Memorializing the Truth on Memorial Day
Being honest about the times our nation got it wrong so we can get it right. Maybe.
(This post is an amalgamation of several streams of thought and stories that I have. Memorial Day feels complicated to me. I’m sure I’m not alone.)
Jack Speaks for Justice
A moment. A split second to decide if you're going to speak up, or remain silent. To be submissive, or subversive. To keep the status quo, or shine a light on injustice.
I recently witnessed a simple ceremony that if gone as planned, would have ended with polite clapping and subdued smiles. But instead, a moment turned monumental.
Three elderly veterans at a nursing home sat in a row in wheelchairs, star-spangled cloth creations draped gently across their laps. They'd each received Quilts of Valor from the Daughters of the American Revolution and the Historical Society. Each gentleman was given the opportunity to make a statement.
"Thank you," said one. The other added that their military service had been "interesting." But the third, the only black person in the room, had a little more to say.
This WWII veteran recalled a time when black soldiers weren't allowed to advance past "Seaman" class in the Navy, and mostly served as "steward's mates." Or basically, "the help" in a uniform. He recounted being on a ship off the coast of Japan and coming under attack. His leg was permanently injured but he was grateful for his life.
"With all of that, I came back home, and because of the color of my skin, in Callaway County, I couldn't sit in the downstairs of the theatre. I couldn't go to some places because of the color of my skin. So I came back from the Navy, and I was disgruntled. I was a second-class citizen. I wanted to let you know that with all the good that we talk about, ladies and gentleman, there's a side of it I participated in. But I just wanted you to know. I'm not the person to say our armed forces were great or outstanding, not for a lot of us. We had to make it, though."
I couldn't go to some places because of the color of my skin. So I came back from the Navy, and I was disgruntled. I was a second-class citizen.
Stunned. I wiped away a tear, and just stood in awe of what I'd just witnessed. Valor. In its truest form. To not only serve a country that disregarded your humanity, but to seize an opportunity to shed light on injustice, a sometimes terrifying act.
Thank you, Jack, for not only your service to your country in WWII, but for your service to your country *now.* A country that wants to "move on" from talk of systemic racism and injustice. A country that wants to pretend these stains on our history have been washed clean. A country that doesn't comprehend that degrading entire races and groups of people doesn't undo itself in one generation, two or even three or more.
Here’s a great article from the Smithsonian if you’re interested in learning more: https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/summer-1946-saw-black-wwii-vets-fight-freedom-home-180978538/
(This story was written in 2018, while I was doing freelance work for a network of senior living communities. I wrote monthly newsletters for eight locations, and was blessed with telling the stories of many WWII veterans. This one stood out the most.)
