The Beauty of a Quiet Story

I had the honor of manning the Columbia Democratic Club table at the Harriet Tubman Cultural Center on September 16, 2023. For those of you who don’t know, the Harriet Tubman Center used to be Harriet Tubman High School. Harriet Tubman High School operated from 1949-1965 as the segregated high school for black young people. There were so many people who came back to their alma mater to see the renovations and also celebrate their unique experiences here in Howard County. For a lover of history (like me!) the day was full of stories and memories that many who were there were gracious enough to share.

I think of the story of a gentleman who told me how the local white farmers would come in to the school and would remove the strongest to work during certain times of the year. He talked about how he dreaded those days. He was annoyed at the imposition on his body and education, but knew that there was nothing he could do but to acquiesce to the will of those farmers. His face lit up with pride as he told me that he still graduated and went to college. His smile truly lit my day.

There was also the story of the lady who told me about how hard it was to have hand-me down books from the white students. The books were in such disrepair that it was hard for each student to be on the same page at the same time. However, she talked about the skill of the teachers who were able to “make a dollar out of pennies” and fed their curiosities and imaginations with the most flawed of resources. She told me that she went to college and became a teacher and then a principal before retiring.

I met a lovely couple who came to simply honor a friend who is no longer with us. They shared the stories of segregation in Virginia and how lovely they found the Harriet Tubman School. The gentleman told me how he was amazed at how many of our Harriet Tubman graduates went on to college and beyond. He talked about how he moved from a place with no segregation to Virginia where the lines between black and white was rigidly enforced. He held my hands and thanked me for being an educator. He stole my heart.

I learned so much through the beauty of the quiet stories that I heard that day. The pain and progress interwoven through every interaction filled me with an awe for those who suffered hardships to make it possible for us to have what we have today. While we are not in a perfect space at all, I am in awe of what people when through in order to get us to this space. My question is how are we going to honor those quiet stories? How can we use the inspiration of those whose stories made progress possible in order to push us into a stronger and bolder future?