August 26, 2020
Social Justice: A Personal History of Awakening
One of my early memories is being in downtown Syracuse with my father. I think I was about three years old and we were in the area where I would sometimes see “Mr. Peanut” outside his shop. Down the street, I saw a man we would have called a “bum” in those days. I told my father we should give the man some money, and my Dad said no, because the man would just “drink it up.” Then I suggested we give him some food, but Dad steered me away. That’s all I remember now. When we were kids, we would go to an annual community pancake breakfast that featured the appearance of “Aunt Jemima.” I wanted to go up front and meet her. I remember she gave me a hug and spoke to me in a kind way. Another year, it was a different woman in the role, which was a little confusing. It seems like those breakfasts stopped happening, or maybe we stopped going. It’s uncomfortable now to think of those women who dressed up in those outfits to portray what is now known to be – and was then – a garish racist and sexist stereotype. In our white suburb, there was no one to play this role or person of color to share the pancakes. My elementary school was all white and there was no question about it; it was the way things were. When we drove out to my aunt and uncle’s farm in the Hudson River valley area, we drove through Albany on Route 5 and 20, before the Thruway, through a black neighborhood of brownstones that was later gentrified by the State workers. Looking out the car window, the people seemed exotic, exuberant and colorful to me, unlike the folks that surrounded me... View Article