Black History Isn't Only for African Americans by John Linford As a white, middle-aged American, I'm not comfortable writing about race. I have never been forced to taste the rancid bile of racial bigotry and have lived my entire life believing that race was a non-issue. But, I'm beginning to understand that every human life, every person and his or her pain, anger, or suffered injustice touches every other human life, including mine. And I'm beginning to understand that race is still a major issue here in Ogden. So, I'm moving out of my comfort zone, not only to write about racial prejudice, but also to attempt to get a glimpse of what life is like as a Black American in Ogden.

I don't presume to understand these issues or the pain that racial prejudice and discrimination cause. But I am doing all that I can to understand. Also, I want to apologize in advance, because being white, and in spite of my honest effort to understand, I will get some things wrong.    Black history isn't only for African Americans. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., speaking from the wreckage of his bombed-out house, begged the gathering crowd to remain peaceful and nonviolent saying, "I am convinced that if we succumb to the temptation to use violence in our struggle for freedom, unborn generations will be the recipients of a long and desolate night of bitterness."    Imagine for a moment what might have happened if African Americans had chosen to follow the visions of Malcolm X, Stokeley Carmichael, and others, visions of Black Nationalism, Separatism, Militant Hatred and Violence. America would have suffered the "long and desolate night of bitterness" of Dr. King's prophecy. American soil, from “sea to shining sea,” would have been rank with the blood of her children. This “Nation under God” would have been torn, not North to South or state to state, but as unprecedented racial violence ripped across America, her cities would have become self-destructive theaters of death and conflict. No man's children, of any race or creed, would have been safe in their own beds, no man or woman safe in his or her own home. If this scenario seems far-fetched, take a look at Northern Ireland's 30-year history of urban violence.

   Like many people, my eyelids become unbelievably heavy when someone mentions the word "history." Yet, when I say "Black History," I'm not referring to pages of tedious facts, memorized and regurgitated at a professor's bidding, and I am not referring to some political soap box from which famous people attempt to work their own ends. No, I mean a study of events, a striving to understand things that have happened and have shaped our world and have made us who we are today. Some of these things happened to Black Americans and some of these things were done by Black Americans, but each of these events profoundly shaped the America in which we live.
   The brave and self-sacrificing actions of those men and women who followed Dr. King in pursuit of his dream are Black History. African Americans who struggled and suffered and strove to secure the education that paved the way for the abolition of "Jim Crowe's" water fountains, restrooms, and schools are Black history.
   The Black American who fled the oppression and hatred of the segregated South, leaving Arkansas in 1954, and brought his young family to a slightly less oppressive climate here in Ogden is Black History. The truth about the confrontation between local police and Black Americans in Ogden's Union Station on June 27, 2003, is Black history. Black history is the stuff of which our America, our world, our life is made. Ignoring this history or discounting and defaming this history can only promise that we may again be threatened with a "long and desolate night of bitterness."
   I have a hope that the time has come for Americans to have meaningful discourse about race. No one has anything to lose anymore, and everyone has everything to gain by getting real and honest about race, about the harm that has been and is still being done because of racial prejudice, right here, in Ogden, Utah.
   Race is a perniciously divisive issue and it's time to get our nasty little secret out in the open. It's time to hear why a man fled the "Jim Crowe" south 55 years ago and came to live in Utah. It's time to hear why Utah was only a slightly better place to live than Arkansas. It's time to hear about what this man and his family have had to tolerate because their skin is black and they live in Ogden.
   It's time to hear about what it's like to be the black man whose family fled the black slums of Cleveland to the promised land of California, lived through the infamous Watts Riots, and was the first black student to attend an all white school. And it's time to hear what it was like to leave racially diverse California for Logan, Utah.
   It's time to hear about (according to one eyewitness account) undercover police officers forcing their way into a properly licensed and permitted music event without identifying themselves as policemen. It's time to hear about officers who attacked the event doorman and called in the riot squad to prevent the concert from taking place. And, it's time to hear about why a small scuffle, resulting in less than a dozen arrests, was headlined as a "melee" by the local newspaper.
   "I feel like it's [Ogden is] old, slave-time Mississippi almost." These are the words of one of Ogden's residents, a black man. This is his eyewitness account of the events of June 27, 2003, at Union Station.
