I went on a girl’s weekend with a few friends several years ago. We met in a beautiful southern city and one of the women suggested that we visit a former rice plantation turned historical touring site. I was hesitant about going, but I didn’t want to miss out on an opportunity to spend time with my friends.
The next day we drove down the long, quiet, tree lined entrance of the plantation. My friends and I eventually arrived at a parking lot crowded with visitors hoping to get a peek into history. Our group started the tour walking among award winning gardens filled with beautiful flowers, well trimmed shrubbery and intricately carved sculptures. I recall seeing a vast swath of land, once filled with rice, nestled next to a large picturesque river. Near this river was a slave chapel built atop a Spring House. I remember walking into that small church building, looking at the pews all lined up within the room and wondering if the congregants had ever sung that old tune about Pharaoh and Moses, letting his people go. There were so many thoughts demanding my attention as we exited the chapel, but I pushed them aside because we needed to make our way to the other side of the property, to a place where the stable yards and slave quarters were located.
The Stable Yard was a dry and barren place, a striking contrast to the lush gardens and spring water that existed a world away. I spotted the Slave Cabins. They were sparsely decorated living quarters, where multiple people shared a cramped space. Adjacent to these cabins were the skilled craftsmen shops. I was drawn to the blacksmith’s lodge. Upon entering, I immediately felt the stifling heat and smoke steal my breath. When I could no longer tolerate this oppressive space, I returned to the light filled courtyard to breathe fresh air and clear my head before journeying up the path to the Family House.
The Family House was made of brick and overlooked the estate. A slight musty odor filled the air inside the house. I could hear an occasional floorboard creek as we made our way from room to room. In one of the rooms was an old wooden cabinet with a glass top, this made it easy to see the artifacts displayed within. Among these artifacts was an old, somewhat yellowed embroidered cloth. The writing on this sack cloth told of a 9-year-old girl separated from her family after being sold at a slave auction. The sack contained items for her departure. The stitching recorded a dress, 3 handfuls of pecans, a braid of her Mother’s hair and a lifetime of her Mother’s Love. My throat tightened and tears filled my eyes as I read the message on the cloth. A deep sense of sadness gripped my heart and I questioned how any human being could separate a 9-year-old child from her mother and dismiss their lifetime of pain.
Unfortunately, separation of children from their parents is not a heartless practice of the past. It continues today at our southern border where children have been taken from their parents and placed into cages with no plan to reunite them with their families. A punishment for seeking refuge from harm. The cries of these children have been met with judgement, anger and indifference. Their desperation has been demonized and the actions of their captors supported with a twisted idea that compassion equates weakness and acts of cruelty demonstrate strength, all to justify a separation policy driven by fear.
Those who have become isolated, powerless, financially compromised, or psychologically injured are vulnerable to emotional manipulation, racism and fear. As fear builds within a person and anger seeps in, their empathy slowly vanishes away, leaving a large void where decency once lived. Separation from one’s own feelings and the lack of empathy towards a perceived threat, enables a person to look the other way, to blame a victim and eventually deny personal responsibility for inhumane behavior.
The seeds of fear and distrust were planted centuries ago; telling people that community separation was necessary to avoid threats from angry individuals yet failing to acknowledge the brutal mistreatment of those who were angry. This type of emotional manipulation is still around today, discouraging meaningful dialog between groups. This lack of communication between people allows for inaccurate information to go unchecked. Such as planting the idea of a national scarcity, where people are told that there is “not enough to go around” and then encourage the separated groups to blame one another for their economic struggles. This blame, shame and finger pointing become a distraction from corporate greed and societal exploitation. If we could put aside fear long enough to truly listen to one another, we would discover that the scarcity scam is a method used to maintain the financial status quo for a few individuals.
We must gather the courage to dismantle years of fear and falsehood through personal interactions and honest communication, because with compassionate listening comes understanding, which then allows us the opportunity to heal the divide that has been used to separate and distract. The Reverend Dr. William J. Barber II speaks of this idea as “Fusion Coalitions”. In his book The Third Reconstruction, he writes “if love does not drive out the fears that so easily divide us, we will never gather together in coalitions strong enough to challenge those who benefit from injustice”. Let us listen with our hearts rather than judging with our heads. Let us follow the principles of understanding rather than fear the unknown. We were created for more than fighting over scraps. This can work for individuals, groups and nations.
We as a country have work to do to atone for the practice of slavery and ongoing racial injustice. My hope is that we have the courage to acknowledge the pain that has been caused by cruelty, take responsibility for our actions and make amends, so that forgiveness can help us heal and unite us as a people. Let us also pursue ways in which to secure our borders and create pathways to freedom in order to honor the country’s founding aspirations. We do not have to agree on everything, but we do need to respect the beliefs of others in our discourse. I believe that this can be achieved through well thought out compassionate practices, rather than cruel indifference and institutional shaming. Our connection to one another though a shared flawed history can help us heal and mend the divide.
I must admit that I have made many mistakes in my lifetime. Semantics have never been my strong suit, but my sense of compassion runs deep. I have at times unknowingly used the wrong word, said things that have been taken out of context or uttered something that was just plain ignorant. Then, every once in a while, a brave someone would come along and enlighten my open mind and caring spirit. So, please know that if my words have hurt you in any way, it is not my intent and I apologize. I know that it is difficult to trust after centuries of cruelty, but let us choose to connect with one another rather than adhere to this ongoing Separation Policy.
The embroidered cloth that I viewed so many years ago has a name. It is known as Ashley’s Sack. It had been a departing gift for a child named Ashley, given to her by her mother, Rose. Rose’s great granddaughter Ruth later embroidered the history of this separation onto the sack. It was found many years later at a flea market in Tennessee, where a woman purchased a bag of material and discovered this treasure buried deep within. The woman went on to research the cloth’s origin and ultimately returned it to Middleton Place in Dorchester County, South Carolina. This piece of history is now on loan from Middleton Place and can be viewed at the Smithsonian Natural Museum of African American History and Culture, where it is on display for all to see and ponder the pain of family separation. You can learn more about Rose, Ashley and Ruth Jones Middleton by searching the work of anthropologist Mark Auslander, PhD. (Southern Spaces, November 29, 2016, USA Today, February 20, 2017).
“I am convinced that men hate each other because they fear each other. They fear each other because they don’t know each other and they don’t know each other, because they don’t communicate with each other and they don’t communicate with each other, because they are separated from each other.” (Martin Luther King Jr., October 15, 1962).
I wish you great Peace and Understanding.
KAKW
Where are all the Yoda Pajamas? 