“My humanity is bound up in yours, for we can only be human together.” – Desmond Tutu
There is a certain irony in a white guy making a case for teaching about the contributions of Black Americans to literature, science, mathematics, music, theology, and the betterment of humankind. If, however, we allow the conversation to only be one-sided then it becomes stagnant and loses some of its vitality, like a spring flowing into a pond.
Far from a sense a superiority I have to honor those of varying race that have shown me a better way to live. They have treated me far better than I have deserved. I would hope that in some way I helped them become better as well because, as Bishop Tutu observed, our humanity is bound up together.
Thirty-two years after the Soweto massacre, in Apartheid South Africa, I stood in front of the school where the demonstration began. I stood humbled by the young that would give their lives for a different and better world. They would stand and march against the tyranny that would devalue them as people, though a government would march against them with tear gas and guns, they marched hand-in-hand for something deeper. They marched for humanity.
I stood at the base of the pulpit in Ebenezer Baptist Church in Atlanta, Georgia, nearly fifty years after Martin Luther King Jr. preached his final sermon in that sanctuary. The passion and heart of that man can still be felt in the dust on the window sills. A passion that would speak the truth of a united humanity. He saw America better than it was and better than we deserve. He saw us for what we could be as a people that stood together.
The story of race and it’s divisions is as old as the story of humankind. We are beasts that divide and classify and sort everything we discover. It is a sad commentary that we have done the same to our fellow women and men. In dividing ourselves we have robbed ourselves of our human unity. We have stolen the richness of our species.
To regain our humanity we must find our story. We must find our commonality. To recover that which has been set aside and forgotten we must share our histories. For me to understand that we share a collective dream I need to first hear who you are and not categorize you. As a listener I must take a place of submission and serve you. It is only then that I am able to know and comprehend your value and the gift you are to all of humanity.
Henri Nouwen, a world renowned priest, gave up his fame and fortune to spend his remaining years serving a profoundly disabled man named Adam. Adam would never be able to say thank you to Nouwen and yet he had a greater impact on Father Henri than anyone else in Nouwen’s life. In the midst of his service Henri penned these words,
“Each day holds a surprise. But only if we expect it can we see, hear, or feel it when it comes to us. Let’s not be afraid to receive each day’s surprise, whether it comes to us as sorrow or as joy it will open a new place in our hearts, a place where we can welcome new friends and celebrate more fully our shared humanity.”
We pause to celebrate Black history month because it opens the doors to surprise. There are far too many moments of sorrow in American Black histroy, but there are also countless joys. When we sit together in the sorrow and the joy then we find our common story and we gain new brothers and sisters. Our family grows when we submit to the story of someone else.
We talk about the Black contribution during this month, because we all become better through the conversation. We all regain a lost piece of our humanity. We all receive the day’s surprise. As an American people we must always share each others stories if we are to maintain, life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.