Jackson Free Press

When the message came Thursday that a grand jury in Neshoba County had indicted at least one conspirator in the murders of James Chaney, Andrew Goodman and Michael Schwerner, I started screaming. Staffers bolted into my office to see what had happened to me. I could barely squeak out that the one thing I've wanted most in my adult life had come true. My hometown was facing its past that's not yet past.

It's hard to explain my emotions over this case. I'm ecstatic, hopeful and cautious. I didn't know if this would ever happen in my lifetime—and a mere four years ago, or so, I didn't believe it would. When I was in graduate school in New York, I came home to my town as a reporter for the first time to write about the case. I talked to men like Stanley Dearman, the long-time editor there, and Dick Molpus, who quickly became my friend and inspiration in the desire to see justice done in Neshoba County. People such as these men had tears in their eyes as they both pounded their fists when they said that Neshoba County had to heal that wound. Somehow.

At that point, most white people, though—even in my own family—weren't comfortable talking about the case. We had been told our whole lives that it was a thing of the past, that it should be left there, that digging it up would "just cause trouble," that the men were old anyway, that there were crimes committed today that needed attention instead, that "the boys" had come down here "looking for trouble," that we just needed to "move on." It was a conspiracy of silence.

But many of us rejected that conspiracy. We didn't want silence, and we didn't want to bury history. We wanted resolution, closure, redemption, something. I had left Mississippi in 1983 largely because of that case and the fact that people in my home state who cared so much about prosecuting "thugs" (especially black ones) would barely talk about a night in which the state of Mississippi, law enforcement and everyday citizens helped a bunch of "thugs" brutally murder three men who were trying to help other Mississippians register to vote. Because of the silence pact, though, I didn't know how many people here felt the same way I did.

Doing that project, though, it sunk in that my state is filled with good people—at least as many as there are racist jerks, many more, I believe. I knew this all along, of course, but then it crystallized for me. No, they haven't always spoken up against evil for various reasons (none of them particularly right), but they are here, and they needed to find each other. They needed to know that they weren't alone. They needed to know that they wouldn't be derided and belittled as Dick Molpus was by then Gov. Kirk Fordice for the apology Dick made to the families of the three victims in 1989.

It also hit me that this nut must be cracked from within. If we were ever to face our past and right wrongs, and thus move on, Mississippians had to stand up. Together. I also realized that until that really happened, referenda on removing the Confederate emblem from the state flag would be futile. That is, Mississippians must help other Mississippians know why the symbol is so awful. And it's not because it's bad for business. It's because it was openly and proudly used as a symbol of pure evil.

We had to tell our own stories, especially the painful ones, and we had to draw courage from each other's strength. That's why, in essence, I came back. The tears in grown men's eyes told me that there was no place like home. I moved home thinking that I would immerse myself in the Chaney, Goodman and Schwerner case. Maybe write a book.

Upon my arrival, though, I started learning that the future is what matters. That doesn't mean it's an either-or choice: past or future. It's just not a simple nut to crack: You must face the past to shore up the future. But the more people I met—like civil rights hero Bob Moses who now teaches at Lanier High School—the stronger the lesson that calling for the prosecution of the case that obsessed me, or mothballing a racist symbol I hated, was not all there was. Yes, both are vital exercises in justice. Both needed to be handled by Mississippians.

But what I found in my home state was hope. I started meeting so many people, natives and transplants, who love the state, despite its flaws, and are determined to pick it up off the bottom. They weren't satisfied with the status quo, whether race dogma, Jackson-bashing or the lack of an indie-film market. They didn't all know about each other and needed to, but they were here. And they were of various races, backgrounds, even political parties. They were sick of being divided and conquered.

Most importantly, though, it became clear to me that the Civil Rights Movement had not ended. Those three men's courage and commitment to non-violent principles—along with that of the other heroes of the time—was a beginning. It was a challenge. It was a foundation. It is up to succeeding generations to pick up the torch of freedom and equality and progress.

The truth is, this hasn't fully happened, yet. Some people even argue that the three men died in vain, that black communities are still riddled with poverty and crime resulting from the legacy of slavery and Jim Crow. They say that economic justice hasn't been achieved. They say that the racism is still there, just coded and buried in Southern Strategy rhetoric. They say that the arrest of one man, Edgar Ray Killen, is not enough, especially since every level of Mississippi society was in on the conspiracy. They say that sending him to jail pales in contrast to the attempts by ideologues to roll back education progress in the state.

They're right. Prosecuting Killen is not enough. But it's a step. And I pray it's a step that indicates my people are growing more willing by the day to care about each other and repair the legacies of our past. No, most of us did not do those bad things, but we can take responsibility for healing the wounds and making our state a better place for all of its residents. It's up to us, not anyone else. We must, together, keep our eyes on the prize.

Previous Comments

ID

69610

Comment

ok, i'll go first here. hurray for this missive from ladd. it combines stuff from previous threads. and it offers new , ok, emotions. ... and I do think eyes on the prize might refer to a recent case of a film/video having a problem with copyright .. will check that out. meanwhile, I'd say this is the latest good word I've heard. let me repeat, I should put this at the end of all msgs. I am new here. a 'transplant' ha. and . nevermind. glad to be here.

Author

sunshine

Date

2005-01-15T18:52:47-06:00

ID

69611

Comment

this is the only ref I can find to eyes, I know it has been in the news lately.. no time to look more. will later, or someone can? ladd, you know? I still need to read your post again a bit. http://www.wired.com/news/culture/0,1284,66106,00.html?tw=wn_tophead_2

Author

sunshine

Date

2005-01-15T19:03:05-06:00

ID

69612

Comment

I cannot believe there are not more comments here ! guess we've all been busy with a long weekend; sure was mess on County Line Rd. yesterday.. so, this morning I logged onto Democracy Now's website, and the program from yesterday has a full hour speech made by Dr. King on Apr. 3, 1968, the day before he was assasinated. (It can be streamed or downloaded.) In 1968 I was somewhere in Europe, trying to be out of this country during that particular war. King was killed and so was RF Kennedy. I could not bear to read the papers. And I still can't. But that speech of King's will bring tears to your eyes for sure. He had hope.

Author

sunshine

Date

2005-01-18T15:38:37-06:00