Southern Civil Rights

One profoundly thrilling part of voting last weekend was the feeling of how far we've come.

I grew up in the South during Jim Crow days. I took segregation for granted until I was 19 or 20, and then the admirably bold civil rights movement brought it to my attention. To my lasting shame, I had never even questioned the obvious and brutal unfairness to "colored people."

But Saturday I got to vote for a black man for president. That man doesn't use race as part of his campaign. But I can't help being proud that my country has come so far.

The reminders of the more racist past are ever close. Note in the picture the Confederate soldier with the American flag at the Chatham County courthouse in the rather liberal and educated town of Pittsboro where I cast my vote. Mostly we don't even see such symbols because we're used to them. It's so easy to not see things.

I devotedly love the South, North Carolina, and the town I grew up in--even though very bad things have been done here. I'm old enough now to have taken some interest in genealogy; I've recently learned that at least one of my direct forebears owned slaves and one of my forefathers was a young doctor who died at the Battle of Second Manassas. I take some pride in the fact that they were prominent citizens of their time and place; I'm not proud--can barely take in--the fact that some of my relatives "owned" people, with all the horrors that entailed. I wonder if there's any possibility that, like me, they didn't see. (Not that that excuses anything.)

At any rate, you can see what I carried with me to vote this time. I wish Ethel Gilchrist, the black woman who was my third parent, had lived to vote this year. I'm glad that I have.



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One Small Step Today

A phrase I heard in a Creative Capital seminar about a year ago has stuck with me: No goal too large, no step too small.

The point is that all the steps toward the goal count, and if we keep taking them, they steadily accumulate and also inspire larger leaps. If we faithfully take one step each day and keep on and on, it's amazing how far we can go.

Last week wandering around the charming downtown of the tiny NC mountain community of Sylva I remembered this saying. All it took was the sight of the county courthouse, which has the most steps I've ever seen on a public building still in use.

(The Acropolis has a sort of winding trail up, and those pyramids in Mexico are a shockingly steep climb but you don't have to go there to buy a marriage license etc. so the trip is optional.)

Had I had a helicopter I could have shot a picture that did these steps justice; there are in fact a couple of more flights beynond the statue that may look like the top. That's also the way with most projects I've undertaken: there are a few extra sets of steps thrown in, not visible from the start. So just when you think you've arrived...there's still more climbing.
All of this is to say: Take a step today toward your big, big goal. Even a tiny one will put you closer.




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Jury Duty!

We showed up at 9 a.m. at the courthouse, half a courtroom full of varied individuals. The man sitting beside me, Sean, was an art director maybe in his late 30s.

In front of me were two black women who seemed to know each other. A lot of men in shirtsleeves, not a single tie. One 65ish woman in a tres svelte suit and a killer good haircut. A tired-looking blonde girl within days of having a baby. A very tall lanky young fellow with a Dutch name several rows ahead. (I know his name because he was one of the nine mildly stunned when their names were drawn, not for the trial of the day, but for a year-long appointment to the Grand Jury which meets once a month.)

At about 11 a.m. we were dismissed for three hours for the court to do preliminary business. I worked on my novel--minor changes on hard copy in pen--first at the hip, granola-ish General Store Cafe (caramel apple cake and decaf) and then when the Council on Aging started pouring in for their lunch meeting, at Hardee's (medium-sized sweet iced tea, if you must know; could have done worse.)

At 2 p.m., we all returned and filled the pews again. All of us on time, nobody skipping town. The judge Narley Cashwell, who'd done an impressive job of being clear in his explanations without being condescending, then dismissed us. The defendant, charged with assaulting a policeman, possession of drugs, etc., had decided at lunch to plead guilty. The jury pool erupted in applause at the news.

While it was an interesting little adventure in, for me, a different town than usual, none of us really longed to be there, it seemed. We were all taking time away from something else.

My point: we have a bold system of government that relies on people showing up, I do know there'd be trouble for anyone who didn't, but trouble is not always a deterrent. Our system really does rely on any and every person. I know it makes mistakes, but still... It made me kinda proud to see it again, genuinely democratic, in action.





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