By: Krys Kantrell
This story took a while for me to get here, but I’m here now and I wanted to write it. Growing up in a small southern town, some people become accustomed to certain things, the atmosphere, the perceived way of life, and just going with the flow because that’s the way it has always been. I can’t lie though, it’s never been that way for me, but I understand how people can become complacent in an environment that was built to oppress you. When you don’t know you can do better, you don’t try. When the opportunities you’re exposed to aren’t created for you, then you don’t question whether they exist because… why would they?
I was raised in small towns that followed this status quo my whole life. If we questioned things, our questions would go unheard because we weren’t the ones the leaders wanted to listen to. By we, I mean young people of color, or for that matter, any people of color. You grow up hearing stories of the chairman of your local board of education saying a Black man would never be the principal of a certain school, or you’d never have a Black Superintendent, and at the same time, that same chairman, rubbing elbows and being friends with prominent Blacks in the town. It’s a sort of cognitive dissonance, really.
You notice these things, until you don’t. They just become life, and that’s where the complacency comes in. White Supremacy does that. It makes the unusual so usual, it doesn’t seem strange anymore. Growing up in small towns, and even bigger towns, will do that to you. But that old saying comes into play here, “You can’t do better, until you know better.” And that’s the ultimate goal. Always doing better, and always progressing is the plan, but there are subtle obstacles in place to stop this from happening. But like I said earlier, you don’t notice these things, until you do.
I am a teacher’s daughter, so I was privy to a little bit more than I probably should have been, but because of that I became aware of the inequalities early on. I would notice how the Black People in town were separated from the White side of town by train tracks. How growing up, the Black side of town wasn’t kept up by the town, there was no grass in the yards, and the houses weren’t ideal, but once you cross the tracks, it was an entirely different world. This was obvious to anyone to see. The people living in town did what they had to do to make it, but nothing changed. Anyone coming in from the outside could see the glaring difference between the two sides.
In the next town over, there’s a Confederate Cemetery, and that is what this article is actually about. The resting places of our ancestors. The rebel cemetery is well maintained. It has a nice brick fence, and there’s a large marker labeling it, the Confederate Cemetery. So I know, while that doesn’t sound important, it is important to note that right next to it, separated by that brick and wrought iron fence, is the Slave Cemetery. Naturally, one would think… since these are both historic areas, the upkeep and the reverence would be the same, but it’s not. Up until a few months ago, the Slave Cemetery was marked by a dilapidated park, a basketball court, and some bleachers. The community maintained it as best they could, but it always made me angry to just pass by and see how the enslaved were treated, even in death, but the other day something changed.
I drive by the cemeteries every day when I leave work, and while I no longer stop, it’s impossible to miss. The unfairness of it always stay in the back of my mind, but one day I noticed some people working on the grounds. It peaked my curiosity, so I kept an eye on things as they developed. As time went by, I started to see children playing and noticing changes bit by bit. This past year, somebody who was able to make a change, decided to make a difference. The Slave Cemetery is still a playground, and while that is offensive to me, point blank period, the children who take joy in it, happen to be the descendants of people it’s named after, and that’s where I find the joy.
When I spoke about what Black people are missing, or are deprived of, throughout this small county of mine; while we may be low on resources, due to no fault of our own… I never mentioned what we have, and have always had, an abundance of. What the system has never been able to take, in spite of the prejudices formed against us, and that is our Pride. The world has gotten close, but it has never broken us. We take care of what we have, we do what we have to do, and we survive. The pride I felt watching those Black kids be free on a playground, that may actually be a Slave Cemetery, was different. This is what our ancestors dreamed of for their children. They are their ancestors’ hopes and dreams. And to see that and to realize that’s one thing they couldn’t stop from happening in spite of every brick and slur that was thrown at us, is an incredible thing. The fact that that particular dream, that hope of our ancestors… has come to fruition; well, there’s poetry in being a witness to that.
