The plantation haunts my gay marriage.
Erik Shawn Frampton,
Charlotte, NC.
I am the descendant of a line of plantation owners in South Carolina. As a gay man, my upcoming marriage will finally occur on our 20th anniversary together. My larger southern family struggles to see my identity as sacred, just as they struggle still to see minority life as sacred. But what progress. From chains to wedding bells with a gay Asian man.
Mom taught me to love everyone
Robert McAlister,
Lexington, SC.
Grew up in segregated south in a single parent home. Always felt on the margins but later in life realized my mom was ahead of her time in accepting and seeing everyone as God’s children.
Ancestors were wrong. I am sorry.
Tim Minter,
Bellevue, NE
I am the descendant of slave holding Americans. My ancestors owned a plantation in Sedalia, SC – and, along with that plantation, slaves to work the land. Predictably, reconstruction bankrupted them – sharecropping wasn’t as efficient as outright owning people.
Family lore always sought to justify slave holding. I was taught at a young age that the civil war was the “war of Northern Aggression,” and that my ancestors fought against an invading Northern Army. Regarding the slaves, I was told that my ancestors “treated them like family” and that “they took our family name because we took good care of them.” (No, it was because we took their original identities away from them.)
A few years ago, I was standing in line to vote. I was wearing my military uniform on the way home from work. That uniform had a nametape on it with my last name. This little old African American lady saw my last name. She wanted to know if we were related. I didn’t have the heart to say “maybe,” because of what the implications of that might have been.
As I raise my children, I am trying to teach them to reckon with our family past. They dont need to be ashamed for what their ancestors did, but they also shouldn’t take pride in the things they did wrong either. Since the past is never dead – it’s not even past – they need to know where we’ve come with so they can understand the seams in our society. There is no way that the descendants of the slaves my ancestors owned did not have some negative impact from that atrocity committed upon them. We can’t make right that historical wrong, but we can make sure that we don’t commit our own. In an era where bigotry and intolerance thrives unashamed, we must be clear that all people have value.
Quarterbacks must be able to think!
Stanley E. Lindsey (Stan),
Newberry, SC
My six words came from one of the assist football coaches
I grew up in a small town Lincolnton, NC (About 20 miles north west of Charlotte, NC) In 1976 I decided to try out for Quarterback position. In 1977 my freshmen year with me playing QB we ran the table, 8-0 Conference Champs Yep! And the rest is History. Just look at the NFL today. God is Good!
My skin doesn’t reveal my soul
Traci Neal,
Columbia, SC
As long as I can remember, growing up in the South, I have had my experiences with racism. I think, in some ways, it became normal for me to encounter it occasionally. Still, nothing would prepare me for what I would face in April 2023. I am a professional poet. I felt amazing to be a part of a book anthology for African American poets.
We, poet contributors, were celebrating our book launch on April 26, 2023, via Zoom. We were halfway through where poets were reading their individual poems. All of a sudden, we get Zoom bombed by a hacker who puts up these derogatory images of male private parts and was shouting the “n” word while typing it in the chat. It hurt to my core so much that I had to walk away from my husband’s laptop.
Many thoughts ran through my mind that night and sleep didn’t seem to even be an option for me. It took a few days to reflect and wrap my mind around it all, but I am sharing this story as a declaration. I have a soul. It is beautiful. It matters. It cares about humanity. My skin doesn’t reveal my soul. It just opens up the door for conversation and maybe even growth. You can never judge a book until you take the time to read it. I hope each of us will listen more in order to learn more.
My dear friend’s current life below
Susan Nickason,
Penfield, NY.
Listening to the news this evening about the Charleston shooting, I hear “what harms our neighbor, harms us”
This speaks to me as it wasn’t even 2 months ago that I left Kemmerer, WY, under the cover of darkness because of the harassment and inexcusable behavior that seemed, well, normal. To them. A state that prides itself on equality.
While I was only there a year and some odd days, I quickly learned the values of Mormon speak, which was loud and in my face about my differences. I learned that God, while he was very present in almost all conversations, did not protect my kind as I was, am and always will be a sinner. I learned how officers of the law, who are supposedly held to a higher standard, nodded their often familiar bobble heads saying, they would keep watch. Yet, dead animals were still put on my porch, air was let out of my tires among other things and the night I left was harassed by two women who let me know of their intentions by keeping a gun in plain view of my sight. What did the police do? They patted them on the back and said, go home. Each time they came by house.
Knowing how small the town is, of course it was gossip by the next morning, and yet the Chief only made a call to me after he got a report from a community member saying it happened. Not that he was being updated that night by his officers the entire time it was transpiring.
It’s these moments that a community has the opportunity to stand up and say enough is enough. But instead they stayed silent, and when the city council who is supposedly leadership of the community, as they are voted in to be representatives were questioned, they said, we didn’t do anything wrong.
Your silence and doing nothing, is plenty…
While I share a summary of my story, there are so many others that have their own stories. Stories of how this land of the free home of the brave, has simply; Forgotten.
