I am editor of a small town publication and I sometimes ask Mom to write a piece for me when I feel a topic needs mention but submissions or my own writing don’t cover it. I have to be careful not to inflame, my job is to stay neutral, and in a small town like ours that’s monumental. With all the racial upheaval, I felt somehow it needed to be addressed in the next issue, and yet I knew it’s nearly impossible not to insult someone. I wasn’t looking for finger pointing or shaming or blaming, but an acknowledgement of some sort. So… I tasked my mother with this difficulty… and I think she nailed it.
Observations From a Person of a Certain Age – by Kathleen Amoia
As a white middle class woman of a certain age, I spent my childhood and teen years within the safety of what those adjectives implied. In the late forties and throughout the fifties, my friends and I felt simultaneously free and watched over. We had an unspoken sense that the future would treat us kindly and our comfort and success could be taken for granted. In our ignorance, we imagined most kids lived the same way.
But as our teens morphed into young adulthood, we saw another America. Our TVs brought racial injustices and brutality into our living rooms. The childhood and teen years I had experienced were the polar opposite of what black children my age had lived. The Civil War was only yesterday, and Jim Crow was now.
By the time we were taking on the responsibilities of career, marriage and families, we were also facing multiple protest movements and assassinations. I was teaching fifth grade when an ashen and shaking principal came to my door and told me that John Kennedy had been assassinated. I was teaching third grade when Martin Luther King and Bobby Kennedy and Malcolm X were assassinated.
Our city streets were afire with the anguish of inequality and its blow back. Marchers were beaten, hosed, attacked by dogs and jailed. Fires were set, city blocks destroyed. Black and white civil rights protesters were murdered. Through the fire and pain, President Johnson, a Southerner, a Texan, pushed Congress to act on his Civil Rights agenda and bipartisan progress was made. It was slow, sometimes ugly and painful, but it was made.
The struggle for racial justice is front and center again, sparked by the killing of George Floyd by a Minneapolis police officer. It is hard to predict just what will galvanize a mass movement, there have been similar cases very recently. But Floyd’s death triggered this one.
The marchers today are more numerous and significantly more diverse. Positive interactions with police and National Guards men and women have been encouraging. The movement is being carried into all corners of our democracy. And with some unfortunate and regrettable exceptions, the protesting has been remarkably peaceful.
The understanding that systemic racism needs to be eradicated wherever it lives is gaining wider recognition and acceptance than ever before. From my prospective as a witness to both the 60s and today, I think we are in a better place to get this done than we were then. We are starting farther down the road and therefore closer to bending that arch of history toward justice.
What I have seen throughout my life is that good people usually do good things. Most often they are our family, our friends, our neighbors, our local officials. There is no perfection here. Mistakes will be made, fault lines will surface. “There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in. ” (Leonard Cohen.) But I think we can come out of this movement a stronger and better nation. It is not guaranteed, but if we are willing to do the hard work ahead, thinking of ourselves as “each other” and not “the other,” we can get there for ourselves and all our children.
“ It is in the shelter of each other that we live,” an Irish blessing for the times.
Karen 
… and was reminded again how very grateful I am for the opportunity to live here on this little farm, for as long as life will allow it.
Till soon, friends…