   Dub Dub Records, a local music promoter, had organized a concert event at Ogden's Union Station Ballroom. The organizers chose this venue in order to allow youth and others to hear local talent without having to go into a bar. Just as the first act was finishing their first number, an Ogden City detective tried to force his way into the event without identifying himself as a police officer. One of the event organizers was at the door and told the intruder that he would not be allowed into the event without a ticket. To the man taking tickets at the door, this was just some troublemaker, thinking that he can get into the event without paying; at no time did the officer identify himself as a policeman. The detective, rather than identifying himself and stating his reasons for wanting to go into the event, verbally escalated the confrontation with foul language and intimidating gestures.
   Another of the concert organizers was alerted that someone was trying to force their way in at the door and went to see what was going on. When this man arrived, he saw that the intruder was using incitive and intimidating gestures and language toward a small group of people and recognized the aggressive intruder as a police officer. This man approached the doorman and asked what was going on, only to have the officer turn his aggression and intimidation on him, telling him to "Shut the f*** up and get away." Aware of the officer's rumored "unprofessional" history (allegedly drawing his weapon in an off duty confrontation over a woman, and other questionable and racial behavior) this man backed away from the troublesome officer. The officer, having come to the event and, with his demeanor and tactics, intentionally created an escalating situation, then called for backup saying that he had a riot on his hands.
   Just as additional officers began to arrive, the third member of the concert organization team arrived at the door and asked what was going on. This newly arrived gentleman was met with the same aggression, foul language and hostility as the other two. This third man responded by holding up his hands, palms out toward the officers, and explained that he just wanted to know what the problem was.
   At this point, one of the newly arriving officers attacked the third gentleman, who was still standing with his hands in the air, by hitting him in his legs with a baton. It was only after the second or third of these blows the man lowered his hands to protect his legs from the officer's attack and was, at that point, attacked by a third officer's baton blows. The eyewitness said, "They beat on him for no reason."
   When a superior officer arrived, the second of the event organizers approached him and asked what was going on, and told the superior officer that his men were "beating on this guy for no reason." The superior officer replied, "Shut the f*** up, unless you want to go to jail." This event organizer then asked the superior officer what he should do, "Do you want me to try to contain these people here? ' Cause we're having a party." The officer replied with, "I said, 'Shut the f*** up!” Then the officer drew his own baton and slapped it menacingly into his own palm, and continued saying, "And get the f*** away from me!" Seeing that nothing positive would come out of trying to speak with the police, the eyewitness left the event.
   "It's plain and simple. They [the Ogden City Police Officers] knew that we [the Black community of Ogden] were having a concert. They came down there to harass people. ' Cause when they came, there was only two officers, and they came really bad ass walkin' in the door . . . made a mess, then they had to call the riot squad to back 'em up. Just like back in the day, only thing they didn't have this time was the water hose, and they traded in their sheets for suits," one of the event organizers said, alluding to the police confrontation in Birmingham, Ala. in the 1960s and KKK's white sheet-like costume.
   During an interview, I asked one African American if he felt that there were still two metaphoric water fountains in Ogden, one with a "Colored Only" the other with a "White Only" sign. He nodded his head, paused for a moment, and said, "Yeah. Silently yeah. I honestly do."
   I had the privilege to meet with three older men, members of Ogden's African American population, in addition to the eyewitness whose account you've just read, each on separate occasions. It seems to me that each of these men has developed his own personal method of dealing with feeling the persistent, demeaning, slight regard shown them because of their color. Each also expressed that, although racial prejudice and discrimination have obviously declined over the last half-century, they are still an almost daily part of Black Americans' lives and interaction with the people of Utah.
   All four of the men interviewed for this article expressed a common sentiment. Each explained to me that the power of a perceived insult was diminished by attributing the offense to the offender's ignorance. Such concepts as, "They're just closing doors for themselves," or "They are only acting out of their own ignorance," or, "They just don't get it, do they?" seemed to lower the offending person to below the level of the person slighted, thus weakening the poison of the insult or offense.
   One man told me that he has eclipsed his ethnicity with a new personal identity. He has redefined his self-concept and self-image so that he interprets reactions or responses that he gets from people in light of his ardent Christianity. He believes that people are reacting to his love for God more than, or instead of, his color, his faith being the foremost aspect of his personality.
