A PEOPLE'S HISTORY, AND THE GENERATIONS BETWEEN
Recently, I took a mini vacation with my mom and sister - during which they emphatically told me that I take things far too seriously, I always want to talk about serious things, and they prefer lighter conversation.
I mean, say less, that shut me right the hell up! I enjoy probing conversations but you also have to know your audience, right?
On the road trip back, we stopped in Montgomery, Alabama - where my youngest sister was born, - no matter how many times she’ll tell you she’s a Georgia peach.
My mo wanted to stop by Dorthy and Dennis’ house, old family friends. Mr. Dennis has always gotten a kick out of my travels and #toliettalk days, so you know he’s a real one!
Now, Ms. Dorthy has lived in Montgomery Alabama the majority of her life, born and raised, she has seen people, places, things, and ideas come and go. And yet, she remained. She raised her family there, and probably buried her parents there too.
We were sitting on the porch eating a delicious Southern Sunday meal of green beans, cornbread, friend chicken, turnip greens and mac and cheese, as Southerns do. (There was no sweet tea, we’re not trying to be comatose, but the homemade key lime pie was DIVINE!) Tennis was playing in the background, and the conversation was light. My mom asked about the garden so we trekked outside to see Mr. Dennis’ pet project - which was a beautiful flourishing garden. Following the garden tour, we sat on the shaded porch, and I mentioned in jest the Great Alabama Brawl. (If you are white, you may need reference, see here, and here.)
Ms. Dorthy looked at me confusedly and asked “why is that funny?”
I remember first feeling the sensation of confusion, and after a moment I realised I was speaking to someone with a span of several generations between us.
I began to explain that it was a moment of levity and unity to us. I vividly remember chatting with my Black friends spread out over the world, sharing a feeling of pride, a red thread of togetherness, and freedom.
Mr. Dennis earnestly asked - “but what unity did it actually create?”
I endeavoured to explain further - my friends and I chatted about which person we would have been if we had been there. Are we the type of people who would stand by for that type of injustice; what kind of role would we have played? How we as Black people can and do find humor in everything. How we united in that moment. How we felt relived at the moments of joy there was in just being together, witnessing this in real time across the world. As an expat how I understood innately everything that was happening even though there were miles and oceans between us. What that white chair represented. How good it felt to see us WINNING for once. Online, we were UNITED, I stress. We laughed and made jokes and felt so good. Honestly, it felt like our modern day Salem.
“I don’t see the correlation between actually growing up in the civil rights movement in the Deep South and a chair on the Montgomery riverfront.”
Something in me told me that it was not the time to talk, but rather, the importance of this moment was to actively listen to the living elders. Rather than attempting to tie together our common experiences across generations, I listened.
“I was here and joined Dr. King at the end of that walk in Selma. We had white people screaming go home nigger to us, spitting on us, throwing things at us.”
It’s not the same.
Talking to Ms. Dorthy sometimes is like pulling teeth. She says what she means, and she means what she says and you can count on the lack of flowery language. I knew it was important to hear not only what she was saying, but what she was leaving unsaid.
“But, you don’t think that in this day and age- of social media that we experience a similar level of oppression- where at any time we can see graphic visuals of Black bodies being beaten, killed and discarded? Where social media and news channels consistently play images that beat into our psyche they view us as less than, and that it can happen to any one of us at any time?”
“Well, the way I grew up we knew, it was happening to the people we knew. My neighbours would get rounded up hauled to the police station, for reasons unknown, beaten bloody and blue- within an inch of their lives sometimes; and unceremoniously dropped back in our neighbourhood, and there was nothing we could do. I don’t need to revisit the place in downtown Montgomery where they, yes; in 1960s they were still lynching Black bodies publicly. A warning. Stay in line. You’re nothing, this could be you, your brother, auntie, granny or cousin. So I’m struggling to see your point.”
I think I saw a smug look on my mother face; well you wanted deep conversations, here they are, how’s that?!
It didn’t feel like a gotcha moment to me, but the opening portal of deep reflection and thought.
I got to thinking about how my generation uses social media, but most especially Twitter to mobilize, to joke, to find community, to grieve, to laugh, to question, to have these important conversations. Of course, it is also incredibly paramount to take these conversations offline, but in a world where social media dominates. I’m happy there are so many avenues that hold deep thought and laughter, simultaneously.
How there is an obvious disconnect between generations, but still common denominators.
Recently a documentary was released that eloquently expounds on this and SO much more. I’m smart, but not that smart. I just wanted to tell yall about this how this portal of thought opened up for me, and to also tell you about a new documentary streaming on Hulu, called Black Twitter: A People's History
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