The insane Charleston Church Massacre has left us all in severe shock, asking the inevitable question: Why?
Why did 21 year old, white Anglo/Saxon, Dylann Roof, who on that Wednesday evening warmly received into a church Prayer Meeting of Afro Americans, relish momentarily the friendship of the receptive and caring persons around him, and then immediately proceed to shower them all unmercifully with an atmospheric salvo of mayhem, death and destruction? We may never know the answer to that question.
Was Dylann's act of unprovoked violence perpetrated strictly on the basis of race? Probably with added built up resentment over many turbulent years. Then, maybe his decision to inflict pain and death upon others was based upon a certain distorted belief in the role and responsibility of each and every American. That belief being that our present day society should be segregated into compartments of color, race, religion, and socio-economic class, with certain ethnic groups and classes of people required to live in their specified end of town staying there, working there, and marrying there, never openly mixing and mingling with any and all the others living in the very same community.
Authorities may never be able to pin point the specific reason or reasons racing through Dylann's mind during that religious service, causing him to commence firing his weapon repeatedly, and systematically emptying the instrument of destruction upon the innocent and helpless victims who had just invited him to sit, listen and share.
We can all speculate, and no doubt already have. And speculate we must. For how is an open, free, and safe society to remain such unless wise and caring persons pursue the answer to this issue and deal with similar issues that are sure to come?
The pursuit of right relations among God's people with freedom and justice for all now and in the future is not an option; it is a must if a sane and sensible society is to exist.
During the closing, but some of the hottest battles of the Second World War, I was a green teenage seaman, working forty feet below the water line in the engine room of the SS Red Canyon, a T2 Tanker Ship, sailing unescorted across the broad waters of the South Pacific, a ship loaded to the gills with high explosives sailing toward the Ulithi Atoll, a "Top Secret" refueling station in the Pacific, destination Tokyo.
Our ship had a great and gifted crew, members from all walks of life, races, ages, religions and non religions, with vocabularies to match, and with endless experiences of sailing the seven seas. There were members among our crew who during the early years of the war with the bloody and heavy fighting in the frigid waters of the North Atlantic, courageously manned the ships that sailed to the strategic port of Murmansk, Russia, delivering military, food and medical supplies that no doubt saved the Russians from the savage onslaught of the German Army. Many of our country's supply ships were sunk by German Subs during those daring crossings. Some of their crew members who had escaped were now members of the crew aboard the Canyon.
In the early evening with chow and chores behind us, some of us crew members would gather on the fantail of the ship, and do what only sailors can and like to do, "shoot the bull", each one endeavoring to out do the other with the tallest of tales. There were the Russian stories, stories from the South Seas, stories of lovers, wives, and children back home, stories of love lost and new love found, stories about home, other ships, captains and crews, and other oceans they had crossed.
With eyes and ears wide open, I sat there, awe struck by some of the hair raising stories, anxiously drinking in every every word, every syllable being shared from these 'Old Salts".
As I recall, the ships drive shaft and propellers churning the ocean waters below leaving a mile long trail of white choppy foam with the Pacific Sun fading over the horizon, the one story from those bull sessions that has remained fresh in my mind over these many years was the story told by the Chief Steward, a black man, who prepared and served the food for our white Captain and his fellow officers in the Officers Mess.
Sharing his story in a calm, matter of fact manner, this tall dignified experienced black seaman simply said sailing across the Atlantic and the Pacific during the early years of the war, he was a crew member on three ships that had been blown out of the water, tossing him helplessly into the deep dark waters below, hoping and praying for soon rescue. He went on to say, "It's a frightening experience sitting there safe and sound in a life boat, and at the same time reaching over the side of the boat in order to help rescue a fellow crew member fighting for his very life in the shark infested waters below. He further said, I noticed one very significant thing during those critical moments. Grasping my hand, the person being rescued never looked at the color of my skin. He simply eagerly grabbed my hand, held on tight and proceeded to climb aboard."
In every war, the record is endless of how many struggling soldiers and seamen by the simple act of joining hands and holding on for dear life have been rescued and saved from the forces that would drag them down and destroy them.
With the Charleston Church Massacre in mind, it occurs to me that once black and whites in this great land of ours learn the urgent and priceless lesson of joining hands and holding on for dear life in an act of love, respect, friendship, and support, lives will be rescued and lives will be saved to live and serve another day.
The alternative will be devastating.
Billy Cox
2433 Merriwood Drive
Louisville, Kentucky 40299
Phone: 502-267- 0750