History V. Mystery

How much truth can we hold? Do we want to understand and acknowledge our imperfect past in the hope that we might learn from it? Is it better to bury our past—leave it shrouded in innuendo and mystery—or exhume it and face our demons in the hope that the knowledge will lead us to do better in the future?

On the question of history versus mystery, where do we stand?

New to the question is something called “critical race theory,” and it is latest front in race relations, one of Republicans’ favorite culture war battles. CRT is a decades-old series of abstract academic studies and papers (and for the record, not a devised and distributed curriculum) that suggest a history of discrimination has shaped policy, economic opportunity, and social and cultural realities for millions, as it documents how events large and small have impacted communities of color. One example among many is the illustration of the ripple effect of red-lining mortgages: Keeping minorities in prescribed neighborhoods leads to lower property values. That leads to lower real estate tax bases, and that leads to poorer schools—and ultimately to inequality in education and long-term earning power.

Is “critical race theory” a destructive “rewriting” of history as Republican legislatures in fifteen states from New Hampshire to Arizona charge, or does it reveal an accurate history that has not been taught in classrooms? Mightn’t we learn from the history of voter suppression in the South and murderous rampages like the Tulsa Race Massacre of one hundred years ago, in which more than 300 blacks were murdered by a jealous white mob (Tulsa until that moment had a very successful Black middle class), their homes and businesses burned to the ground, and survivors herded into internment camps? No charges were ever filed and no one was held accountable. Maybe that’s the lesson.

I learned nothing of the Tulsa Race Massacre in either high school or college. Did you? I was dumbstruck to learn that students who attended Tulsa public schools knew nothing of it either. This story appears in the May 26th edition of The Oklahoman, the state’s newspaper of record: “'A conspiracy of silence': Tulsa Race Massacre was absent from schools for generations”

I believe the truth honors our past; it does not diminish it. Hiding from the truth, deciding not to teach it, is what diminishes us. Are we so weak that we cannot face our own truths? I understand that it is more comfortable to turn away from harsh reality, but the only way we make a better world is to face up to and teach our shortcomings so that we might do better as we go forward. Without acknowledgment, there is no going forward, at least not in an honest way.

Worse still, there are countless other violent incidents of racial antagonism and hatred that have never been taught in American history classes at any level. I’m not sure why telling the truth about our past should evoke such a vehement response. It is axiomatic that when we don’t learn from history, history repeats itself.

The idea that we should continue to bury our heads in the sand and pretend that we don’t have—and haven’t historically had—a race problem in this country (not to mention in the world at large) seems positively ancient.

I’m sure we all wish we could turn back the hands of time and stop Derek Chauvin from casually murdering George Floyd, but maybe there’s a lesson here, for it is that moment that unleashed the racial unrest of last summer, and led to these difficult conversations about what we know, and what we want to know. The conversation is uncomfortable to the degree that some want to prohibit its teaching in schools, while many others see it as a teachable moment; a rare opportunity to take a clear and sober look at ourselves.

If America’s original sin of slavery, the Civil War, our failed Reconstruction, Jim Crow, Tulsa, and the many instances of institutional racism don’t move you, go to Montgomery, Alabama, and take a walk through the starkest sculpture garden in the world. The National Memorial for Peace and Justice is the brainchild of civil rights lawyer Bryan Stevenson, and features hundreds and hundreds of oversized gravestones suspended in a way that is reminiscent of bodies hanging from trees. Each one with a small plaque commemorating a life ended by extra-judicial means—lynching—with name, age, place, and time.

The question is a simple one. If you can, remove the politics, and ask yourself whether your children deserve a full American history that is honest and unvarnished, or if they’re better off living in the mystery.

©Jon Sinton 2021