Through the Eyes of Children

THIS WEEK, Stephen relates a story about his recent trip to the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum.

I recently spent an afternoon at the very impressive Abraham Lincoln Presidential Library and Museum in Springfield, Illinois. The facility is beautiful, with a number of memorable artifacts from throughout Lincoln's life. In addition to two very interesting and well-produced shows, the museum part of the campus is broken into two parts: a log-cabin that traces Lincoln's life until 1861, and a White House that documents his years as president, up to and including resting in State after his assassination.

Overall, it was a powerful day; I highly recommend the experience. I have been troubled, though, by one aspect of the trip, which I thought TWIR readers might appreciate and/or like to discuss here.

After walking through a replica of Lincoln's one-bedroom boyhood home, there is an exhibit about the slave trade that features life-like (and life size) figures such as those that are scattered throughout the museum (see image at left). This display includes a (White) auctioneer with his right hand firmly clasping the shoulder of a Black boy who appears to be about seven or eight years old. The boy is clearly wailing with grief, reaching out for his mother, who is steps away, in shackles, being pulled away by a White man who has purchased her. For her part, the mother is teary, as well, but her gaze is fixed on the eyes of her husband, who is similarly shackled and being pulled in the opposite direction by another purchaser.

My nine-year-old daughter, Amelia, approached the slave auction exhibit with great interest. I watched her face and mannerisms as best I could from behind her, my hands resting gently on her little shoulders. She looked on, but said nothing. As we moved with the flow of the crowd on to the next exhibit, she turned around and craned her neck to look around me for a final glance. A few moments later, as we were looking at the gravestone of Lincoln's young son who died at age 3, she turned to me and said, "Daddy, if we have time, can we go back to look at the slave one again?"

My heart sank. I fought back tears at the exhibit in the first place and couldn't bring myself to think about what must have been going on in her head. Now she wanted to go back. What did that mean? Why did she want to expose herself to that again when all I wanted to do was forget that I ever saw it?

I told her that we surely could go back, and that if she wanted to go back right away, that was okay with me. So we nudged our way through the crowd and back to the exhibit. I stood in the same position (behind her), but this time, she wanted to talk about it. As she pointed at the various elements, she explained to me that sometimes families would be torn apart because people didn't always buy slaves as a family. She knew this, she informed me, because of the story that came with Addy (Walker), the American Girl doll whose family struggled for its freedom. As I turned my ear toward her -- partly so that she wouldn't have to raise her voice and partly to hide my wet eyes from her -- I nodded and agreed that it was a terrible situation. After a few moments, she was satisfied and pulled my hand off to the next room to see what else there was to see.

And there I was -- a man who has spent his professional life researching the power of racism, speaking to students and members of audiences around the country who have gathered to hear my thoughts, giving quotes to media outlets who have published my ideas on the matter internationally -- dumbfounded as to what to say to the one person who most needed him to say something smart.

It wasn't the first time something like this has happened. We live in downtown Chicago, so there are examples of racism and inequality all around us. Four years ago, I came back from the local drugstore with a story about a man who told me that his girlfriend was in the hospital and that he'd really like to buy her a card. I told him that I had no cash (which was true), but that if he wanted to pick out a card, I'd be happy to buy it for him when I checked out with my order. When he met me at the register, he had about $60 worth of candy, stuffed animals, etc. with him. Right or wrong, I paid for it, and went home to share the story. Amelia listened attentively, and then went off to play in her room by herself. When I went in a little bit later to check on her, she said (I remember this verbatim):

"Daddy, you know that man who you bought things for? I know it doesn't matter, but was he light-skinned or dark-skinned? I know it doesn't matter. I'm just wondering."

"He was dark skinned, babe. Why do you ask?"

"I know it doesn't matter," she said for the third time, but it just seems like every time somebody needs help, he has dark skin. That doesn't seem fair."

Great. Now I was in the position of having to try to explain economic racism to a five-year-old.

Look, I am very much willing to admit that some of this is my fault. I can't be easy being the daughter of a guy who spends his life studying inequality. This poor kid. Here's an example: My wife and I are very much opposed to Barbie, for obvious reasons, but we decided early on that while we would not buy Barbie for Amelia, we didn't want to make a big deal out of banning her from the household. So if she got a Barbie as a gift (including from Santa -- more of that in a moment), we didn't force her to give it away or throw it out. But I am absolutely ZERO fun playing Barbies. My Barbies say things like "I don't want to go shopping; let's go to the library!" (And yes, my Barbies use semicolons.) "I'm starving!" or "I don't know how I can possibly stand up with such tiny feet!"

Playing Barbies with me totally sucks.

And race has always been a subtle factor in our play. In my professional work, I advocate acting in counter-stereotypical ways. That is, it's not enough just to be not racist; we must be anti-racist. This has been fine for the most part, but I still sort of regret the year that Santa brought the big-ass Barbie castle with the princess who was "Black" (she has no typical African American features except dark skin) without realizing that there was an actual movie that went with it (and, of course, didn't feature that Barbie).

In all seriousness, though, how should we handle this? We know what the handful of White bigots do: they teach their children that their skin color makes them superior. We know what people of color do: they teach their children that they will probably be judged unfairly by the color of their skin, but that they should push beyond it and work hard to prove themselves. As someone who teaches college at a predominantly White institution, I can feel confident in pushing my students to think critically about race because they are adults and have minds that can handle the dissonance I seek to instill. But a lot of what we face with White college students is a result of progressive parents teaching them to be "color blind." As a result, we have to work to make them understand systemic racism in order to confront it.

Is that really the best plan? Lie to our children in the hopes that either racism will mysteriously disappear before they become adults or hope that they'll learn to confront the truth in a meaningful way later? Isn't that largely passing the buck because it's easier than dealing with the difficult truth of racism in America?

I didn't expect to be so affected by the museum or by my daughter's reaction to it. In a lot of ways, the fact that she recognized so early that Black folks tend to be poorer than White folks is more troubling to me because it is a current problem. I guess that the other parents felt very comfortable and secure telling their children that what they saw in the slave auction exhibit was horrible, but that it was a long time ago, and things are better now.

It's impossible to argue with that sentiment, but I want Amelia to understand that progress, while wonderful, is not the same as equality. At some point (maybe not today), I want her to understand that what she saw in that exhibit is directly responsible for the inequality she sees in her city today. Because what if I don't help her to understand that? By not making the link, I am tacitly supporting the faulty proposition that there is no relationship between slavery and modern racism. Should I let her think that Black folks have the same chances as White folks? If so, the explanation for racial injustice today has to reside in individual choices rather than systemic oppression. In other words, if we don't help our children to understand how the legacy of slavery affects us today, we should not be surprised when they grow up and refuse to support systemic changes for social justice.

On the other hand, don't our children get to be innocent for a while? Isn't it my job to protect her against the hurt she clearly felt at that exhibit? Isn't it my job to help her to understand that America is truly a place where anyone can make it, irrespective of gender, race, sexual orientation, etc.? The easy answer is "there must be balance," but in the moment, that's not very helpful. We need to be ready when those teaching moments arise. Teaching kids that Martin Luther King, Jr. is a hero and that the Ku Klux Klan is bad are easy decisions. Knowing when and how to make the link between bigotry and racism is much more difficult.

We'd appreciate any thoughts you have about this issue. Now Stephen needs to go and make sure that Barbie knows that if, indeed, Ken turns out to be gay, that there's absolutely nothing wrong with that.