Grant's Diary

A look at the 1940s South through the eyes of an educated black man. (Now how often do you see those last three words together?) There is so much more to racism beyond its social manefestations... read on and you'll see.

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A lesson for the world

While it is impossible to invoke colour-blindness in society, spreading awareness about the dangerous shapes and forms taken on by racism beyond overt social discrimination is the first palpable step towards true equality. After all, expelling hatred starts with weeding the root of the problem: ignorance.

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April 8th, 1948

It’s done. He died, but he died a hero, strong and dignified. I couldn’t bring myself to stand by him during those last moments, but I was assured that he walked tall and straight that afternoon. His godmother was so worried he’d slump or crawl to that chair, broken and battered, but his last words were "Tell Nannan I walked."  I knew then, that a change is gonna come. 

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March 2nd, 1948

I’ve finally reached him. Look at that smile! It stretches from ear to ear. Maybe I will be able to make him a man, a hero, even. Maybe a change is going to come. 

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Conclusion

In the novel, A Lesson Before Dying, African Americans are heavily impacted by racism not only on an interpersonal level, as many seem to think, but also by its structural and institutional forms.

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“I teach because it is the only thing that an educated black man can do in the South today. I don't like it; I hate it.” (Gaines, 157) Aside from this frustrating, unfulfilling job, the only other thing African Americans can do is hard labour, regardless of how educated they are. This fact robs children of their ambitions, because there is nothing they can realistically work towards. Adults, on the other hand, are condemned to a lifetime of labour out in the fields, until their bodies can no longer take it. 

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Black schools were far inferior and black children received fewer educational opportunities as compared with whites.

Wells, Colin. "A Lesson Before Dying." Literature and Its Times Supplement 1. Vol. 2.

Because of poverty and lack of support, the education system for blacks is extremely week. I’m responsible for teaching all grades from one 1 to 6, and I can barely find the time to help individual students, especially the ones struggling the most. The white school inspector ignores my every request for more supplies, no matter how urgent. I often find myself getting furious when students get answers wrong. I know it’s wrong, and it makes for an unhealthy learning environment but I can’t help it, as we only have so much chalk to use before we’re out. 

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The quarter’s church, that doubles as the area’s black school. 

“Am I reaching them at all? (…) Is it just a vicious circle? Am I doing anything?” (Gaines, 51) All those centuries of slavery have certainly left their mark. I want to raise these children up out of the clutches of poverty. I want to educate them so they can live comfortable, fulfilling lives, but I can only teach what the white folk tell me to. Simple reading, writing, and arithmetic isn’t enough... where’s all the stuff about dignity, identity, and love? To me, it seems like the whites think we’re incapable of learning such things, being the savage animals that we are, or worse, that we don’t deserve to know about those crucial things. 

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As numerous studies have demonstrated, when other factors are taken into account, blacks are significantly more likely to face the death penalty than whites.

Wells, Colin. "A Lesson Before Dying." Literature and Its Times Supplement 1. Vol. 2.

It makes me sick to think that someone can either evade or fall closer to a death sentence depending solely on their skin color. African Americans are already at a disadvantage, with the extremely finite education offered to them. They can’t get the knowledge they need to stay out of trouble, and this ‘justice’ system severely punishes them if they happen to wander into the wrong place at the wrong time.   I did all I could for Jefferson. Taught him everything I was allowed to when he was a young lad, but look where he ended up. 

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I say, “Twelve white men say a black man must die, and another white man sets the date and time without consulting one black person. Justice?” (Gaines, 129) If the people involved with Jefferson’s case were more racially representative of him, his trial would have been much more just. The all-white system didn’t to anything to discourage acting upon personal prejudice, but rather, encouraged it with all its might, even though the evidence straight and clear pointed to innocence. A jury with mixed ethnicities would have saved Jefferson’s life, but that’s not possible in a cruel world like this. 

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February 2nd 1948

It’s been decided, the execution will be on April 8th, between 12pm and 3pm. Save the date. 

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December 23rd 1947

Another year, another Christmas pageant, identical with the last. The same old off-white sheet curtains, the same old act, the same old songs. Will anything ever change around here? Things are doomed to stay the same, aren’t they?

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October 28th 1947

We have gotten permission to visit him, but Jefferson won’t even bother look at us, much less speak. It broke Ms. Emma’s frail old heart.

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October 16th 1947, 11pm

Saw my girl Vivian Tonight. I think she’s the only thing keeping me from bolting away from the quarter at this point...

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October 16th 1947, 8pm

Went up the quarter to see the sheriff about visitation rights, but only after about two and a half hours did they even care to address me. I can’t blame them, food and drink must seem more appealing than dealing with a black man’s business. I was starving the whole time, but I would not further add to my humiliation by sitting down and eating at his house.  

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October 11th 1947, 4pm

Tante Lou and Ms. Emma have forced a great burden on me. They want me to spend time with Jefferson, and make him a man before he’s sent to that chair. Now how in the world am I supposed to reform an inmate on death row? 

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Before Jefferson’s trial, I said, “a white man had been killed during a robbery, and though two of the robbers had been killed on the spot, one had been captured, and he, too, would have to die.” (Gaines, 7)

Though deep down I wish I wasn’t, I was right. 

Jefferson’s innocent. He was just in the wrong place, at the wrong time. We know it, and the white folk know it. Unfortunately, the law doesn’t know it. It’s set up in a way that can sway drastically depending on skin color. If that store clerk he supposedly murdered was black, or if he himself was white, things would have gone so much differently...  But what can you do? We’re stuck in a system that values white lives more than black ones. It’s rotten and corrupt, but there’s not much we can do about it. 

[cheappoet]