When I was 17, in March of 1968, there was a huge garbage workers strike in
my hometown of Memphis. The strikers wore signs that said simply "I AM A MAN" --
as if their human, dignity was at stake. And it was. They worked at humiliating
jobs with poor pay and terrible conditions.
In my affluent white neighborhood, the strike was just an annoyance. Lots of trash stacked all over the place with no one picking it up. I remember early in the strike driving my Dad's Nash Rambler fast over speed bumps, showing off for some girl -- and crashing right into a garbage can, smashing my Dad's car. The girl was not impressed, nor was my dad. But it was my mother who drew me into the larger story.
Taking Action
In 1964, when my mother saw the firehoses and police dogs aimed at black children in Birmingham on TV, she was outraged, like many people. The difference was that she took action! My mother was a follower of Jesus , and she believed that Jesus's work in the world was to stop cruelty and brutality, especially to children. She helped form an interfaith group of Christians and Jews called "Mothers for Justice." That was just the beginning.
She was a first grade public school teacher in an all white school. She started meeting with black teachers and went to the board of education to complain about conditions in black schools. I was both proud and embarrassed about my mother, No one else's mom was doing this kind of stuff, but my mother never cared what anybody thought of her. That was one of her gifts.
Summer of '68
Martin Luther King was called to Memphis to help mediate the garbage strike several different times. And each time he was warned by the police chief, a decent man who lived across the street from us, not to come. The chief knew the situation was volatile. He said, "Don't Come, we can't protect you." And he was right.
Middle-class Memphis hated Dr. King with a brutality and fierceness that today we like to forget. Dr King was described and seen exactly the way we see Osama Bin Laden today. He was called a traitor, a devil, "the evil one that must be stopped." This hatred was almost universal. In my high school of 1200 students I never heard a teacher or student defend or support Dr. King. Not once. Teachers said, "He talks non-violence, but violence always follows him".
The week before Dr. King was killed, there were a series of marches. One day two friends and I skipped school to join my mom downtown for the march. We didn't tell anyone what we were doing. There was incredible tension in the street as we walked and sang. On the right sidewalk black militants were screaming words I couldn't understand and on the left sidewalk white businessmen at lunch hour screamed ugly racist slurs. The noise level was deafening.
Suddenly the street erupted in violence. Behind the march, people began smashing in stores and looting. Guns were fired. I looked at Dr. King and he looked frightened too. Then he said, "We won't let them stop our march." An elderly black priest, a rabbi, and my mother surrounded me and my friends--- and they started to sing "We are not afraid, We are not afraid ." It's a moment I will remember all my life because we began singing together and found incredible courage for the last two blocks of our walk (we were running).
I was not surprised when, two days later, Dr. King was murdered and 200 cities erupted in riots and burning... But I was surprised that my mother wouldn't stop. "Jesus said to find where people are rebuilding, healing, being reborn. Go there and get to work, If you can reach the children, you can stop this mess," she said.
Interracial Day Camp
And in the worst summer of racial fear and hatred in America, my mother and her group organized a day camp in the burned out part of Memphis. I had never seen before a group of white and black children together. Several churches and a synagogue banded together and offered to feed the kids. They hired the staff and found us a swimming pool. Suddenly there were 50 kids!
For the first time in my life I was not seeing color -- just people. And at a time when my whole city was living in fear, I was free. My mother gave me this freedom. By crossing over in faith I was free -- and I was having the time of my life. With two other counselors, I got to know the kids and we got to know each other. You know how it is, if you've been a camp counselor -- you bond over which kids are cute, which kids are obnoxious, and whether Jimmy will get in the water today. I was given the gift of life a second time that summer.
We know now that Dr. King was brutally harassed by the FBI, that he had serious problems in his marriage, and that he struggled with alcohol. We also know that this flawed human being brought Greatness to the world -- the youth in Tianniman Square knew his speeches and the children in Soweto sang his civil rights songs.
Dr. King believed that the only life worth living was a life in profound service to others. My mother believed this and so do I. Like this most human of men, we are all capable of great service to each other and to life. Our world would change if each of us would commit even one hour a week to serving those at the margins of our society. Pick something -- anything. There are so many people aching for your gifts, your tenderness, your time, your love. Let your life be changed!
My mother believed that this was the path of Jesus. In her last ramblings, as she was losing her memory, she would say, "Where are the children. Who is taking care of the children?" As a teacher and lifetime student, I hope all of us are.
Roy Barber has written and composed eight musicals on social issues for high school students. He teaches music and theater at St Andrews Episcopal School in Washington, DC. He has spent the past three summers in South Africa working with street children and theater artists. He is a member of The Seekers Church in Washington, DC.
Read about Roy's trip to South Africa and the way he utilized music and theater, Two Pilgrims: the Saint and the Visionary