Ferguson, Sinbad and a Steel Beam

“I grew up in Ferguson in the 60s,” said the talk show caller. “It was a great place to live. We didn’t have discrimination then.”

I know just what he means. Ferguson was indeed a great place. I grew up in the neighboring community of Berkeley and have fond memories of Ferguson from the time I was five. My mother would occasionally bring me downtown on the bus. She’d take me shopping at the P.N. Hirsch and then she’d let me excitedly browse the toys across the street at the Ben Franklin. Usually she’d buy me some cheap little thing that lit up my day. Then we’d eat lunch--a hot dog for me--at the counter of the ice cream shop across the side street from the train depot. I remember the nice waitress who’d make over the little boy on my stool.

I only had one painful experience in downtown Ferguson. When quite young I was dropped off with my older brother to see the Sinbad movie at the Savoy. I was beyond excited. Sinbad was the Jurassic Park of its day. The crowd was huge and they lined us up outside along the brick wall. Eventually an usher came along, counting the people in line. As he got immediately in front of us, like a razor sharp sword wielded by Sinbad himself, the usher abruptly flung his hand down severing us from the happy and fortunate kids just ahead. No more seats. By a shockingly cruel twist of fate we were cut off--shut out. I was shattered. That was over fifty years ago but I still remember.

All my other recollections of downtown Ferguson are warm and positive. It was a leafy, historic suburban town representing all that was good with America. A great place to be. The caller is right about that.

Now things are more complicated in the town whose name strangely has become the international symbol of America’s racial tensions. Opposing sides well beyond Ferguson have squared off with harsh criticisms of each other. Black critics point to continued disadvantages, profiling and joblessness they experience at the hands of the dominant culture. White critics point to crime and violence in the African-American community.

The tendency by all parties in any conflict to judgmentally point the finger and ignore or minimize their own faults is neither surprising nor unusual. It’s how things go in most conflicts whether in marriage, the workplace, or in the broader community. Ironically the angry finger- pointing usually fosters a defensiveness in the other party that precludes him from honestly looking at the error of his own ways.

Jesus offered an oft neglected escape from this conflictual trap. He posed a provocative question—“Why do you see the speck that is in your brothers’ eye, but don’t consider the beam that is in your own eye? Or how will you tell your brother, ‘Let me remove the speck from your eye’ and behold, the beam is in your own eye? You hypocrite! First remove the beam out of your own eye, and then you can see clearly to remove the speck out of your brother’s eye.”

This probing challenge makes clear that there’s often fault on either side of a conflict and that the critique of each side by the other can be essential in a process of mutual correction. But the first step, Jesus asserted, is for each person or group to look critically into their own heart and position.

That counterintuitive step requires rare courage and humility. But the very act of acknowledging one’s own error can begin to dissolve defensive polarization and induce the other party, in turn, to honestly look at their responsibility.

According to Ferguson residents with whom I’ve talked, this is largely what has been occurring in the underreported Ferguson town hall and neighborhood association meetings. Residents in those meetings of approximately equal racial mix have been hearing, and taking to heart, the hard things. Those who engage in such a courageous and humbling process can, if their story be told and their numbers grow, set a progressive example to the watching world.

As a child I did have one disturbing image of Ferguson which, sadly, was reflective of America itself. The image calls into question the selective vision of those, like the talk show caller, who forget or minimize the legacy of discrimination.

At the border of Ferguson and the African-American community of Kinloch stood a permanent barrier. The barrier was a steel beam cutting off Suburban Avenue, the blacktop road which connected the two communities. The beam constituted an impassable ‘not welcome’ mat for those on the other side. As a young boy, when my family happened to drive by the barrier from the Ferguson side, I remember gazing down the lane as it faded into that unfamiliar black community of humble houses nestled among patches of woods and fields. I also remember marveling at the oddness of the barrier.

Now, as an adult, I wonder what it was like to be a black boy living in that other world. What did it feel like for that little boy to peer across the barrier toward that quaint, all-American downtown district-- to gaze in the direction of the P.N. Hirsch, the Ben Franklin with its cheap little toys that could’ve lit up his day, and toward the ice cream shop with the nice lady who made over little boys eating hot dogs at the lunch counter.

Did that other little boy experience shattering disappointment by being cut off and shut out? I wonder if, in his mind’s eye, he can still see that steel beam. Apparently the talk show caller cannot see it. If hostile fingerpointing carries the day, it’s almost certain he never will.

Matthew 7:3-5

Bob Levin can be reached at bob_levin@sbcglobal.net