white and Jewish). They were in Mississippi as a part of Freedom Summer in 1964. On their way to investigate the burning of Mt. Zion Church, they were ambushed by the Ku Klux Klan and killed. A jury found Killen guilty of three counts of manslaughter last week for orchestrating the Klan attacks that led to the murders.
Shannon and I went to Mississippi during our civil rights road trip. The entire first day we trolled around the Jackson area, looking for a sign that would lead us to the civil rights attractions. Such signs were commonplace everywhere we’d been: Birmingham, Montgomery, Atlanta, etc. These cities offered up their civil rights movement history like gems – borne of years of hard, crushing pressure, but now beautiful when held up to the light. The small town of Selma, Alabama proudly boasts a sign at its entrance, “From Civil War to Civil Rights and Beyond.” There is even an intersection of Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd and Jefferson Davis Ave in Selma – brilliant! So you can imagine our shock and consternation we hit Mississippi, whose deep delta soil holds the civil rights motherlode, and found nothing. Nothing!
Where was Medgar Evers’ highway? His plaza? Andy Young and Ralph Abernathy both have highways in Atlanta, shouldn’t Medgar get a park in Jackson? Could Amzie Moore get a statue? A mural in the ghetto? Something? Bob Moses? Anyone? Hello?
Deflated and confused, we headed to a Chili’s in Jackson for dinner. When our waitress, a black woman in her 20’s took our order, I hit upon an idea: she would know where to find Medgar’s home! Just as the white woman at the tourist agency in Little Rock, Arkansas, called an elderly black man out of the back to have him give me directions to Central High School because “Lord knows [she] didn’t know where it [was]”, this black woman would be able to lead us to all the civil rights hot spots. I shared my idea with Shannon. “Ha!” She responded, “I bet she won’t even know who Medgar Evers is.” Affronted, I replied that we were in Jackson. Of course she would know who Medgar Evers was. “You ask her,” Shannon challenged me. So I did. And the only thing more crushing than the young waitress’s blank look in response to my question was Shannon’s Cheshire I-told-you-so grin.
The waitress began to explain to us that she wasn’t from Jackson and Shannon, ever to be proven right cuts in, “Do you even know who Medgar Evers is?”
“No, ma’am.”
I looked down at the table to avoid Shannon’s twinkling eyes and that grin. I mumbled something like, “Medgar Evers was the NAACP field secretary for Mississippi. He was gunned down in his driveway somewhere here in Jackson for trying to register blacks to vote.”
“Oh.”
And she walked away. Shannon burst into laughter. I couldn’t understand how this young woman could be living in Jackson, Mississippi, sound like a native Mississippian and have no idea who Medgar Evers had been. I paid the bill with a credit card and wrote underneath my signature:
Oh sure, calling it “Mississippi-stan” to mock its backwards reputation is funny, but Mississippi-stan is no punch line. I figure the only people laughing in Neshoba County today are the friends and family of Edgar Ray Killen (isn’t just plum-perfect that his name is pronounced like “killin’”? Isn’t it? Isn’t it?). Oh, they’ll be upset that he’s been convicted, but they know that once his appeals are finished, the ailing Killen will likely be interred before he is incarcerated. And as one learns in any elementary tax or finance course, it’s better to owe taxes at the end of the year or even to pay a small fine than it is to receive a refund because during the time that you had use of your money you were receiving an interest-free loan from the government. The way I see it, Killen has had a 41-year interest-free loan on life. Going to prison a few months before his death to repay society for the brutal murders that took place in 1964 is a gift.
The three young men were, of course, James Chaney (black, Catholic), Andrew Goodman and Michael Schwerner (both white and Jewish). They were in Mississippi as a part of Freedom Summer in 1964. On their way to investigate the burning of Mt. Zion Church, they were ambushed by the Ku Klux Klan and killed. A jury found Killen guilty of three counts of manslaughter last week for orchestrating the Klan attacks that led to the murders.
