When I was about 23 years old, a headline in our local paper shocked me. Along the lines of: “The KKK is to rally in Auburn,” the article said that a chapter of the local Ku Klux Klan was going to hold a public lecture and recruitment drive. I was livid. It scared me to death what this group wanted to do in my hometown.
I was not, however, naive. I knew there probably was KKK activity in Maine already, if very underground. However, I could see and hear prejudice everywhere towards people of color and Jewish descent.
Knowing the KKK was coming close was chilling. Motivated to do something, I decided to muster up some courage to protest. I felt sick to my stomach while I made a sign, scared of what I might have to face.
On one side, I wrote Martin Luther King’s famous line from his speech in Washington, D.C. In bold black letters: “I HAVE A DREAM.” I added colorful flowers around the edges and scattered peace signs where there was space. On the reverse side, I wrote in large black letters, “KKK.” I then drew a round red circle around the entire KKK letters and a red line across the circle.
It was twisted to know the town had to give permission for the Klan rally to take place. I could only imagine what the person answering that call must have felt, hearing the Klan member make the request to stand on the granite steps of our beautiful library, spewing words of hate, discrimination, violence and oppression.
On the sunny morning of the protest, I felt sick to my stomach. I started to second-guess my rinky-dink sign. I drove up to the parking lot at the library a full hour before the Klan’s arrival. From my car window, I saw other people, mostly older African Americans, holding a few signs. I believe there was one other white person in the group. In all, there were five people and I was going to be the sixth.
We talked until noon, waiting for the Klan to arrive. There was a man in the distance taking pictures. We waited and waited. They did not show.
The next day, I checked the paper for any write-up. Searching the headlines, I found an article. It was headlined: “I Have a Dream.” I gasped. The stranger with the camera got my message and shared it in the newspaper. I felt a huge sense of pride and a real sense of being heard. The reporter wrote about trying to bring all people together, in peace and acceptance. The last paragraph said something about a sign held by a young white female outside the library.
The students protesting at our country’s colleges today make me feel grateful. It is a mixed feeling and I know I do not understand everything. For probably 30 years, I have wondered if younger people were asleep at the wheel. Were they even at the wheel? I have found the younger generations to focus more on themselves as individuals, or on how to succeed and make money. I have not read or heard many younger people talking about poverty in our country or the plight of others trying to survive. I worry that our young people are not thinking about important topics that need our attention and care.
I am encouraged and hopeful due to the most recent young protesters. It gives me a touch of patriotic feeling to see younger people waking up. Although some students grab the “wheel” in detrimental ways with their protests, most are protesting in peaceful ways. The whole tragedy in Israel and Gaza is complicated and devastating. The students and the faculty are courageous to protest against what is a horrible situation.
To protest is their right. I am grateful to see this population not only waking up but telling us loudly how they think and feel about what is happening in the world today. They are screaming and yelling for change. The core ailment of our world is being recognized. Hate and violence toward others, whether individuals or groups, cannot and must not go on.
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