Maya Smith
I strolled down a crowded Cooper Street last month at the 32nd annual Cooper-Young Festival. It was hot that day, with the sun relentlessly beaming and the air sweltering.
The heat, as unforgiving as it was, didn’t stop me and some 100,000 other people from heading to the festival that day, though.
At the same time, less than two miles away, it didn’t stop thousands from gathering at the Liberty Bowl Memorial Stadium.
That crowd gathered for a different reason — to witness the 30th annual Southern Heritage Classic, a rival football game between two Historically Black Universities, Tennessee State University and Jackson State University.
That Saturday, black Memphians, white Memphians, Latinx Memphians, gay Memphians, straight Memphians, and Memphians of all genders braved the late-summer heat to gather, to celebrate, to partake in two cultural experiences — separated largely by skin color.
The thread of humanity tethers us to one another in one way or another. We all share motifs of each other’s story. So the challenge is learning to understand that though we differ, there is more uniting us than separating us.
As my sister and I made our way down through the masses that day, passing various tents selling hand-crafted jewelry and artisan soaps, that divide hit me right in the face.
Both events are traditions, mainstays in households, and a reliable yearly highlight to many. Each has a different significance for those who attend. Each has its own history and tells a different story. Together, the two events tell a story of a divided city.
The festival-goers around me were mostly white, while a few blocks away, at the Liberty Bowl the attendees were predominantly African American. That’s okay, I guess.
But that divide extends well beyond festivals and football games, and into the very fabric of this city and this country in ways that have more serious implications. That’s not okay.
I grew up in Whitehaven and lived there until recently. I lived a few miles from a number of pawn shops, hot wing joints, and an apartment complex known for the constant echo of gunshots.
But I would be lying if I said I didn’t grow up with a significant amount of privilege. I never went without what I needed or wanted. I grew up in a two-parent home. My family traveled to the Bahamas every summer. I went to White Station High School, where I was in the optional program and played on the tennis team.
I grew up in a neighborhood with people who looked like me, but in most cases, whose stories varied vastly from my own. I went to school with people who didn’t look like me, yet their stories were much like my own. Therefore, I have the unique knowledge of two worlds. A world of privilege, in which I mostly live, and a world of disadvantage, one that many of our fellow Memphians know all too well and one that I witnessed first-hand through so many around me.
There are people in this city who live completely different lives than you and I. They lack advantages, avenues, and access. Because of that, their recreation looks different, how they get around the city looks different, their grocery shopping looks different, and their work looks different. We dress differently, we talk differently, we listen to different music.
So when I think of the concept of Memphis magazine, a magazine by Memphians and for Memphians, it seems like a tall task to reach both worlds, to tell stories that not only people living near the Poplar corridor or in Central Gardens can relate to, but stories that those in South Memphis and Orange Mound can appreciate as well.
Instead of focusing on our differences, we have to start realizing how we are alike.
I think we start by acknowledging our differences and celebrating them. I don’t think we should stop there. Merely recognizing diversity isn’t enough because then we are still leaving room for our differences to justify a divide.
Instead of focusing on our differences, we have to start realizing how we are alike.
Though each person’s life tune sounds a little different than our own, we all share a familiar rhythm, a similar commonality — the human condition. We all struggle in one way or another. We rise, we fall. We fight. Other times we concede. We all love and want to be loved. We all want to be heard, to be valued, and ultimately accepted.
The thread of humanity tethers us to one another in one way or another. We all share motifs of each other’s story. So the challenge is learning to understand that though we differ, there is more uniting us than separating us.
That’s a challenge that not only should we be up for in newsrooms, but in all rooms and in all aspects of our lives.
It’s time for everyone to open their minds, but more importantly their hearts, to people with a different life tune. Until we do that, we will forever live in a divided world.
Maya Smith is a staff writer for the Memphis Flyer.