Shannon and I went to Mississippi during our civil rights road trip. The entire first day we trolled around the Jackson area, looking for a sign that would lead us to the civil rights attractions. Such signs were commonplace everywhere we’d been: Birmingham, Montgomery, Atlanta, etc. These cities offered up their civil rights movement history like gems – borne of years of hard, crushing pressure, but now beautiful when held up to the light. The small town of Selma, Alabama proudly boasts a sign at its entrance, “From Civil War to Civil Rights and Beyond.” There is even an intersection of Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd and Jefferson Davis Ave in Selma – brilliant! So you can imagine our shock and consternation we hit Mississippi, whose deep delta soil holds the civil rights motherlode, and found nothing. Nothing!
Where was Medgar Evers’ highway? His plaza? Andy Young and Ralph Abernathy both have highways in Atlanta, shouldn’t Medgar get a park in Jackson? Could Amzie Moore get a statue? A mural in the ghetto? Something? Bob Moses? Anyone? Hello?
Deflated and confused, we headed to a Chili’s in Jackson for dinner. When our waitress, a black woman in her 20’s took our order, I hit upon an idea: she would know where to find Medgar’s home! Just as the white woman at the tourist agency in Little Rock, Arkansas, called an elderly black man out of the back to have him give me directions to Central High School because “Lord knows [she] didn’t know where it [was]”, this black woman would be able to lead us to all the civil rights hot spots. I shared my idea with Shannon. “Ha!” She responded, “I bet she won’t even know who Medgar Evers is.” Affronted, I replied that we were in Jackson. Of course she would know who Medgar Evers was. “You ask her,” Shannon challenged me. So I did. And the only thing more crushing than the young waitress’s blank look in response to my question was Shannon’s Cheshire I-told-you-so grin.
The waitress began to explain to us that she wasn’t from Jackson and Shannon, ever to be proven right cuts in, “Do you even know who Medgar Evers is?”
“No, ma’am.”
I looked down at the table to avoid Shannon’s twinkling eyes and that grin. I mumbled something like, “Medgar Evers was the NAACP field secretary for Mississippi. He was gunned down in his driveway somewhere here in Jackson for trying to register blacks to vote.”
“Oh.”
And she walked away. Shannon burst into laughter. I couldn’t understand how this young woman could be living in Jackson, Mississippi, sound like a native Mississippian and have no idea who Medgar Evers had been. I paid the bill with a credit card and wrote underneath my signature:
“Medgar Evers died so you could vote. :-)” (yes, I did draw a happy face on the bill)
Southern states with histories like Mississippi are pursuing trials like Killen’s, so-called “atonement trials”, to show the country and the rest of the world that they have evolved from their bloody pasts and are ready to be welcomed into civilized company. My problem with the idea of "atonement trials" in Mississippi or anywhere else is that the idea of such an atonement made possible by the jailing of one person or a few wrongdoers just feeds into the perpetrator model of discrimination. The perpetrator model of discrimination defines the wrong of discrimination as being committed one conscious act at a time by an easily identifiable evil-doer. Of course, the evil of a four hundred year history of discrimination is not about individuals; it is about entrenched economics, social interactions and wealth, what is sometimes called “institutional racism.”
