A few years ago I read Warriors Don't Cry, written by one of the Little Rock Nine. I wanted to know more so I shelved this title, written by Daisy Bates, an adult on the front lines during the battle for integration - center stage being Little Rock Arkansas in the late 1950's.
Daisy felt a lot of hatred and bitterness in her growing up years because of what she witnessed and felt in the treatment of her people. Her father had some important council for her at the end of his life, these words became a transformative crossroads for her: "You're filled with hatred. Hate can destroy you, Daisy. Don't hate white people just because they're white. If you hate, make it count for something. Hate the humiliations we are living under in the South. Hate the discrimination that eats away at the soul of every black man and woman. Hate the insults hurled at us by white scum -- and then try to do something about it, or your hate won't spell a thing." (29)
Daisy grew up and made it spell something. She was a prominent leader within the NAACP. She and her husband successfully ran a local newspaper, the Arkansas State Press. For the nine students and their families, navigating the difficulties and unknowns of the tumultuous journey of school desegregation, I'm thinking Daisy was their person. The person they would check in with, their in-between for the lawyers, the school board, law enforcement, sometimes the public. The person they could share their trauma with and also ask, "what should we do now?"
I'm done learning about this, at least for now, also I will never forget it.
Some passages I flagged:
An account of a black WWII veteran in 1946:
"Being home isn't as pleasant as I had thought," said the captain. "For the past four years, while in the Army, I was treated as a man. I was judged and respected on the basis of character and ability, not color. Today I walked into a man's store on Main Street and was greeted with, 'what do you want, boy?' I looked at the clerk, turned and walked out. After leaving the store, I passed a restaurant. Hungry and angry, without thinking, I entered. As I approached a table, I suddenly became aware of a screaming silence prevailing in the room. I stood at the table with my hand on a chair. As I looked around the room, the cold raw hatred that I saw in the eyes of the waitresses and customers stabbed more deadly and with greater pain than the fragments of the shell that injured my leg in Germany. I stood there for a moment, looking at their faces distorted with hate, thinking of the tribute America paid to dead heroes, black and white, and I said, 'Pardon me,' and walked out." My heart went out to this young man, slumped in the chair opposite my desk. His colorful war decorations were pinned on his chest, and silver bars on his shoulders glistened in the overhead light. "I'm leaving the South," he ended resignedly. "There must be some place in America where a Negro can be a man." (44-5)
"Are you sorry," someone asked him, "that the President sent the troops?" "No," said Ernest. "I'm only sorry it had to be that way." (Ernest Green, one of the Central High students) (106)
"Liberty lies in the hearts of men and women; when it dies there, no constitution, no law, no court can save it." -Judge Learned Hand
Daisy also shares accounts of whites who supported the integration, were tormented, their own friends turned on them, ran them out of business. The community they had sacrificed and worked to build was so tortuous they packed up and left. Eventually many lost everything, even lives taken by their own hands. ....
"All of these white Southerners came face to face with the agonizing fact that the same system they had supported all these years -- the same system that had been used to deny Negroes their rights -- was now being used against them. Those who dared speak up became pariahs. They were fired from their jobs, put out of business, ostracized by their friends, driven from town. And three met with death." (181)