The Girl in the Middle: WWII, Boston Busing and What You Fight For

It started with this one, all the emotions. The program was: Lens of Change: The Garrity Decision in Focus, Busing at 50. Featured were photos by Boston Globe photographers at the onset of Boston school integration. The protests and fury continued for years. I was not a resident, accounts indicate the protest continued until the 1980’s when busing ended. In contrast, by 1974, in Hampton Virginia, I’d been in integrated schools for 4 years. There were protests to start and maybe even more than I was aware of, but after school started, the protest from white parents died down. Viewing this photo, as an adult and the faces of innocent children, subjected to adults who hurled rocks and bricks and spat on them is to much. I just wanted to pick them up, ferry them away and tell them everything is going to be ok. As I looked at more photos before the start of the panel discussion, I became overwhelmed. As I looked around the room of about 70 or so, the only black faces were those in the photographs. Yes, I know I say, “I’m integrating white spaces one room at a time,” but every now and then, it takes an emotional toll.

I could not finish. This one captivated me. While this one was non violent, I had to leave the room and go to the ladies room where I cried. I call it the girl in the middle. In 1975, this could have been me. The hair, the hoop earrings, the look of stoicism. But that was just prep for 1976, at the University of Tennessee, as an engineering student, I was typically the only female and the only African American in my classes. The main program had a panel with Denise Pruitt whose mother had sued the school system. She described her experience as a black student who was spat upon and how her best friend, a white student apologized for her grandmother, the spitter. She described how her mother had worked hard so she did too, but every night at home she cried. With all of her eloquence, when an audience member asked how could adults spit on children, she let the question linger. In my head, I yelled, “people can be cruel, sadistically cruel, recreationally cruel, from the depths of hell cruel. Jews were gassed, Africans were kidnapped and enslaved in the US for over 200 years.” But, I too sat in stillness and let the question linger. After the program, I had a chance to ask Denise one question and the response let me know, there was a distinct difference in our experiences, something that still happens today.

When was the first time you had a black school teacher? I asked Ms Pruitt and someone under 30 I had lunch with this week. The responses were similar, college. For me, I had black teachers in nursery school, kindergarten all the way through 12th grade. Funny thing about racism and segregation. Virginia laws had higher standards for black teachers than white ones. The black teachers all had masters degrees. When the schools integrated, the black teachers were at the top of the hierarchy because of their advanced degrees. From 7th grade on, my teachers were an integrated group.

Representation matters. In my world, Mrs. Christine Richie, church member was one of the Hidden Figures, one of the black women that did the math for the moon landing. My father’s Alpha Phi Alpha fraternity brothers were prominent, our family doctor, our family dentist, even our congressman Bobby Scott. This world was familiar not some far off possibility. It’s hard to imagine a world without black teachers and yet that is still very much a reality today. The lack of black teachers explains the shock of the white boys walking into the room where I was a math teaching assistant at UT. It never occurred to me until now the cognitive dissonance I must have caused. UT in the 70s, well it was not known to have a multicultural faculty. But, you know me “integrating those white spaces one room at a time.”

I was so fortunate to be able to chat with Ulrike Welsch. She photographed the girl in the middle. She told me how she liked to find joy in the moment and take photographs, this was assignment difficult. Ms Welsch, born and raised in Germany, is 84 and I felt our unspoken conversation was Nazi Germany and then as a young adult experiencing the vitriol, violence and hate toward children. I recalled the writer Dennis Lahane description of how messed up it was for his nine year old self to witness his family and his neighbors, good people, go into this rage. There was this visceral moment of me connecting a photographer born in Germany in the middle of WWII, a renowned writer 9 years old in the middle of Boston busing and me acutely aware of navigating white spaces.

Please, take a look at the photographs. The stats from my posts show it is a rare thing for anyone to click the orange links. This week, browse the photographs: Busing at 50. Maybe not for the reason you think. Look at the gallery, not a place blame or shame, it’s just thing that was. Ask would people act differently today or, are the same dynamics in play. Think about pre WWII Germany. Historically, would people have behaved or done things differently? Yes, it’s easier, more comfortable to think of these things in the past.

While I am older, it’s not unusual to encounter someone in their mid 60’s which means my experiences are not ancient history. While Urike Welsch is older, it’s not a rare phenomena to be in your 80s. A lot happens in a lifetime, but, we don’t go around with our birth year publicly displayed and people have no solid grasp of historical timelines. Look, I don’t expect everyone to know dates and preceding events, we have Google for that. The problem is, one that has plagued the ages. The lack of relative information that would give a sense urgency when pivotal moment are about to occur and then it is too late. How do we act, what do we do before it’s too late?

We know people can come together, we know we all want a good life, some peace and some joy. If hate can gather for chaos, can love unite for happiness? This week, consider what you fight for?