It is utterly misguided for a nation with a racial history like that of the United States to try place blame on the "wrongdoers" and then declare itself clean. Such focus on individuals ignores the reach of history and abdicates everyone else who was a part of the system. If we really want to impart guilt, let me begin. I find the entire state of Mississippi guilty: the whites who were virulently racist and those who were silent sympathizers with the Movement but chose to remain silent to maintain familial relations or status in the community. Guilty, guilty, guilty. I find guilty every white person who ever ever ever inherited a piece of land. I especially find guilty wealthy Southern families who are still wealthy and enjoy social standing based on wealth gained during the antebellum period. I find guilty descendants of white immigrants in the north who could join unions, vote in political machines and eventually become accepted as "Americans" while my ancestors who have been here since the 1600s still run around being qualified as African-Americans when hain't a one of us e'er been to no Africa. I find the entire country guilty for not properly honoring the heroes who dragged this nation, kicking and screaming, to a more perfect realization of its stated goals. I also find black people guilty. I find our parent's generation guilty for spitting on the torch and dousing the flame that should have been passed on to my generation. I find them guilty for having children who don't know who Medgar Evers is. I find black people guilty for knowing that white people have no intention of teaching them black history in school and for them still not seeking it out on their own. Guilty, guilty, guilty. I find black people guilty for not taking advantage of all the opportunities, rights and privileges that people like Medgar Evers, James Chaney, Andrew Goodman and Michael Schwerner died so they could have. Atone that.
Southern states with histories like Mississippi are pursuing trials like Killen’s, so-called “atonement trials”, to show the country and the rest of the world that they have evolved from their bloody pasts and are ready to be welcomed into civilized company. My problem with the idea of "atonement trials" in Mississippi or anywhere else is that the idea of such an atonement made possible by the jailing of one person or a few wrongdoers just feeds into the perpetrator model of discrimination. The perpetrator model of discrimination defines the wrong of discrimination as being committed one conscious act at a time by an easily identifiable evil-doer. Of course, the evil of a four hundred year history of discrimination is not about individuals; it is about entrenched economics, social interactions and wealth, what is sometimes called “institutional racism.”
It is utterly misguided for a nation with a racial history like that of the United States to try place blame on the "wrongdoers" and then declare itself clean. Such focus on individuals ignores the reach of history and abdicates everyone else who was a part of the system. If we really want to impart guilt, let me begin. I find the entire state of Mississippi guilty: the whites who were virulently racist and those who were silent sympathizers with the Movement but chose to remain silent to maintain familial relations or status in the community. Guilty, guilty, guilty. I find guilty every white person who ever ever ever inherited a piece of land. I especially find guilty wealthy Southern families who are still wealthy and enjoy social standing based on wealth gained during the antebellum period. I find guilty descendants of white immigrants in the north who could join unions, vote in political machines and eventually become accepted as "Americans" while my ancestors who have been here since the 1600s still run around being qualified as African-Americans when hain't a one of us e'er been to no Africa. I find the entire country guilty for not properly honoring the heroes who dragged this nation, kicking and screaming, to a more perfect realization of its stated goals. I also find black people guilty. I find our parent's generation guilty for spitting on the torch and dousing the flame that should have been passed on to my generation. I find them guilty for having children who don't know who Medgar Evers is. I find black people guilty for knowing that white people have no intention of teaching them black history in school and for them still not seeking it out on their own. Guilty, guilty, guilty. I find black people guilty for not taking advantage of all the opportunities, rights and privileges that people like Medgar Evers, James Chaney, Andrew Goodman and Michael Schwerner died so they could have. Atone that.
posted by YG&B | 1:47 PM
5 Comments:
This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
YG&B, I STILL can't believe you left the woman a note telling her that Medgar Evers died so she could vote. STILL. I choose not to believe.
But Daisy is right. You rock. I love this post.
Your most recent post. Absolutely. ROCKS.
But let us clarify for unaware readers that while I do like to be right, I was not happy that our waitress didn't know who Medgar was. I was only touched by Mi's confidence that she *would* know. I work with teenagers; what they don't know will blow you away.
--Daisy Bates
I teach middle school, and you're so right what these kids don't know, Daisy. When I start the unit for the novel,"Warriors Don't Cry" I have my students write down everything they know about the civil rights movement. Every year, their ignorance astounds me. I try my hardest to get them to understand the truth of what occurred, because although I can't change or atone for what happened, I don't think I can allow that kind of ignorance to go by me.
brilliant and painfully true.
zella
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