Resistance is the Secret of Joy - Three True Stories of Everyday Action Against Injustice
Alice Walker Once Wrote "Resistance is the Secret of Joy." These Three Arkansans Demonstrate Why
The year was 1960 and my mother was 19 years old and had just finished her second year of college. The buses in Little Rock were only recently desegregated. My mother sat on a row of three seats near the front of the bus. A large white man shared the bench, but took up more than his share of the seats as he spread himself out comfortably. The bus was packed. At the corner of Van Buren and Kavanaugh a black woman who'd just gotten off work as a domestic boarded the bus. She was carrying several packages and looked around without success for a seat. The only possible available seat was on the bench my mother shared. My mother could have simply offered her seat to the new passenger, particularly since she was struggling with the packages. But instead, she gave her bench mate the eye in hopes that he would pull his legs together and sit up straight so the new passenger could sit down. He ignored her. So my mother gathered all her 122 pounds of strength and bumped the man with her hips to move him over. The startled man got hint and moved over. My mother pointed to the now-empty seat and and told the woman "sit down!" She did and replied "Thank you, honey." The three of then rode the rest of the way in silence.
Griffin Henry Belk
Spring 1865, Southwest Arkansas
Griffin Henry Belk wiped his brow as he looked up at the hot Arkansas sun. That stubborn mule he's driving (or trying to drive) simply refuses to pull the plow. Finally, the mule decided to move. "Good," Griffin thought. "Maybe I'll be able to finish up before sundown." Just then, a white man on horseback approached. The man slowed and Griffin stopped the mule. The stranger spoke, "You know, you don't have to plow like that." Griffin looked at the man with confusion. "You're free," he said, "All y'all are free!" Ahh. The words Griffin had always wanted to hear. As the white man rode off, Griffin unleashed the mule and told the mule, "You go your way, and I'll go mine". And with that, he and the mule went free.
Joe "Man" Suttles
It was a Sunday morning in about 1920 and Man Suttles was on his way to church with his little girl, Fanilla, his oldest child. It was a long walk through Ozan, Arkansas, but they got there a bit early. The church was in a tizzy - the Klan was there. Several Ku Kluxers in fully white robes and pointy caps and hoods had decided to come to St Mark CME church for morning worship. The congregation decided to seat their guests at the front of the sanctuary and service went on as usual. Everyone wondered what would happen after service but after dismissal, Man Suttles went to greet the guest and when he did he called each one by name - "Good morning, Mr. [Jones]. Good to see you, Mr. [Smith]. Welcome to St. Mark, Mr. [Williams]." After that, the Klansmen left without further incident. The church members swarmed around Man, relieved the situation was resolved calmly. "How did you know their names?" they asked. "I knew them by their shoes." Ozan was a small town, most everyone worked at the saw mill, and these weren't rich white folks. They only had one pair of shoes and Man Suttles knew each pair as well as he knew the face of the man they belonged to. No wonder they called him Man.
Published by Karama C. Neal
Karama C. Neal is the editor of "So what can I do," the public service weblog promoting ethics in action View profile
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