“You have a giving heart.”

“You have a giving heart” said Mr. Maceio. We were standing in the queue to collect our coats. It was a long day. A long day of learning and knowing new things for me. A day of probably reaffirming his belief and pride for Mr. Maceio. Mr. Maceio is a frequent visitor here. It was my first visit.

We were at the DuSable museum of African-American history. It was Martinmas day. The museum was celebrating the birth of Martin Luther King Jr. A day-long event depicting the struggle of African-Americans in the 1960s against segregation. There were a number of documentaries, skits, shows and films.

One that struck me the most was ‘The Children’s March’ where thousands of African-American children marched to the streets of Birmingham to challenge segregation. The kids tuned into underground radio frequency for the D-Day announcement and they packed their toothbrushes to use in jail. They planned in hiding, bluffed their teachers and parents, assembled underground and did all that not to go to a film but to the prison! Dodging the Police, they flew from their classes in thousands, faced police dogs and fire hoses and courted arrest. It was an amazing story of solidarity and oneness seen in children from age six till fifteen.

Birmingham in 1960s was ruled by the notorious Bull Connor who never stopped short of anything to uphold the segregation laws. How did these young minds get the courage to face that? What makes children so mature as to brave the authority so boldly?

I do not remember a single incident in the history where children of this age protested against the authority in such huge number for purely political reasons. Could I have done that? Would our parents have let us go to face inevitable violence?

I doubt that. I doubt that because of our upbringing. It is widely different from the African-American upbringing. I believe the African-American community faced with centuries of oppression till as recent as 1960s has taken a different approach to deal with their odds. They have probably learnt and taught their children to be defensive. To fight and to protect themselves always. We on the other hand have probably learnt that when we are young we need to let our parents teach us what is right and wrong, what to do and what not to.

Is it this cultural difference also a contributing factor that even in our late teens we take scolding from our parents on our semester results while I see so many teenagers homeless roaming the streets of Chicago doped and lost? An unwanted outcome of the choices that they thought they were mature enough to take from a very young age?

Although it sounds deeply clichéd, everything has its good and bad. The children’s march was a great step in the African-American struggle for equality, an incident unparallel in history and I am personally deeply moved by the perseverance that those children showed in the face of powerful water hoses (infact some of them broke into dances), reminiscent of our own independence struggle. However I cannot help but wonder if that courage and conviction has always been channelled in the right direction for the African-American community in the late 20th century!

Power to take decisions in the hands of young minds…hmmm! Call me old-school but am a bit sceptical. There were very few teenage African-American in the museum that day.

Mr. Maceio is in his early forties. A light shade of grey touched his hair. He had a pair of inquisitive eyes. A bit short built compared to an average African-American. He said, “I like to come here often, in search of my roots and my history.”

“I came to learn about your history,” I answered. “But now I am considering becoming a member and volunteer for the museum,” I added.

I wanted to be close, as close as possible to know a culture and of course express my thoughts.

“That is great Durba! You have a giving heart.” He seemed pleased.

I politely denied. The conversation drifted towards India, he seemed informed. We talked about culture and the clashes within it. Mr. Maceio was concerned about the future too. Time to take our coats and we bade goodbye to each other.

On our way back in the bus, me and the husband talked about our day and discussed our opinion – animated of course. The bus stopped.

“Have a good evening.” Someone said.
“Have a good evening.” Someone said again.

We turned back. It was Mr. Maceio. He smiled at us and got down.

I have saved some money Mr. Maceio. It’s time to get the membership. I will see you around soon I believe.