I saw the movie a few nights ago. I had already read the book and although I generally like to wait until a movie comes out on DVD my husband and I decided to go to the movies at the last minute. And I'm so glad we did. Not that it was some type of epic movie that had to be viewed on the big screen, it wasn't that type of movie at all. However, it was the kind of movie that should be seen right away--as in as soon as possible. It, in my opinion, needs to imprinted on the brains of every person, everywhere. It's a movie that can impact a lifestyle, that makes you think, and that in all honesty made me a feel ashamed of my race.
I'm not writing a movie review, however--not really. I just want to talk about my feelings--before and after I read the book and saw the movie. I've always been a huge proponent of human rights. Fighting for the underdog is right up my alley. From Native American Indians to African Americans to Mexican Americans--I'm one to hop on the bandwagon and help out. It's part of my character, part of who I really am.
While reading the book I could feel myself get angrier and angrier with the way the help were being treated. I've never hired a maid, but if I ever had I can pretty much guarantee you that I would never have treated anyone the way those southern women treated theirs. I'm a very empathetic person, and soon I began to put myself in the place of the African American maids and began to feel beaten down and disillusioned. It made me wonder--why are people so bias towards a certain race, why do they feel that they are better than someone else, and why do they feel superior to another person? Do they need to put them down to raise themselves higher? Is it that important to them? Reading the book really affected me in a big way. So naturally, I wanted to see the movie. I felt driven, and I'm so glad that I went the other night. It's given me a lot to think about, a lot to be thankful for and a lot to pray about.
A long time ago, maybe 20 years or so my maternal grandmother told me a story--one of her stories, she seemed to always have a lot to tell, she used to somehow manage to trap us in her room. I think all of us grandkids hated it--listening to granny! I honestly don't know how much truth there is in it. My mom hadn't heard her mother talk too much about her childhood. My grandmother told me that she had a black mammy (her words not mine) when she was growing up as a child in Texas. She told me that she loved that woman more than she loved her own mother, but when she was grown she knew how ridiculous it was to love her in that way, so she became distant from her and basically shut her out. She was embarrassed about loving her so much. But, now looking back she wished that she had done things differently. She said that until the day she died she would not forgive herself for the way she treated her, she loved her and wished that she could tell her, but now it was too late. She made a lot of excuses that day--about the place and the times she lived in. It's hard for me to understand though, I wasn't raised that way.
My grandmother was a racist. Even she called herself one and had many explanations to justify her opinions. I tried reasoning with her a few times, but her and I never really saw eye to eye on much of anything, so after a few years I finally gave up. I feel sorry for people like her, and for people like the characters in the book. They are real you know, there are people like that out there. It truly breaks my heart that one group of people think they are in any way better than another group. Whether it be skin color, religion, social class--we should be (and are) all equal.
My grandmother was raised in that racist era. I thank God every day that my grandchildren are not being raised that way.
And I hope that they always remember--you is kind, you is smart, you is important.
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