As I reflect on my journey to become an antiracism activist, I remember when I didn’t know what white privilege was. Growing up 1960s I remember seeing marches on TV before my father changed the channel, hearing about Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. at our UCC church and talking at the Sunday dinner table about working for social change.
One Sunday I asked “Why can’t some people vote? Didn’t they have people to pick them up and drove them to the polls if they can’t get a ride? Dad does this for the Republicans here. Maybe we should help people in the South do this too!” When the laughter died down, Grandmother Bogle said, “Everyone who wants to vote can,“and passed the potatoes.
I kept asking questions. “Is it true that we used to have separate drinking fountains for Black and white people?“ “Not anymore,“ I was told. “Why were they there in the first place?“ I wondered.
One Sunday I said, “At church we learn that God creates and loves us all. Why are some people treated differently?“ I’m pretty sure someone passed the potatoes
again.
One day I came home from school crying. MLK had been assassinated. I was so
sad. This peaceful leader, this minister had been killed-just like President Kennedy!
The adults in my family seemed to think that this is what happened if you disagreed too loudly and did things that made people mad. (I was beginning to suspect that they meant white people and that’s another story.) I said, “No one should be killed like that. Doesn’t God want us to love each other?“ Silence again, and
another helping of potatoes came by.
That night hugging my teddy bear, I decided I would try to figure out what was
going on. I wanted to try to share God’s love and help everyone be equal. I had a lot to learn, and still do. I’m glad we are learning together.
by Fran Bogle