Black Power
I lived this history. I remember my parents’ nervous whispers about Malcolm X over the newspaper or in front of news on our grainy black-and-white TV. I remember seemingly one assassination after another. I remember when my father, our elementary school principal, gathered us all in the auditorium to watch Martin Luther King, Jr’s funeral. A Black classmate told me that’s the act he remembers most vividly and gratefully about my Dad.
Studying this history almost sixty years later and reliving it from great seats at McCaw Hall last night was spell-binding.
The one blemish was when we returned to our seats after intermission. I heard the larger, older white man sitting on the aisle call a younger Black woman in our party “rude” when she struggled to climb over him. Wow. She tried to stick up for herself and, being one who generally believes it takes two to tango, I still wanted to wring his neck. All I could do in my anger and fear was retreat to find an usher. What was he thinking?! Of course, in that environment, he should have bowed to her or at least stood up to let us pass.
After all, we were there because Black Lives Matter. We whites must learn and act civilly, kindly, and justly on what history has tried to teach us.
Always Bridging 