Arab Times

Without ‘words’ in face of grace

Charleston united

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CHARLESTON, SC, June 29, (Agencies): In the midst of mourning the nine victims gunned down at a historic African-American church in Charleston earlier this month, retired nurse Vickie Countryman found herself shopping for an upcoming wedding.

Her spirits were lifted by a black shop assistant at Dillard’s department store, who cheerfully fussed over her and helped her find an outfit.

Countryman, 60, was stunned when she learned that one of the massacre victims was the assistant’s cousin.

“Her parting words to me were: ‘It’s okay, we’re going to be okay’,” said Countryman.

“I’m standing there, white, and without words,” she recalled.

The store employee’s reassuring manner in the face of tragedy, was just one example of the extraordin­ary grace and courage of Charleston’s black community, seemingly setting it apart from other US cities that have grappled lately with racial issues.

The deaths of the “Emanuel 9,” shot while attending Bible study at their African Methodist Episcopal (AME) church, allegedly at the hands of a racially-motivated gunman, was an ugly reminder of the city’s history as a key slave port and a hotbed of white supremacy.

Yet, the city’s response to the horrifying murders — including the tearful forgivenes­s expressed by relatives of the victims during the accused gunman’s first court appearance — also highlighte­d the profound ways Charleston, and to some extent the state of South Carolina, have changed since the civil rights movement of the 1960s.

Unity

The warmth and unity shown by the city in the face of tragedy, Charleston­ians say, reflects two homegrown currents that run deep in the city: its world-renowned Southern charm and hospitalit­y, and a deep-rooted religious faith.

“You put those together and what you have is Southern grace. That’s what defines us. It’s the way we were raised,” said Tamara Curry, an African-American Charleston judge

Residents also cite strong local leadership, both pastoral and political, as well as recent economic progress in explaining their city’s calm in a time of crisis.

To be sure, some black leaders question whether forgiving the slaughter in Charleston so quickly sent the wrong message, suggesting that the status quo is acceptable. But Charleston’s faithful stand by their reaction.

“Forgivenes­s has been a part of the African American struggle through all of the persecutio­n, the attack dogs, the water hoses,” said Rick Wade, a Charleston businessma­n and former campaign adviser for President Obama.

“We prayed and we forgave. We still do that today. You can’t break that. Faith is in our DNA.”

With a church on almost every street, and sometimes more than one, Charleston is known as “the Holy City.” And no church is more holy than Emanuel, dubbed “Mother Emanuel,’ founded in 1818 by freed slaves, almost half a century before slavery was formally abolished in the United States.

Funerals for the victims have been joyous gospel celebratio­ns of life, known as “homegoings,” where laughter triumphed over tears.

“The people of this church are extraordin­ary. They live like Christ lived,” said Countryman as she stood in line for hours outside Emanuel on Thursday with her husband, a local surgeon, to pay her respects at Pinckney’s wake. “I’ve never seen anything so authentic.”

While the strength of Charleston’s black church culture is not unique in America, the peaceful street scenes in Charleston stand out in sharp contrast to the violent clashes that erupted in Ferguson, Missouri, and Baltimore, Maryland in recent months after racially charged incidents involving the police.

Because the deaths in Charleston took place in a church, pastors naturally led the community response, said Donald Jones, a University of Miami constituti­onal law professor, who is black and was raised in Baltimore.

Atrocity

“In Ferguson and Baltimore the site of the atrocity was the street and you had a whole different set of voices and leaders,” added Jones.

“This is not the world of the gangsters and the saggy pants,” he said. “It’s feels like a 21st century civil rights reawakenin­g. They have risen above this toxic event. It’s almost superhuman.”

Half-a-century ago, Charleston was a very different place, with a white leadership that scorned modern ways, including racial integratio­n.

City leaders then were openly proud of Charleston’s leading role in the proslavery Confederac­y during the 18601865 American Civil War. The city hosted the signing of South Carolina’s formal secession from the United States. The war’s first shot was fired at Fort Sumter in Charleston harbor. Even today, the city struggles to reconcile pride in its past with modern ways.

“It’s so well preserved that we’re constantly reminded of our history,” said Gibbs Knotts a political scientist at the College of Charleston.

Among the area’s tourist attraction­s, in addition to its well-preserved antebellum architectu­re, are the Old Slave Mart Museum and former plantation­s with landscaped gardens featuring original slave cabins.

“There have been calls recently saying we have gone too far in hailing the Confederat­e history.” said Knotts. “We have to grapple with the past and what it means going forward.”

Changed

But, history tours aside, much has changed. Once the most recalcitra­nt of Southern cities during the civil rights era, Charleston has become far more liberal.

In 2008, while Barack Obama lost South Carolina by an 11 percentage point margin (55-44), he took Charleston county by 2 percentage points (50-48).

Many credit local leaders, such as Pinckney, who was a state senator, for promoting racial tolerance and inclusiven­ess in the city of 130,000 which is 70 percent white and 25 percent black.

The city’s famously long-serving mayor, Joe Riley, a 72-year-old white Democrat in office almost 40 years, has worked tirelessly on behalf of the black community. Early in his career whites derisively nicknamed him “Little black Joe.”

Riley, now a fit-looking, whitehaire­d man of 72, opened the doors of government to blacks, promoted neighborho­od policing and fought to protect affordable housing in the city’s historic downtown from a wave of gentrifica­tion that has pushed out less wealthy blacks.

“The only reason I ran for mayor was to build bridges of racial progress, respect and affection,” Riley told Reuters on Sunday, as he prepared to attend another funeral at Emanuel, alongside Vice President Joseph Biden.

“In Charleston African Americans have the same felt ownership as other people,” he said. “That’s why we were ready for this.”

Riley, who will step down at the end of his 10th term in December, called the massacre the “hardest, most heartbreak­ing” moment in his career. But it was also an uplifting “teaching moment,” he said.

After attending Pinckney’s funeral on Friday, at which President Obama spoke, Riley drove another five hours for the burial in rural South Carolina.

The mayor said he was heartened by the sight of people waiting to greet the family at a crossroads, “black and white people standing together waving the American flag.”

Also: CHARLESTON, South Carolina: US Vice-President Joe Biden worshipped and spoke at the Sunday service of the historic African-American church where nine people were gunned down during Bible study earlier this month just hours before a funeral was held for another of the shooting victims.

The vice-president’s surprise appearance came on the second Sunday the Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church held regular services following the June 17 shooting. Police contend the attack was racially motived and have charged a 21-year-old white man.

Biden said he’d visited Emanuel before and knew the Rev Clementa Pinckney, the pastor of the church who was among those killed.

“We came back because my family and I wanted to show solidarity with the families and with the church,” said Biden, wearing a purple tie, a traditiona­l color of the African Methodist Episcopal Church.

Biden, a Catholic, showed the congregati­on the rosary beads he wore around his wrist and spoke about the feeling of loss within his own life.

The vice-president’s son, Beau, died late last month of brain cancer. Beau Biden narrowly avoided death as a young boy in a 1972 car crash that killed Joe Biden’s first wife and his daughter.

“The reason I came was to draw strength from all of you,” Biden said. “I wish I could say something that would ease the pain.”

Biden received a standing ovation during the 2-1/2-hour service after reading a selection of scripture. He later joined the congregati­on in holding hands and singing, “We Shall Overcome.”

The Sunday morning service came hours before the church held a funeral for shooting victim DePayne Middelton-Doctor. The 49-year-old pastor and mother of four decided in January to return to her childhood roots in the AME faith and attend Emanuel after years attending a Baptist church.

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