Author: Yolanda J. Ash
“We teach what we know. We reproduce what we are.”
Nearly ten or so years ago, my parents and I, along with many other people, from various walks of life, chose to collectively confront something we collectively perceived as wrong and unjust. I choose the word “perceived”, because perception/discernment is such a powerful gift to have.
How many times have you read or seen something that your Spirit tells you is absolutely incorrect, regardless of what your upbringing, your beliefs, your research, data, and surroundings may lead you to believe? In your heart, you just know that it is wrong. I would venture to say, for most of us, this happens quite often. Even more often though, we choose to “let it slide” or completely ignore and overlook, that which may be vexing our Souls.
As the group and I marched and picketed and rallied and offered speech after speech on the mindless injustices and ignorance of racism, my brain stayed tuned to one particular image I witnessed while taking my own personal stand. I saw something disturbing and something vile and reprehensible. Something my Spirit instantly, perceived as absolutely and totally WRONG. Mind you, my Parents (and my Grandparents) and from the looks of things, obviously my peers and I, live in an era where what we were experiencing and seeing on this day, although not completely expected, was accepted (by some people). For me, seeing people dressed in white hooded “costumes” which held obvious sentimental value to those choosing to wear these costumes of old (and new), and people, along with their precious little innocent children and other family members, yelling racial epitaphs; I was simply snatched out of my present day reality and transported to a time that, by now, should be long gone and beginning to be forgotten.
I distinctly remember thinking how incredibly boring, mundane and absolutely stupid, hate, racism, and other “isms” are. How utterly fruitless the energy spent hating one another is…for whatever reasons one has chosen to do so. Personally, I have always found that I have been blessed and have grown from giving those different from myself, the opportunity to share of themselves with me, and hopefully, visa versa. Throughout the course of my life, I have had friends and associates from various walks of life and many different socio-economic backgrounds, nationalities and cultures. Me being the person that I am, believe that most people are absolutely no different or no better (good or bad) than I am. Period. In fact, the way I really see it is that no matter anything, when you act like an “ass”, you stink. No matter who you are, or who you believe yourself to be. The experiences and realities that people have, may be different; but our joys and triumphs, pains and tribulations, challenges and fears, all possess similar veins. Often, if I cannot directly relate to someone’s particular life experiences, I will know first hand, someone who has had similar experiences, therefore, we are in some way, regardless as to how remote, connected.
As we marched from our chartered buses the several miles or so leading to city hall, amidst the thousands of heavily armed national guard, lined up on each side of the snow covered streets; the helicopters flying above; instructions and warnings being given on the bull-horn; and, as we, the “protesters” (the collectively concerned), sang gospel songs of freedom and deliverance, my heart was suddenly shattered! There, standing between her very angry, red-faced from screaming, Mother on one side, and whom I assumed to be her Father and siblings on the other, was the cutest blonde haired, curly headed baby girl. Perhaps no more than 2 or 3 years old (the same age my daughter is today.) She favored shirley temple, in that even her cuteness was cute. She had on jeans and a sweet looking little jacket with blue flowers appliqued on it. Her little nose and ears were fire red from standing in the cold, damp, weather for quite some time. Her little eyes looked tired, confused, and afraid. One of her little hands was missing a mitten. I looked directly into her pretty little green eyes, and I waved and smiled at her. For a moment, she looked confused as she looked up at her Mother. Although the little girl did not smile or wave back, I was hoping and praying that her little Spirit, would, if not now, one day discern that what she was being force fed, the hate she was being poisoned with, would, if she allowed it to, eventually arrest both her mind and Spirit. The little girl held a huge sign, which was a stark contrast to her very small stature. The sign read, “Nigers Go Home.” How utterly sad and unfortunate that her parents and the other adults lining the streets along with her, were too busy teaching her how to hate and scorn, rather than teaching her how to spell. What a travesty, especially when a child will always truly benefit so much more from being taught correct (right) knowledge than senseless hate. My hope in smiling at that little blonde haired, green eyed baby girl (the sacrificial lamb that she was), was that one day, when she grew old enough to think for herself, she will remember that a “Niger” had smiled and been as friendly towards her as the “adults” around her had allowed. I should also hope that I nor anyone else would purposely teach or introduce my daughter to hate…but I know given the state the world is in, that is inevitable. For me to encourage her to hate, is to dull and dilute both her Spirit and her sensibilities and to ruin her abilities to perceive and discern based on character and not “color”. Wisdom has taught me that “devils” and evil come in all colors…thankfully, so do Angels.
Perception truly does go a very long way.
