Warriors Don't Cry

by Melba Pattillo Beals

With the passage of time, I became increasingly aware of how all of the adults around me behaved the same. They were living with constant fear and apprehension. It felt as though we always had a white foot pressed against the back of our necks. I was feeling more and more vulnerable as I watched them continually struggle to solve the mystery of what white folks expected of them. They behaved as though it were an awful sin to overlook even one of those unspoken rules and step out of “their place,” to cross some invisible line. And yet lots of discussions in my household were about how to cross that line, when to cross that line, and who could cross that invisible line without getting hurt.

“Did you count on those Central people for your spiritual food before you went there?”

“Does God know your value?” “Yes, ma’am, He does. But I’m lonely for humans.” “You can never in this lifetime count on another human being to keep you from being lonely. Nobody can provide your spiritual food . . . not your mama, not your grandma, not your brother, not your 101st guards, not your boyfriend, and certainly not your husband.” “It’s so hard sometimes. I don’t know if I can make it.”

“Anger brings defeat,” she told me. “If you fight back, you have a battle, and you will be the loser.” Grandma walked over to

‘Melba Pattillo died by her own hand because she was afraid of facing God’s assignment for her.’ ”