Earlier this year I read Taylor Branch’s masterful trilogy on the civil rights movement during the time of Martin Luther King.

For over 2500 pages I was engrossed in the tale of how America began to shed a large part of its dark history of racial hatred.  I found myself rooting for an alternative outcome for the fate of Dr. King, as if by reading these works somehow the ending would come out differently.

As if hatred would somehow be eradicated.  As if James Earl Ray’s bullet would have somehow missed the target and an aged Dr. King would still be inspiring us in person, today.

But, it was not to be.

Yesterday, I read Elie Wiesel’s equally poignant and moving account of his experience in the Nazi death camps (see sidebar).  I was immediately struck by how Wiesel was able to capture in just 115 pages the same level of pathos, heartbreak and longing that Branch had done in his much weightier tomes.

Both of these works shine the spotlight on dark chapters in the history of man.  One thing that amazed me in my reading was how little of this I was taught growing up in school.

The civil rights movement was giving passing nods as we talked about the greater issues of how this country was founded and other issues of import.

The holocaust was given short-shrift while we discussed where to find the best Arkansas Indian arrowheads.

To this day, I wonder why.  Why did we not discuss the civil rights movement more in depth at my school?

Was it too fresh?  Were my school books not current enough to provide more than a footnote.

Was it shame?

Why? 

I know a good deal of American History.  Much of it I learned in school.  But the darker days of the civil rights movement I had to learn for myself.

I know a good deal about the World Wars. (Don’t we love to talk about World War II?) But what I learned about genocide and the abject hatred of the Nazi’s was more fully grasped on my own. I learned more about the holocaust by watching Schindler’s List than I ever did in school.

This is not, in any way, an attempt to disparage my education. I went to an outstanding school growing up, and feel somewhat educated.

I just wonder if we sometimes try to minimize our hatreds.

An ugly practice that continues to this day.  Hate the sin, love the sinner, right?

I’ve hated too much in my life.  I lived through my own night of intolerance.

I don’t want to do it anymore.