(For other essays, see <www.brightworks.com/quaker/midpas.html> and for general information about the Pilgrimage, see <www.interfaithpilgrimage.com> To reach me by email: skipschiel@gmail.com. Or by snail-mail: 9 Sacramento St, Cambridge MA 02138. Comments appreciated.)
First, what is the "color line." It is the entity allegedly separating human beings by skin color. The African-American luminary, W.E.B.duBois, used the term to indicate what he thought the key problem facing North American people at the turn of the last century would be-i.e. racism.
Allow me to ease into the title question, how does the color
line foster reconciliation, an apparent paradoxical notion, with
a different but related question: how can I, as a Euro-American,
heal from racism, or recover from racism, or transcend racism?
I asked Aaron, a young black male on our Middle Passage Pilgrimage,
about this question. I was fully cognizant of the risk of burdening
him with yet another request from white people. He was
gracious, thought awhile, scratching his beard and dreadlocked
scalp, and replied, "Wait, listen. And commit to learning."
I'll try. Not easy, myself a middle-aged German-derived man,
prone to correcting, directing, leading people. "Wait, listen."
How long will I wait when I perceive a leadership vacuum on our
Pilgrimage, and find myself eager to assert an idea, opinion,
demand-to take charge? When that assertion might offend a person
of color. "That Skip again, the Big
White Father!"
How long will I listen before speaking my heart, prone to speaking up (after years of timidity and fear of talking publicly), adding my voice into the circle? When what I say might disturb African-American people, as I, for instance, ask how do we verify a contention that a given site is where black people were hanged, or where Underground Railroad made a stop?
"Wait, listen." Before I'd asked Aaron how to deal with racism, my personal racism, I'd considered the question myself. Here's what I concluded. I could recover from my racism in four ways:
1. Be with people of color, fully and persistently. Not the more common mode of meeting people in passing at Sunday church lunch, or saying a cheery hello to the black letter carrier each week (as I did growing up in Chicago), or nodding periodically to a neighbor whose only relation with me is the sporadic over the fence encounter. But something tougher, like serving on a committee together, fostering an organization together, constructing housing together. A being together where I'm vulnerable, take risks, when I'm able to learn.
2. Discuss racial incidents that arise while being together-details, patterns, explanations, comparisons. And while discussing, consider how to change as a result of what's learned during the discussion. For instance, can I find a respectful way to approach Mariah about her affinity group leadership role? Or how best to co-facilitate a meeting with Kathleen?
3. Learn the history of racism, how it originated, how it changed, the language and perspectives that evolved with it, how racism varies worldwide, and its nature today. This through books, lectures, music, video, film, and other forms of presentation. Do this diligently, as if working toward my Ph.D. in racial awareness building.
4. Commit to act. What will I do as a result of being with others, discussing, and studying? Something tangible, like helping organize an inter-racial photography collective (which I've attempted to do, one of the most arduous tasks I've ever faced, yet with the most intensive learning.)
Now let's try a specific incident that happened to me while on this Pilgrimage. It happened several days ago, between Elizabeth City and Raleigh, North Carolina. We were preparing to leave our overnight site in the John Holmes High School in Edenton. About to stroll past endless fields of cotton, tobacco, peanuts, soybeans, a most rural setting for our journey uncovering the history of slavery and laboring to end racism, in us individually and in our society.
We have work groups, formed from affinity groups, and one group-Mariah is the leader-was responsible for departure. They were to make sure that we'd thoroughly cleaned the high school area we slept and ate in, that we'd replaced all furniture as it was when we entered, and that we'd collected all of our lost objects for the lost and found. I noticed only Japanese people cleaning; others were scurrying about gathering their laundry, filling water bottles, and packing bags, plus finishing their poops, and brushing their teeth. One of the Japanese Buddhist monks asked me, "Who's on departure?" He asked me because I keep the record of what group does what task for the week.
"Oh, Mariah's group. I'll check with her."
Knowing she was new to this responsibility as group leader, my words to her were, "Mariah, are you aware of your group's responsibility?"
"I am, and we're doing it."
Later that day, during a break, she asked me to have a conversation with her at the next available moment about affinity groups. I thought she meant to speak with me about her leadership, maybe what I'd suggest.
Several days later, as we lounged under oak trees at the hot noon time, finishing our lunch, I spotted her, invited her to have the conversation she asked for. Little did I know she'd say to me, "I was offended by your remarks to me at the high school. What right do you have to question me about how I carry out my responsibilities? Apparently you didn't notice some of my group had unstuffed and cleaned the men's toilet, some were bagging and carrying out trash, others were stacking tables and chairs. What authority do you have to quiz me?"
I felt hurt, perplexed, angry. My tell-tale dry throat made me choke on the last of my lunch. Explaining to Mariah about my observation that only the Japanese people seemed to be cleaning, and the monk's question of who's responsible might have contributed to our conversation-or it might have appeared to be defensive. I apologized for my lack of awareness and my perhaps too stern words.
My suspicion that the Pilgrimage suffers from weak leadership and little accountability came back to me. Should I have kept quiet, said to the monk, "I think we have to trust Mariah's group to be doing its job, and Mariah to be a good leader." Instead of my presumptive question to Mariah, could I have said, "How's the affinity group job going this morning?"
Following Aaron's advice, I might have waited longer, observed more carefully, listened more intently before acting. Following my own prescription for transcending racism, I would continue living intimately with this group of multiracial pilgrims, converse regularly about incidents such as the one I've detailed, study similar cases, both personal and societal. Indeed, the personal story is usually reflected in the story of the society. How I acted with Mariah is perhaps how the police act toward young black males, or how residents of a particular neighborhood relate to people of color moving in, or how the US government has traditionally acted toward indigenous peoples.
Writing this, letting it gestate over a steamed vegetable and tofu with fried rice lunch at the local restaurant, I'd add a fourth recommendation that goes beyond participating inter-racially, conversing regularly about racial incidents, studying the history and nature of racism: pray, or fast, or sing together. That is, insert an element of the mysterious, something of deep faith, as Martin Luther King did through Christian practice, as Malcolm X did through Muslim practice, and as we pilgrims try to do by centering our practice on the elusive but time-honored tradition of walking and chanting, the backbone of our slender walking prayer.
In this manner, the color line fosters reconciliation-of individuals and of society. This I believe, deeply.