There are things we do so often that our brains can accomplish them in a practically unconscious state. I know this is true because I can’t remember how that first cup of magical coffee even gets into my belly each morning. But it does.
For me, these involuntary actions include the route I take most days to work. I live in the country, and so I have a long commute on stereotypical country roads, cows and goats and barns and roadkill framing my scenic journey. Usually, I am listening to podcasts, and the road is only a means to my desired end, which usually includes Starbucks, the chaser to my aforementioned morning coffee.
Every time I take this trip, I pass a puzzling stretch of road. Along the edge of the pavement, with no shoulder and only a small patch of grass separating my car from them, are small houses. This is unusual where I live, since all of the homes of my friends and family and acquaintances are placed on acres of country land. My own property is considered tiny by local standards, yet it encompasses at least five acres. My nearest neighbor is so far that I cannot see his house. I’d have to jump on a bike or four-wheeler to get there; on foot would take no less than 20 minutes. All of this makes the houses I drive past each morning unlike any others. I recently heard the tale of why.
Years ago, in the days just past the Civil War, Black people were finally given the right to own land. Many white people would not stand for this, and they held all the power to stop it. They came up with some malicious tactics. One involved greatly inflating a person’s bill at the local general store, the stand-in for what is now our Publix or Food Lion. If that person wanted to continue shopping at the only store in town, they had to pay their fictionalized bill. If that store owner wanted the person’s land (land equaled currency and power), or was friends with someone else who wanted the land? Well, that grocery bill just tripled. If the person couldn’t pay it, the only collateral they had was their land. The powerful folks would take it, thank you very much.
Another equally effective strategy was to raise property taxes. If you were in charge and in need of more land/power, taxes could be whatever you wanted them to be. A court battle was not something a person of color could afford or could hope to win.
I’d like to say that this history is an anomaly. I’d like to say that it’s a rare occurrence.
It’s not. It’s tragically commonplace. If there is a street like this in my town, there is a street like this in yours.
This history in my county, in your town or city or county, cannot leave me or you unaffected. This history doesn’t mean I must give up my land or no longer enjoy the country roads and fields that surround me with their calm and beauty. What it does mean is that I am fully awake to the fact that life is not only unfair, it is often unjust. That not holding bullies and liars and murderers accountable for their acts leads to more and worse acts of injustice. That I cannot blindly declare that my country is great without acknowledging her flaws, repenting of the ways I have allowed them to continue, and then getting up and getting to work to change them.
That sometimes we are so nostalgic about the old days that we forget those for whom the old days were death and hell.
I think the point of contention for many people is this: They believe that they aren’t responsible for the wrongs of their ancestors. I understand how unfair it sounds to ask good people to do more, but here’s how I think of it: Let’s say your favorite aunt died and left you her house. It’s not a house you would choose to live in. It’s cute and cluttered and not at all your style. You could leave the house, abandoned, and watch decay and rot set in. Soon, the neighborhood raccoons would take over and throw wild parties at night. But the truth is, although you didn’t ask for the house, it is still your responsibility. You still have to pay the taxes, mow the lawn, decide what stays and what goes. Maybe, in the end, you can sell it and reap a reward for what you never asked to be given.
You didn’t ask to be handed a country riddled with racism. But it’s what we have inherited, and we still must decide what to do with it. In the end, maybe we will reap the reward of peace and justice.
A good first step is simply to learn the stories of the streets in your town. When we hear and understand them, perhaps we will be moved to join hands with our neighbors and help the streets in your town, in my town, belong equally to all of us.
