107: Trail of Tears (1998)
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What's history good for? Anyway, a couple years ago, I went with a group of Chicago eighth graders on their class trip to Washington, D.C. And their teacher, Mr. Pearlstein, had all these ambitious plans for the trip. And one of the most ambitious involved us going up to the top of the steps at the Lincoln Memorial. And we had brought with us this boom box, this massive boom box, like 20 D cells in this thing, just for this moment at the top of the stairs. And Mr. Pearlstein had to get special permits from the U.S. Park Police just for this one moment. The class was all African American and Mexican American kids from the West Side of Chicago. And Mr. Pearlstein had this idea that we would sit there on the stairs right near where the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King gave the "I Have a Dream" speech in 1963. All right, listen up. Dr. King spoke from the marble stairway to the right, approximately where that gentleman's walking up with the red backpack. Look out into the distance. You can see first the reflection pool. Do you remember the pick right show you people standing in the trees? Those are the trees over there on the left. Remember they were up in the trees with the signs? Mr. Pearlstein talked for a while, trying to evoke that day in 1963. Like a set of Dr. King was queued up in the boom box. Sit back, transport yourself into the past. I have a dream that one day down in Alabama with its vicious racist, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification. One day right there in Alabama, little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers. I have a dream for this. The class listens, staring out in the distance over the reflecting pool toward the washing the monument. A few passing tourists stop and stand with some with us. Dr. King's voice reverberates out over the stairs. And afterwards I asked the kids about it and it turns out you don't get to be a 14-year-old minority kid in the public schools in America without having heard the "I have a dream" speech a few times. Most of the kids were like, "That speech? Again?" It wasn't emotional or anything, we just had to sit down and listen to it. Same old speech. You know I thought it was going to be like real moving or something like that but you know we were just listening to him talking about it. And you've heard that speech before. Thousands of times, thousands of times. To be fair to these kids, what exactly is somebody supposed to do on the tourist sites of her own history? Not exactly as it's supposed to touch us. On our national holidays we pack up our children and we drive to Gettysburg and Williamsburg to the Alamo and to the grassy known near the Dallas Book Depository to the house where Richard Nixon grew up with the Al Capone cell and Alcatraz. And we stand there. Thousands and thousands of us, maybe even right now. People standing there staring at the historic sites. Trying to imagine what it was like back then. Trying to absorb something, some lessons, some feeling into ourselves. It's not easy. Santiana said those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it. But you know, the opposite is also true. Those who can remember the past are also condemned to repeat it to their children on summer road trips. But besides repeating it to someone else, what are you supposed to do with history? Especially a history as ambiguous as that of our beloved United States of America. A history that's alternately murderous and heroic, money-grabbing and idealistic. From W.B. E.C. Chicago and Public Radio International, it's his American life on our class. Today on our program we try to make some sense out of the past. Greater Sarah Val and her twin sister Amy head out on the road to visit the site of historic tragedy. One that involved part of their own family, 160
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