Life is a mixed bag. It’s a swirl of celebrating and mourning, of remembering and wanting to forget. We would like to take one at a time, but life rarely happens that way.
May 31, 2021, is a mixed bag. This year, as we remember the men and women who died while serving in the U.S. Armed Forces, we also must remember many Black people were killed and brutalized in Tulsa, Okla., 100 years ago.
Holding both in heart and mind today is no disrespect. It is taking the world honestly.
Memorial Day
According to History.com, Memorial Day, first known as Decoration Day, began after the U.S. Civil War. For about 50 years, the graves of those who died fighting in the Civil War were decorated each May. With World War I, the commemoration broadened to include military members who died in all wars. In 1971, Congress established Memorial Day as an annual federal holiday to be observed the last Monday of May.
An ironic historical note about Memorial Day: Evidence uncovered in 1996 suggests the first Memorial Day observance may have been conducted by formerly enslaved people in Charleston, S.C., in 1865.
As the story goes, Union troops imprisoned at a horse race track in Charleston were buried in an on-site mass grave near the end of the Civil War. After the Confederate surrender, emancipated men and women provided them a proper burial. On May 1, 1865, a crowd of 10,000 people—many of whom were formerly enslaved—honored the Union dead with a parade around the race track.
While evidence for the event is slim, enough exists for some historians to be reasonably sure formerly enslaved people commemorated fallen Union troops in Charleston, S.C., immediately following the Civil War.
Tulsa massacre
One hundred years ago, a tragedy took place that also remained hidden from history for a time. It began the morning of May 30, 1921, with an all-too-familiar circumstance—a young Black man with a white woman. Something purportedly happened. Rumors about it circulated among Tulsa’s white population. The next day, that young Black man, Dick Rowland, was arrested.
Later, an altercation broke out between white and Black Tulsans where Rowland was being held. Black citizens were outnumbered and retreated to Tulsa’s Greenwood District, known as “Black Wall Street.” Starting before sunup June 1, 1921, white citizens burned, looted and bombed Greenwood. More than 800 people were injured, and an unconfirmed number of people—some believe as many as 300—were killed. The story was kept quiet for at least 50 years.
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Memorial Day and the 100th anniversary of the Tulsa massacre occur on the same day this year.
Holding the tension
Some may consider a shared remembrance to be disrespectful of one group or the other. But remembering both together is to take the world more honestly.
My family holds two disparate events in tension every year. My uncle died the same night my son was born—minutes apart. No one carries the tension of those two events more keenly than my dad. It was his brother who died, his grandson who was born. He could only be physically present for one.
What was my family to do? Were we supposed to ignore one event to give proper respect to the other? And if so, which one were we supposed to ignore? No, the sorrow and the celebration is held together—in tension. And in doing so, we acknowledge the world as it is—a mixed bag.
Obviously, the analogy between my family’s circumstances and our national circumstances is incomplete. But it might provide a way of looking at two events we might prefer to keep separate, or one circumstance we might want to ignore.
Certain things are beyond our control, things like when a loved one will die and when a child will be born. Other things are beyond our individual power to control, though we play a part in their shape—things like war and violence. We can decide whether we will participate in those kinds of things, and how.
We also can decide how we will remember people and events. In my family’s case, we remember my uncle through stories, which is not like celebrating my son with birthday parties. Yes, some things are easier and more enjoyable to remember. But those things cannot be the only things we remember.
Learning from the tension
This year, as we honor men and women who died serving our country, we also must honor those who died trying to live in a country those men and women died serving. These two realities go hand in hand. In one hand is an expression of our ideals; in the other is an expression of our failings.
It’s a similar tension Christians face in believing we are prone to sin yet also are forgiven and redeemed in Jesus Christ, that the kingdom of heaven is present and not yet fully embodied in the world. No, the world is a mixed bag, and we must live honestly with the tension of the in between.
What can we learn about ourselves by holding the tension, and how can it enable us to reach for our ideals?
Eric Black is the executive director, publisher and editor of the Baptist Standard. He can be reached at [email protected] or on Twitter at @EricBlackBSP.
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