The Courage of Their Conviction

2 August 2009

– by Mike Murray

It is a phrase that is often repeated, one that is steeped in praise. Wonderful, indeed, is the person who possesses the “courage of his (or her) conviction.” But the sentiment is somewhat misleading. For it implies that certainty, alone, can make you brave.

It cannot. Many are the people who firmly believe in the rightness – or the wrongness – of something, yet remain too fearful to speak up. That’s understandable. Severe disapproval oftentimes attends the taking of an unpopular stand. And the cruelest criticism of all is usually levied by those of one’s “own kind.”

I am reminded of my stint in the Army, the portion of it that found me stationed at Ft. McPherson. “Ft. Mac” was located in Atlanta, Georgia – the heart of what some then called the “New South.” As many metropolitan areas in America today do, its central city (Atlanta proper) housed a substantial African American community. Maynard Jackson had only recently been elected mayor. (If I remember correctly, Jackson was the first black person to achieve the highest public office of a major southern city.)

Back then, Atlanta was an American success story: bustling with commerce, attractive to look at, diverse in its racial and ethnic makeup. But underneath the surface, old feelings simmered. I recall a stroll I took one evening through a “black neighborhood.” (I didn’t realize at the time that it was considered such. A black friend informed me the next day.)

While I was out walking, an unleashed dog scampered across its lawn and ran up to me, happily yapping the whole way. When it reached me, I knelt down to greet it. As I rubbed its head and scratched its ears, it slathered “kisses” all over my face. But the Hallmark moment was shattered by a woman – a black woman – who bolted from her front door and demanded, “Leave my dog alone!”

Thinking her mistaken about the circumstances, I tried to reassure her. “It’s okay,” I cheerfully offered. “I’m just petting your dog.”

Again, she demanded, “Get your hands off him!” It was finally sinking in. She wasn’t concerned for her pet’s safety. She was simply offended by me – more specifically, by my skin color. All doubt was dispelled by her final comment: “ I don’t want Whitey touching my dog.”

I was upset. But I was more hurt than angry. I had grown up in Cleveland, Ohio, after all. As a consequence, I had had many previous interactions with black people. And only a very few had gone badly.

Some time later, I discussed my experience with a colleague in whom I often confided: a staff sergeant – who just happened to also be black and female. Over dinner and drinks, we kicked around the state of race relations in America. I had grown up in the North, she the South. I was from a big city; she, a small town.

It was disturbing for me to hear her say that she didn’t think that whites and blacks would ever really get along. Her assertion wasn’t rooted in bias (there wasn’t’ a bigoted bone in her body). Nor was it based upon any preconceived notion of white prejudice. It was squarely the result of angry comments she’d listened to all her life – comments issued by black folks. Her “own kind.”

As cordial as our own little “beer summit” was, we soon realized that we had little power to effect change on any large scale. So we eventually turned to more pleasant conversation and ate and drank in peace. It wasn’t until later that I learned that some people thought poorly of her, specifically for including me among her friends.

But she was a thoroughly decent, gracious person. And she didn’t choose her company by skin color, or by the degree to which others approved. I fondly recall our association. And, although I haven’t seen her in decades (such is military life that goodbyes are inevitable), I still consider her a friend.

I think of her and of her courage when I observe the abuse that women such as Sarah Palin and Michelle Malkin routinely experience. Because they are female (and, in Malkin’s case, of minority racial heritage), they are expected to be liberal in their political leanings. Democrats and members of the media practically demand it.

When people such as Palin and Malkin fail to comply, when they dare to stand on principle, to think for themselves and swim against the PC tide, they are excoriated. And their severest critics are women and minorities. Their “own kind.” People who deem them traitors to their gender / race. One insult regularly hurled at Malkin is, “You know, Michelle, you’re not white.” As if that fact comes as news to her, and is sufficient to persuade her to get with the program, to get in line, to support Democrats.

And then there are the African-American Republican vote observers who were stationed at a Philadelphia polling place during the November 2008 general election. They had the misfortune of being assigned the location at which several New Black Panther Party members were ensconced. The NBPP thugs were dressed in paramilitary garb. (One even wielded a Billy Club, which he ominously displayed.)

The bullies were there to intimidate white voters, at whom they glared. They also issued angry comments. Comments such as, “Now you’ll find out what it’s like to be ruled by the black man.”

Barack Obama’s Department of Justice achieved a default guilty judgment against several of the worst NBPP offenders, who had offered no defense (and whose behavior had been captured on video tape.) Inexplicably, U.S. Attorney General Eric Holder suddenly dropped the charges – just before sentencing was to commence.

That was troubling, I’m sure, to many of the white folks who had been victimized by the thugs’ awful behavior. It was even more troubling, I’ll bet, to the African-American poll watchers. Because they were there representing the Republican Party (and because they are black), they were singled out for especially threatening remarks. The NBPP members sneeringly called them “racial traitors.”

Those black poll observers were – quite understandably – fearful for their safety, afraid that they would be attacked on their way home that evening. I don’t know why Barack Obama and Eric Holder allowed them to be twice abused (once at the polling place, a second time by a “system” that failed to punish their tormentors).

But I do know this: people such as they (and my comrade at Ft. Mac, and Sarah Palin, and Michelle Malkin – and many others, too) are possessed of deep conviction. And a level of courage that their critics will never be able to muster.

Berea Pundit