by Sandra Beckmeier

Since the invention of the television, the couch has been viewed as something to sit on top of and temporarily lose oneself. It's generally a comfortable piece of furniture (if a person is lucky enough to own one), and encourages little in the way of mental exercise, much in physical adaptation.

Traditionally, couches provided a spot where the "butt" could sit while the mouth and mind discussed something. I've even seen couches sitting on porches of houses so that people (or animals) could feel the outdoors while observing the night sky. Regardless of what one considers to be an absolute purpose for the sofa, this column accepts them all, while providing a small personalized platform for art, culture, religion, and politics that affect each individually.

A friend of mine once lived in Clarksdale, Mississippi; the heart of what is commonly known as "the Delta." The area is home to the earliest blues musicians, recognizably Muddy Waters (whose home was seven miles north of Clarksdale), Son Thomas, and Howlin' Wolf.

I learn a great deal from conversations, and my friend had much to contribute to my understanding of the Delta. She spoke in detail about the blues; a music and culture I can identify with because of depth, and honest expression. If you've ever felt "low" you understand what I'm referring to. She also addresses racism, something she better understood after living in Clarksdale.

Originally I was drawn to Mississippi because I was raised inside a white urban perspective where diversity is often discouraged. As a result I found myself very confused and, quite frankly, ignorant of racism and prejudice. I've learned the two are very different problems. They are generally clumped together when discussed. And although they flow down the same vein, one is belief, the other a bias. Racism is like a door that has been slammed shut, while prejudice is a door hanging half-way open.

I intended to write a story focusing on the successes of two folk artists, (which at some point I will deliver). Each possesses endless imagination and, despite limited financial means, are relentless intheir production of art. But for now I have to rely on the power of photography to extend a visual explanation. I found I had to focus on what challenged my thoughts while writing, which I have tried to explain.

Coming from my environment, certainly not a model for humanity, the "heartland" of Mississippi seems to have made little progress toward accepting their loss in the Civil War. The oppression of black people is represented in symbolic and economic terms. Certainly this isn't exclusive to the state remembered positively for the blues, but negatively for it's treatment of African Americans. Confederate flags dominate in a subtle manner. Plantations are meticulously maintained by the state (except for slave quarters, which obviously don't require much care to maintain their identity). The plantations command a lot of attention from tourists, obviously a money-maker for the state. There is pride in the number of monuments, some newly renovated. This seems to me to glorify the Confederacy in the same manner as the "rebel" flag.

Several people have pointed out for me that black folks in Mississippi better recognize the progress made since the Civil Rights Movement. I realize the opinions they are representing are much more important, and less critical than my viewpoint. I wasn't a victim of racism, and I can't help but conclude life was worse for black people in Mississippi than my imagination will ever identify. Yet on a different level, and because I am a woman, I am acquainted with the feeling of being treated as if I'm somehow inferior.

The virtue of writing is that it forces the writer to think intensively about a subject. I can see powerful divisions everyday between rich and poor, government and the governed, as well as a division between races. Racism is deeply embedded in this country and I don't believe most people even recognize it anymore. The media talks about racism and prejudice, but apathy is widespread. Rappers are an example of people who are trying to communicate, but politicians, their wives, and the media are in the power position to affect parents into believing they have to "protect their children from rap music." The action is veiled behind the idea of protection, but what they are protecting people from is the truth.

In my opinion, folks aren't questioning themselves. How can the mainstream ever identify racism and prejudice if we do not accept what makes us feel guilty. Perhaps we should question ourselves to resolve these issues? Ignorance is nothing to feel ashamed of. We are products of the past, and our environment. What is shameful is ignoring the problem. We live in a country that encourages denial of our inner lives, the expression of that which lies therein, and ultimately the place where each of us begins to find humanity.

I found humanity in Mississippi in a way that I needed. Driving up Highway 61, I came across a small town and an old country store sitting on the side of the highway. I needed some ice, loved the appeal of the store, and needed a rest from driving. The small wooden building looked as old as the beat-up Pontiac sitting out in front. Open-air from the back, in the middle of a predominantly black community; it was quite obvious to the people in the store (as well as to me) that there weren't many white folks who patronized. The owner of the store, a middle-aged man, was stocking a shelf full of food. Looking around for the freezer, I noticed the stock on the shelves and recognized what was there, but not the labels. The air was quiet. The people sitting in the store weren't talking, and suddenly I heard the friendliness of the owner greet me. I asked for some ice, and explained that I didn't require a bag because I was going to toss it in the cooler I was holding. As he opened the bag and motioned for me to put my cooler on the counter he said, "I'll do it for ya. But you would have needed a bag to crush the ice in. See, one of the crazy things about me is that I like to treat people like I like to be treated, and I fill these bags all the way to the top so people get their money's worth."

His actions and comments were just what I needed at that moment. I was alone on the road, and wasn't very pleased with what I'd found until meeting him. I understood exactly what he meant. It wasn't the ice that was the issue, it was about reaping what you sow. I told him that I didn't think he was crazy at all.

It was the most satisfying $1.00 I've ever spent.