Rosa Parks: 1913-2005
When I studied Rosa Parks in eighth grade American history class, I remember feeling awed by her patience and conviction. She was the calm in the middle of a storm the day she refused to give up her seat to a white man on a bus in Alabama in 1955, and this quick act of defiance ended up touching off one of the largest civil rights movements in recent history. She has been called "the mother of the new civil rights movement" and "a real apostle of the nonviolence movement." She was too quiet and serene to think about raising her own voice in anger or haste, yet her voice was so powerful it carried further than she could have ever imagined. One person committed to peace can change the world.
By her action, Rosa Parks spoke for every person who has ever been relegated to the margins. She didn't violently demand that she be granted equal rights. She didn't ask to be enthusiastically embraced. She simply asked for the space that she needed to exist peacefully, and for the understanding that she was of more worth than others in the community had given her credit for. I admire her. She didn't wait for the Alabama culture to realize that they were mistaken in their unequal treatment of blacks, but instead called upon her own strength to nonviolently do something about it. Her worth came from within, and not even the threat of arrest or physical harm kept her from acting upon that value.
The similarities between the civil rights movement of the 50's and 60's and the gay rights movement of the present day are striking. Black civil rights activists often deflect attempts by gay activists to piggyback the movements, and although there are differences, the similarities speak much more strongly. Both movements can be considered a response to injustice. Both are characterized by the denial of rights aimed at intrinsic personal qualities. And I would argue that both are marked by the mistaken belief that different means unequal. Why can't different just mean different? (The Thesaurus doesn't help matters, as it actually lists "unequal" in the list of synonyms for the word "different.") It seems obvious now at this point in history that one skin color is not superior to another. It is less obvious though--at least to the masses--that a different ability to love is not somehow deviant, afflicted, or unequal. Whites are not superior to blacks, and heterosexuals are not superior to homosexuals. There are obvious differences, but inequality should not follow.
My friend Robert said in his blog yesterday, that at every point in history when oppression has been prevalent, an apology has followed. He's right. Eventually, the ideology of a civil rights movement resonates loudly enough that increasing numbers of people begin to see the injustice and join the movement, and any resistance that struggles to remain ultimately becomes incapable of supressing it. The increased awareness leads to change, and an apology becomes a necessary part of that process. Although an apology doesn't erase mistreatment and injustice, it does offer validation and evidence that the change will be permanent.
I'm thankful that Rosa Parks was able to live for fifty years beyond her arrest, and experience the improved reality that was born of her courage. She never asked for an apology, but I'm happy that she got one. And I'm grateful for her example. She lived by faith and not by fear, and she lived according to the conviction that she was of value no matter what others may have said or believed. That's something to aspire to. May we all grow to be such willing apostles in the nonviolence movement.
By her action, Rosa Parks spoke for every person who has ever been relegated to the margins. She didn't violently demand that she be granted equal rights. She didn't ask to be enthusiastically embraced. She simply asked for the space that she needed to exist peacefully, and for the understanding that she was of more worth than others in the community had given her credit for. I admire her. She didn't wait for the Alabama culture to realize that they were mistaken in their unequal treatment of blacks, but instead called upon her own strength to nonviolently do something about it. Her worth came from within, and not even the threat of arrest or physical harm kept her from acting upon that value.
The similarities between the civil rights movement of the 50's and 60's and the gay rights movement of the present day are striking. Black civil rights activists often deflect attempts by gay activists to piggyback the movements, and although there are differences, the similarities speak much more strongly. Both movements can be considered a response to injustice. Both are characterized by the denial of rights aimed at intrinsic personal qualities. And I would argue that both are marked by the mistaken belief that different means unequal. Why can't different just mean different? (The Thesaurus doesn't help matters, as it actually lists "unequal" in the list of synonyms for the word "different.") It seems obvious now at this point in history that one skin color is not superior to another. It is less obvious though--at least to the masses--that a different ability to love is not somehow deviant, afflicted, or unequal. Whites are not superior to blacks, and heterosexuals are not superior to homosexuals. There are obvious differences, but inequality should not follow.
My friend Robert said in his blog yesterday, that at every point in history when oppression has been prevalent, an apology has followed. He's right. Eventually, the ideology of a civil rights movement resonates loudly enough that increasing numbers of people begin to see the injustice and join the movement, and any resistance that struggles to remain ultimately becomes incapable of supressing it. The increased awareness leads to change, and an apology becomes a necessary part of that process. Although an apology doesn't erase mistreatment and injustice, it does offer validation and evidence that the change will be permanent.
I'm thankful that Rosa Parks was able to live for fifty years beyond her arrest, and experience the improved reality that was born of her courage. She never asked for an apology, but I'm happy that she got one. And I'm grateful for her example. She lived by faith and not by fear, and she lived according to the conviction that she was of value no matter what others may have said or believed. That's something to aspire to. May we all grow to be such willing apostles in the nonviolence movement.
posted by Jen Austin at 2:50 PM
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