I watch my fb feed fill with intellectual discussions of how to come together and begin this exchange that has been pushed aside by mainstream media, because it’s hard and they are trying to avoid – the anger…
And I will say it for no one else but me, the anger will never go away. And the more these sensationalized stories about how these race related situations are not really about race, makes me even angrier. However, it is in my anger that I find logic that the only way to start fixing these problems is to start talking about a plan, to have a future that begins with admitting, we have a f****** problem.
I’m ready, are you?
I’ve been called my sister’s nanny.
Mary Carroll,
Columbia, SC.
I am biracial and adopted into a white family. Growing up in a very southern affluent area, people were always asking me if I was paid well to look after the child and if I would work for them. When I would tell them that the child was my sister, generally they would respond with a laugh and “if that’s what you call it” then turn to someone else and say “that nanny calls the child her ‘sista'” assuming I was using a colloquial term rather than defining a familial relationship.
Change On Counter Not In Hand
Kristina T. Sanders,
Sumter, SC.
A regular day at work turned into an eye opening experience. I had helped a customer pick out a pair of shoes, and it was time for him to purchase them. The customer was a tall middle age Caucasian gentlemen. I gave him his total and he pulled out the money. I held my hand out to receive the money and he look and me and simply placed the money on the counter. I was shocked and surprised that this had occurred. He wanted to make sure his hands didn’t touch mine. I said to myself, “Wow, racism does still exist.” I was compelled to write about this event because it surprised me how much racism still exist in the 21st century.
“Rahsheba…that is an interesting name”
Rahsheba Major,
Columbia, SC
This was said to me by an unsmiling white female department store cashier, likely around the same age as I, early to mid 40s, at the time, while looking at my brand new SC driver’s license. I had recently moved to South Carolina from Maryland and was applying for the department store’s credit card. Initially stunned into silence, I finally said “I’ll take that as a compliment”.
Cajun heritage and worked for everything
Feldon Starns,
Summerville, SC.
I come from a lower middle class family. I was the first to graduate collage in my family. I worked full time at menial jobs and paid for everything myself. No loans, grants, scholarships, or aid. Nothing was given to me. If working inside old fuel tanks in a shipyard is “privilege” then so be it. However I did what it took to better myself and have no guilt about the color of my skin what so ever.
I can only shake my head at the attitudes of so many people these days and times. They believe because their ancestors had a hard time and suffered that they deserve special treatment or I for that matter should feel bad about who I am and where I came from. Well here’s a check for you; life isn’t fair, and everybody had a hard time of it in this country. Admittedly some worse than others, but you can bet if you look close enough you would see the truth in this statement.
My father as a small child had the Klu Klux Klan burn a cross in his yard. Why? He was white? Because he spoke French, was catholic, and my grandfather ran a saloon. He was beaten by his teachers for not speaking English in school. He had it rough even after he left Louisiana. But he worked hard and believed in this country. That’s what he taught his children to do also.
In the 1970’s I had long hair and black friends. I wish I had a dollar for every time the cops pulled me over and tore my car apart looking for drugs or contraband. I’ve been not waited on in restaurants because of how I looked, called names and treated badly by people of all colors. So I really have a hard time with people who walk around talking about this or that, then expecting me to feel bad or guilty about who I am and where I’m from.
My ancestors were put into slavery by the British. Those that were able to make it to New Orleans where shunned by the Creoles, and the white population. They were pushed west into the swamps and bayous to the land no one wanted. There they built a solid foundation and thriving culture with help from no one.
So the next time you want to throw out that life is not fair to you because of the color of your skin remember that every group has had their problems. And to the people of all colors and creeds who hate or think the world owes them something, get a life.
Dream To See Hear And Love
Clarence “Chet” Chavez,
Taylors, SC
I want to start a Race Card Project in my local community beginning with the Unity and Unitarian Universalist folks.
Are you the maintenance guy
Mr. Jones,
Charleston, SC.
New neighbors moved in about 6 months ago. 1st introduction while I was sweeping driveway “are you the maintenance guy”. I have a vacation home in a “upscale neighborhood” just 30 houses and only african american for 5 years. Neighborhood HOA even hired local police to do daily drive-thrus as well. I’ve really have a hard time there especially since it being the south. I have a home in Baltimore as well next to JHU University. While Baltimore is much more accepting to diversity – there is a very different world. I would hate to see the neighborhood reaction if I had a family reunion function. Listening to NPR and found out about your program.
Black man, white girl kissing; beautifully scared.
Tracey Rae Palmer,
Myrtle Beach, SC.
I was told never to kiss a n***** or get close to them; they would only rob you or kill you for money. I found myself in collage in 1979 and a black man got an “A” in his class. With arms held wide and incredible excitement, he kissed me and continued to celebrate with the other classmates. I just stood there. It was not different, it was wonderful. I was scared to say anything because he may come back and … then what?
Your bar is down the street.
Ronald Zeigler,
North Brunswick, NJ.
I was stationed at Parris Island going to Personnel school. I was from New York and with my three New Jersey (also Black) friends went into Beaufort, SC. We walked into a bar and my friend said “three beers, please”. I was at the jukebox looking for Motown and finding The Grand Ole Opry. Those six words were what the bartender said…twice. We left, walked down the street and was greeted with wall to wall us, The Four Tops and The Temptations.
