@sorghum: Of course, I continued to attend that history class, and the professor chose his words with consideration and deliberateness to open the floor up to discussion. (The class was one where he tended to lecture, and ask the rhetorical, not expecting it to be answered.)
I assumed the professor knew as well as I did that Black slaveholders predominantly purchased their relatives and loved ones out of slavery by, in turn, becoming the slaveholder of record. There was nothing which precluded that conversation from happening in the next class, or at some point later in the semester, as it was a history course.
Understand this, sorghum, the professor knew the line he’d crossed, and the thoughtlessness that lead him there. There were no charges of racism assailed at the professor, and there was no more surprise that this man would say what he did except for his being a History Professor.
This was one of those times when his training and education, preparation, lesson planning and time on this earth should have made his approach one where he was not caught off-guard at a Black student’s reaction to his mindlessness.
Others in my life have behaved such, and while it may be hard for white people to hear this, I have allowed for, forgiven, let drop and simply filed away 'til later, many of the dumb, crass, bigoted things that have been said to me by white neighbors, longtime associates, new friends of friends, older white folk, and even one sister-in-law who is one of the most fabulous people I know. What you may not realize is many people of color have often chosen to do so when we’ve felt the other person 1)either didn’t catch that the offensive comment about “that” group could easily be understood to have been made about my group, and 2)instantly realized that what was said was offensive and then they stumbled through the rest of the interaction.
Let’s be clear, Black people can be thoughtless in that regard as well, but Black people really, truly have had more experience knowing how to be in two places at one time: grounded in self, with all the dignity and knowledge of how hard they have worked to be seen (Ha! Didn’t intend to invoke Ellison) as valuable and fit to be in the space they inhabit, and how to exist in the space they inhabit in others’ minds - against and outside of their own personal truths.
Sorghum, are you aware that as most of here are of a certain age, I assume, that means the Black people here (at least this one) were raised by, steeped in, and understood themselves as the fruit of, the dream of, the elders in the Black families and communities we came from. We didn’t need to be told what our parents had been through by watching a documentary - we lived with those people. There were signs in our daily lives of the weary years our parents spent, and the silent tears they’d cried. We were aware of the denial of GI Bill college access and mortgages, aware of the home births that rendered our parents without official state documents, aware of the medical conditions that were the result of denial of medical care in critical time that left this uncle with a limp, that aunt with a weakened pulse and a nervous condition due to gone-too-long Rheumatic Fever.
I’ve heard what you’ve said, and I’ve asked for you to understand that we are, in my generation, and were, the repositories of memory, and the limbs of a fruit that would be allowed to ripen on the tree for those whose lives were systematically cast in shadow. We knew.
The older music professor dismissed this fact of our lives, or our existence. He looked at us, the girls in jeans and dyed hair, the boys in jeans and t-shirts, and thought of us what he had probably been aware had been thought of him at one time in his life: that we were nothing. That we knew nothing.
He was wrong on all counts.