   Another has weathered racism's demeaning assault on his humanity for more than 80 years. It seems to me that his approach has been to avoid trouble, to stay out of the way of bigots, and, in an effort to escape bigotry's sting, to segregate himself. This "self-imposed segregation" led me to ask myself, "Have I been the sort of person, perhaps even unknowingly, that such good men would avoid?"
   The fourth man that I had the privilege of interviewing has taken a proactive, academic approach. Coming to Utah in 1959, nearly a decade before the victories of the American Civil Rights Movement, this gentleman received bachelor and postgraduate degrees.
   I asked about his feelings when, as a Utah State College student, he heard about Rosa Parks and the Montgomery Bus Boycott. His strong feelings were emphasized by the fire in his eye, "I wanted to participate!" He then went on to describe both the preventative expense of traveling to Alabama and the fear that many shared of being labeled a troublemaker. (Ms. Parks was arrested for refusing to give up her seat to a white man on a crowded bus. The black community rallied around and supported Ms. Parks and organized the Montgomery Improvement Association. The young pastor Rev. M. L. King was elected its president and began to lead the movement that changed the world.)
   When I commented that Alabama must have seemed a world away, his response was adamant, "Not really, because you knew the feeling! You knew the hate and frustration. When you can't eat in restaurants, you can't go to amusement parks, you can't go to swimming pools, you know that feeling. In Ogden, the Berthana Skating Rink had one night a week when Blacks could go skating. When one of my best friends graduated from Utah State, his mother came to visit. She couldn't get a hotel in Logan [Because she was Black]. A lot of hate builds up inside of you. I remember one time thinking, 'Things are never going to change. There's a great sickness here. People are being killed. Even whites that took the side were being killed.' I wondered, 'How many of my people will have to die before this changes?'"
   Now retired, this African American taught for 15 years at the local university. Having achieved status as Dean of Men, he worked tirelessly to change minds and to increase understanding on both sides of the race issue. Even there, in the halls of higher learning and sophisticated understanding, racial prejudice reared its ugly head.
   Some parents pulled students out of his classes. Some white students found it difficult to render the respect due to his office of Dean, often calling him by his first name instead of by his title. Countless other minor insults and affronts occurred as people looked down on him because of his color.
   When I asked this university dean if he felt that there were two water fountains in Ogden, he shook his head and said that he didn't feel that the "Colored Only, Whites Only" illustration was accurate for Ogden. "Yes, I'm sure that discrimination still takes place. But, I don't feel that way," he quietly replied. But, then he went on to say, "You have to be bold enough to walk in any door. People still have that fear: the fear of being rejected. You still take a risk; you still hate to be insulted."
   Following up, I asked, "The [racial] climate in Ogden today, do you think that it's integrated and equal? Or do you feel that there is still a large amount of segregation and racist attitude?" The gentleman replied, "I think if you walk into the churches in Ogden, you will find your answer. Go to New Zion, go to Second Baptist, go to any [LDS] ward that you find, what you see in those congregations will be your answer, that's the hub of the community. I do still feel the separation, segregation."
   Common among the sentiments expressed by these four men was a theme: "In spite of understanding that racial bigotry comes out of the offender's ignorance, in spite of knowing that insult and injury are likely to occur, and in spite of knowing that understanding and love are in the world, each slight, each insult, each offense, however minor, hurts." Placing blame and pointing fingers will do little to improve the racial climate here in Ogden. Nor would any sort of activist organization or government entity bring about real change. It is this writer's hope that the people of Ogden would let down their guard, put aside prejudicial stereotypes, and make an effort to dialogue openly about this poignant fact: Our community is racially divided.
   Things will change only through an honest effort to acknowledge and understand the racism that individuals of color experience in Ogden.
   The metaphoric "Whites Only" sign that divides and weakens our community will be removed only when the people of Ogden understand the pain of racial prejudice and bravely scrutinize our attitudes toward ethnicity.

John Linford is a full-time dad, parttime writer and full time auto mechanic. His background includes business, aerospace, and the U.S. Navy. A Utah native, he loves sailing, music and literature. His novel "Enlightenment" is scheduled for completion in 2004. He lives in a century-old Victorian house in downtown Ogden with his wife of 21 years and their nine children. John can be reached at sailorwriterdad@ juno.com.

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