Another Sad Moment in History: Grieving for Charleston

I often wonder whether those who existed during historical events recognized the gravity of those events in the moment. Did those who marched on Washington August 28, 1963 realize they were marching into the history books? Did the students who sat in at the lunch counters understand that they were taking a seat in American history? Did they truly appreciate the moment at that time or only after the dust settled and moral judgments were firmly established? I can only speculate. Yet, I am sure some realized the profundity of their actions and willingly became participants of history.

But I also think about those who unwillingly became historical figures, particularly those who did so through their untimely deaths. They, unlike political martyrs, had no way of knowing the historical significance of their lives or their actions. How could they? For some, their actions were as innocent as attending church. Immediately, my mind goes to the four little girls who were murdered by a terrorist bomb while in the 16th Street Baptist Church in Birmingham on Sunday, September 15, 1963. These little girls reluctantly took their place in history. Denise McNair, Cynthia Wesley, Addie Mae Collins, Carol Robertson instantly became important figures in a movement towards racial equality. During his eulogy of three of the four girls, Dr. King said they “died nobly” and were “martyred heroines of a holy crusade for freedom and human dignity.” Through their death, the enormity of racism and white supremacy was uncovered on a greater scale. However, even though Dr. King said they died nobly, it is hard for me to characterize their death as such. How does one get murdered in church and it be noble? Can such an atrocity be redemptive? I have no answer to these questions either, but it seems that Dr. King understood the historical significance of the moment and spoke with understanding.

In reflecting on history, I wondered if I, like Dr. King, would recognize such a historical moment if it occurred. Or, would I see it as a tragic event in the moment, and only later realize its significance? Sadly, last Wednesday I discovered the answer to my question. I instantly recognized that what happened in Charleston, South Carolina at Mother Emmanuel was not simply a tragedy or disturbance. No, what happened that night at Bible Study was not only an act of terror, it was also another critical moment in American racial history. Tragically, new figures reluctantly took their place in history: Rev. Clementa Pinckney, Sharonda Coleman-Singleton, Cynthia Hurd, Tywanza Sanders, Myra Thompson, Ethel Lee Lance, Rev. Daniel L. Simmons, Rev. Dapayne Middleton-Doctor, and Susie Jackson.

I must admit, while I have been outraged by the police brutality making the news recently, as a civil rights attorney and student of history, sadly I was not surprised. Rather, I was glad that the issue was finally receiving public discussion instead of hiding behind perjured police reports. Charleston was something else, however. The shedding of innocent blood in church has unnerved and vexed me. While I understand the redundancy and cyclical nature of history, Charleston serves as a milepost letting me know we are truly heading in the wrong direction in this country as it relates to race. I am also vexed because of where this terrorist act occurred. The church is a sacred space for me not simply because of its religious and spiritual value, but because of its cultural significance in the Black community. The attack on Mother Emmanuel was not only an attack on Black lives, but on Black history and culture. What happens when your sacred space becomes defiled? What space am I free to exist in without fear of being killed by those infected with the disease of racism?

Yes, last Wednesday was without a doubt a historical event. How this nation reacts will also become a part of this historical narrative. I pray we get it right. I pray for wisdom to respond right. But more than that, I pray that not another family will experience the pain of having their loved one become an unwilling martyr in the struggle for justice and equality.

–Until Next Time–

Palooke