I don’t know about everyone else, but some days I am really challenged by trying to hang on to hope. There are days when despair is attractive. For instance, I recently was doing a bit of searching for something to distract me from the reality of the state of the world when I stumbled upon a program titled Rebuilding Black Wall Street.
Catherine Meeks
Although I realized it was hardly going to be “distracting,” I was intrigued. So, I tuned in. It was an inspiring series of stories about various residents in the Greenwood, Okla., district where the 1921 Tulsa Race Massacre happened.
As I watched it, I reflected upon the death of Jesse Jackson and remembered his strikingly handsome face on the cover of Time magazine in 1983 when he was preparing to run for president. I remembered that moving photograph of him standing in the Chicago crowd in November 2008 when President Barack Obama’s victory was announced, and the one tear running down his face as he heard that amazing news. Somehow, the world felt smaller to me as I was pondering his life and death. There is a hollow space left by his departure.
My reflection on the Tulsa Race Massacre and all the violence that occurred in 1919 during the time that came to be known as the “Red Summer,” on top of Jackson’s recent death, created a sense of sorrow that had to be honored in some way. So, I sat with it for a while, and some of the thoughts in this commentary emerged from that time of silent reflection.
“Each time I hear that comment, I want to scream because it is exactly who we are.”
In the present moment, many seem to think the atrocious and unjustified mean spirit being exhibited in the way ICE is treating Latinx people is the worst expression of violence and dehumanization that has ever happened in this country. I have heard, “This is not who we are,” more times than I care to recall. Each time I hear that comment, I want to scream because it is exactly who we are.
The United States has been in the dehumanization business since the first explorers arrived on its shores.
The inability of the Europeans who arrived here to realize they had found a land inhabited by millions of amazing humans who lived here for centuries without them and who were made by the same Creator who gave them life set loose the energy of denigration that led to the genocide of Indigenous peoples. And that same attitude fueled the later fires of the transatlantic slave trade and the mistreatment of immigrants who were brought to this land to work as the nation became more industrial.
The same energy that allows for ICE agents to drag women, men and children out of cars, to murder people when there is no threat to them, to drag old men out in the dead of a winter’s night without cause, began with those settlers. That energy made the “Red Summer” possible when African Americans were murdered in more than 30 cities across the United States.
I did not learn this until many years after leaving my home state, but more than 200 of those massacred were in Elaine, Ark., which is less than 30 miles from where I grew up.
Some of the recent stories of young Black men being found who are apparent victims of lynching remind me of the hatred that continues to be expressed toward African Americans. When racist whites wish to denigrate Blackness, they resort to talk of lynchings, name calling and dredging up as many of the old denigrating images as they can possibly find to express their feelings. It is depressing. It is tiring. It is outrageous. It creates a short walk to despair.
“Despair cannot be the only response, even if it has a chance to live for a little while in our souls.”
But despair cannot be the only response, even if it has a chance to live for a little while in our souls. There is more to the story than the horrors, and the Rebuilding Black Wall Street series details a woman building a birthing center, another woman who spent eight years in prison but dreamed of creating a lovely space for women being released from prison and a gentleman with a farm who wanted to expand his farming capacity so he could help provide a better food supply in his food desert community. These all remind me why hope looks better than despair.
The folks in those stories with the vision to create entities to help their communities were joined by people in Oklahoma and other parts of the country who helped create the financial resources to get their projects done. The birthing center, the house for the formerly incarcerated and the garden turned out beautifully. It was inspiring to see their visions come to life.
Kahlil Gibran reminds us we have no choice but to navigate the paradox of suffering and joy. When we hold joy in our hand, if we turn it over, we will be holding sorrow. There are times when paradoxes simply make us feel crazy and perhaps a bit frustrated, but learning to hold them with respect can be a source of strength. Despair and hope can be seen as paradoxical also.
There are times when despair might be the best response we can have, but the challenge is to make sure to remember it does not have the last word. We have to turn the despair over and look for the light-bearing stories, cracks in the sorrow and memories that remind us of hope’s beauty and power and welcome it into our hearts.
Catherine Meeks was given the President Joseph R. Biden Lifetime Achievement and Service Award in August 2022; was listed by Georgia Trend Magazine as one of the 500 women to watch in Georgia in 2022; retired as the Clara Carter Acree Distinguished Professor of Socio-Cultural Studies at Mercer University; is a community and wellness activist and midwife to the soul; and the author of The Night Is Long, But Light Comes In The Morning, Meditations on Racial Healing, She previously served as founding executive director of Absalom Jones Episcopal Center for Racial Healing and currently serves as founder and executive director of the Turquoise and Lavender Institute for Transformation and Healing. She lives in Atlanta.
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Jesse Louis Jackson Sr.: An American icon | Opinion by Edmond Davis
Remembering the Tulsa race massacre of 1921 | Opinion by Wendell Griffen
Juneteenth should remind us of all the things we don’t know | Opinion by Mark Wingfield