By Marian Wright Edelman
As a child, the great theologian Howard Thurman treasured spending time alone under a beloved oak tree in his yard: “I could sit my back against its trunk, and feel the same peace that would come to me in my bed at night. I could reach down in the quiet places of my spirit, take out my bruises and my joys, unfold them, and talk about them. I could talk aloud to the oak tree and know that I was understood.” As he studied his tree he noticed it had leaves that each autumn turned yellow and died but stayed on the branches all winter. Nothing—neither wind, storm, sleet, nor snow—dislodged these dead leaves from the apparently lifeless branches. Dr. Thurman came to understand that the business of the oak tree during the long winter was to hold on to the dead leaves before turning them loose in spring so that new buds—the growing edge—could begin to unfold. At winter’s end, what wind, storm, sleet, or snow could not force off passed quietly away to become the tree’s nourishment.
My parents were like that oak tree. Throughout most of our history, many Black families have been like that oak tree. Despite enormous assaults and pressures, Black parents and elders were sturdy, constant presences determined to hold on and persevere long enough to prepare the next generation and give them a better life.
During Black History Month, many Americans take time to honor and celebrate the extraordinary achievements of individual African Americans. This remains true even in the face of the newest sanctions on observances recognizing American history made by Americans who were not heterosexual, White, or male. But for many African Americans, honoring Black history goes even beyond applauding the scholars, scientists, politicians, artists, and other leaders whose accomplishments indisputably shaped our nation. It also includes honoring the elders and ancestors in our own families whose perseverance, strength, and joy in the face of every assault we’ve already faced got us to this moment.
Black elders saw children and young people through the unspeakable trauma of enslavement. The late beloved historian John Hope Franklin and others reminded us that traditional myths about slavery destroying Black families are a lie: the slavery system and individual enslavers may have done their very best to try to destroy the families in their control, but it did not work. When enslavers tried to mate men and women for childbearing, Black partners made their own systems of traditional marriages and commitments. When they tried to treat parents and children as nothing more than disposable and interchangeable property, Black families still learned to honor and revere our mothers, fathers, and ancestors and to see our children as children of God. We know the stories of the extraordinary lengths enslaved people who were forcibly separated from their families went to after Emancipation as they desperately attempted to reunite with the parents, spouses, and children they loved.
Parents and elders saw Black children and young people through Reconstruction and did their best to shield and protect them during the dark days of Jim Crow, mob rule, and lynchings. Throughout segregation they constantly reminded us we had dignity and worth. Long before the phrase became popular, our mothers and grandmothers took their time braiding our hair, neatly pressing our clothes, and reminding us every day that Black was beautiful. During the Civil Rights Movement many Black families fought together every step of the way and many parents participated in the struggle for an end to segregated schools and facilities because they knew they wanted a better education and world for their children.
A few days ago, Andrew Young was asked in an interview to describe what the current moment in our nation feels like to him. He is a lantern who might be featured in many Black History Month lessons right now for his own long list of contributions to American public life—among them, as a Civil Rights Movement leader, former member of Congress, former mayor of Atlanta, and former United States Ambassador to the United Nations. But his answer was rooted in a message African Americans have sung for generations and a lesson from his own family:
“You know, I don’t know. But the first thing that popped into my mind was the spiritual: Lord, I don’t feel no ways tired. We have come too far from where we started from. And nobody ever told us that the way would be easy, but I don’t believe He brought us this far to leave us. And I’m not worried. I’m not anxious. It’s just another struggle. My parents taught me to deal with the slights and oppression. My father’s mantra was, don’t get mad, get smart. He said if you lose your temper in a fight, you lose the fight, and that your mind is the most powerful thing you have.”
This is yet more wisdom from Black history and elders to embrace right now. We have come too far from where we started from. All of us can continue to hold on to examples and lessons like these to encourage us to renew our strength in order to strategize for the current struggle.