When I see something, I say something

My great, great, great grandfather, Major Tyus owned 300 human beings and 20 square miles of Alabama. He outfitted a Confederate regiment. His wife's picture is hanging in my living room. My grandfather was born in a plantation house in Berryville, Virginia. That same grandfather casually used an expletive at our dining room table to refer to the man who was working just outside our open window. And my father spoke up to try to mitigate that insult, "A good MAN, Dad. He's a good man."

In 1963, I came home to Georgia, and attended a segregated high school. My American History teacher told us, "We're not going to study the Civil War. Y'all have already heard plenty about that." I know I had. It was not the "Civil" War, it was the "War Between the States" or "The War of Northern Aggression." It was not about slavery, it was about "states rights." As Southerners, we lived in "occupied territory." I took in racism with Mother's milk.

Conquering the racism I was born with is an ongoing process, and when I see something today, I say something as part of that journey. When my cousins told racist jokes, I laughed and told them, too. Today I am ashamed of that. I began my journey in consciousness-raising discussions with others in the New Left, but I usually felt like my knowledge and participation was too little, and too late. Today I know that it is not too late, and even a little is helpful.

When the KKK wanted to adopt a highway in North Georgia, I said that it is terrorist group, not a civic organization. The GADOT let the Klan adopt the highway anyway. When I see the stars and bars flying over southern government buildings, I say, take it down, burn it. This is not a game. I owe it to myself, to my country, to my Southern heritage, to speak up.