Gibbs Magazine
A Loss of Historical
Memory:
Its
Prompting & Consequences
Frank A. Jones
Some time ago, I was taping a television interview for a local TV station, and while off air, I made the comment that Blacks of my generation and education generally understand that to get jobs historically occupied by Whites, we must excel in intelligence and in every way. A young, Black CO-producer of the program was interested in that comment and others I had made on air. He shared with me his young, Black Californian perspective. Whereas, I have not thought of myself as aged, I certainly saw a world of difference in our views of how a Black person moves from point A to point B in this American society, whether in spheres of employment, education, housing, or others. As we talked, I also realized that the young man had a clear loss or an absence of historical memory.
He was of the twenty-something generation and did recognize certain truths that every Black person is eventually compelled to see--Blacks have been or will be discriminated against solely because they are Black. He saw no nexus between his having the job of CO-producer and African Americans’ historical struggles for equality. His job, as he perceived it, was the result of having prepared himself and having acquired it on his own merit; therefore, there was no obligation that he felt to the race.
I did not demean his qualifications for the position, but I tried to disabuse him of his notion that the sole sufficiency of his qualifications got him into his position of employment. I also tried to impart light on the historical dynamics of his having acquired his qualifications. And, finally, I tried to impart my view of the obligation he owes to others who paid unwarranted sums for him to have the rights he now takes for granted. I may have caused this young man to reconsider his reasoning on a subject or two, but he caused me to reconsider the need to look at this non-obligatory feeling that many blacks have because they assume they have made it on their own.
My chance encounter with this young man made me realize that there is a loss of memory among many African Americans, young and old. For the young, this loss may be a result of an ignorance of their precarious social position, as they are moved further away from the painful history of African Americans in the United States. For older Blacks, this loss can only be a willing disavowal of a history they want to distance themselves from, often because of its pain or their shame and embarrassment of that history. This latter aspect is an odd twist of logic. The painful history of Africans in America certain is not something they should be ashamed of. The pain was not self-inflicted then, as, seemingly, it is today. And in spite of the rigid afflictions and the systems of aggression that were set up against us, still we rise.
If slavery is the focus of their shame, history will assert that all people, at some point in their histories, have been enslaved in one form or another. Furthermore, the moral turpitude of this institution attached to those who engaged in it, not those who fought against it or were recipients of its harsh acts. But there is a national verve issuing from black and white conservatives, encouraging African Americans to disassociate themselves from this part of their history and just move on. As if to just move on assures us that historical obstacles that we have had to overcome will not encumber us again. But it is the painful part of our history, which many are exhorting us to disassociate ourselves from, that has given us the impetus to move on.
A few years ago, a flap occurred in Oakland when a number of Castlemont High School students were viewing the movie Schendler's List and laughed at the depiction of Nazis killing Jews. To those Jewish citizens in the audience, the high school students' laughter was very painful. While it is true that most students of that age are often insensitive to the pains of others, these citizens were, nevertheless, offended by their behavior. The consequences of these children’s inappropriate laughter were taken to a crescendo—Steven Spielberg came into town to teach on the Holocaust, apologies were requested, numerous other activities took place, and I was asked by a colleague to talk about the matter with her college class. I discussed a number of issues related to that incident, but the issues related to this article are these.
There were two anomalous activities at work in that incident. First, the Jewish citizens in the theater were in too much pain to realize that children laugh at most things they do not understand and that their laughter was of ignorance and quite age-appropriate behavior for them. It had no profound meaning that betokened anti-Semitism, and it was of no lasting import for them. It was what silly children, and some silly adults also, do when they do not understand a matter and are with friends. Certainly, it never should have been a flap in the first place, and it never should have reached the level of a request for an apology.
Second, and most important for this discussion, the sad truth is this, these young black people were so far removed from their African American history, they did not realize the afflictions depicted in that film were also a depiction of many of the afflictions they should have identified and empathized with, since their foreparents suffered similar fates. Because they had a loss of memory, they laughed. We generally know that the farther one gets away from his/her pain, the less empathetic he/she is toward others who are similarly situated; the closer one is to his/her own history of pain, the more one is appreciative of another's pain. In this instance, the loss of memory of those young blacks brought about a needlessly painful incident in a city that has relative racial comity. But the problem has more profound and harmful consequences to the black community directly than this incident, and that problem is not simply a high school level problem. It has moved up to an influential level in our community.
Today, African Americans spend one half trillion dollars a year, primarily outside of black businesses; we are approximately 30 million in numbers; we have over a million businesses; we are judges, politicians, teachers, publishers, writers, doctors, engineers, chemists, millionaires, and all that America is. We are in all spheres of influence in this society. But in spite of the broad overlay we have in this society, there in an anomaly that is a part of slavery's legacy, and it must be corrected. Any people having experienced slavery or oppression normally will cling to each other as a result of their comradeship generated by affliction, especially while still haunted by adverse societal behavior. This behavior is a safety mechanism. They hug each other, they love each other, they congregate with each other, and they support each other because they know that they are a threatened people and their strength comes from their closeness and support. But for many African Americans, the exhortation of those who encourage them to willfully forget their historical afflictions, or simply take no time to learn about them, is tragic.
Certainly, while the field remains unequal, and excessive obstacles are still in our way, there should be a coming together to ensure survival and prosperity. The hugging, the loving, the helping, the vigilance, all of these are still in order. Indeed, the cost of our freedom and opportunity is more than mere vigilance. But the anomaly that exists among a number of blacks who have moved to positions of influence is this: too often they think that they have arrived at their position solely by their own strength, without the help of others. Therefore, since nothing has been given to them, nothing is owed to anyone, but themselves. This type of thinking is shortsighted, illogical, and selfish.
The truth is, we build and travel on our history, and our history encompasses more than ourselves. James Baldwin said, "History is not about the past. It’s about the present. We take it with us; we can not escape our history." It is through the prism of our history that we see the world. What was done in the past and the present affects us now, whether directly or indirectly.
For six years, I was the administrative head of Alameda County’s Juvenile Court, under Presiding Juvenile Court Judge Wilmont Sweeney. At that time, the number of young black males coming into the Criminal/Juvenile Justice system far exceeded their numbers in society and bespoke to a most serious problem, unless something was done. After returning from a conference, at which a black sociologist delineated the statistics of the crisis among our young black males, I was alarmed and propelled into action. I did not personally feel threatened. I was secure. I had a good job, I was well educated and could always get another job, or make my own job. But our young black men were running off a cliff and something had to be done. Our scholars had sounded the alarm, and I was in a position to make a difference with the facts they gave me. Judge Sweeney and I had a long discussion. I remember saying too him, "Judge, it’s not enough for us to just adjudicate; we are in a position to make a change; we have to do something."
