Sticks and Stones May Break Your Bones, But The Truth Shall Set You Free
Louise Annarino
April 11, 2012
At 5 I was allowed to ride my new Huffy bicycle on the sidewalk in front of our house, back and forth between the alley and the corner; and walk down the alley with my wagon.
At 6 I was allowed to play on the sidewalk in front of our house, crossing the alley, from one corner to the other corner.
At 7 I was allowed to go around the nearest corner, to the farther alley beyond Van’s market, and back to the house.
At 8 I was allowed to go around the corner and across the street to the Hartzler Public School playground, and push my 3 year old brother Michael on the swings. Or so I thought.
On a hot summer day, I took Michael to the playground for a swing. I noticed 6 or 7 slightly older children near the merry-go-round as I picked him up and set him in the swing. They were just hanging out, as kids do. I recognized most of them.
A girl who lived down the block yelled to me, “Get outta here. you don’t go to this school.” Her comment broke the boredom of a summer day for the other kids.
One of the boys asked,”Where does she go?” as the group headed our way.
Another answered, “She’s one of those Annarinos”.
“Oh, a dirty WOP,” laughed another boy as the entire group of boys guffawed and punched one another in the arm. The girls giggled. I moved to the front of the swing to block Michael, and gently slowed my pushes while soothing him with soft words.
One freckle-faced girl in pig-tails stopped beside me, her feet spread with her hands on hips, and taunted, “ We don’l let Eyetalians on our playground”; then, spit at my feet.
The group closed in.Their aggressive laughter, taunts and physically intimidating stance had frightened Michael who began to cry. As I turned to lift him from the swing and into my arms, the first volley of rocks hit the back of my head, shoulders, and legs. I tried to block the rocks with my body as I carried Michael away, but we both were being stoned mercilessly. In those days, kids were tougher and played on rocky playgrounds, not on mulch-surfaced play areas. With plenty of ammunition available, they chased us and pelted us to the curb. They screamed at us, “Go away. No fish eaters allowed. If we ever see you again, we’ll kill you! You’re nothing but dirt, you and your WOP brother.”
I did not know what a WOP was. I did not know what a fish-eater was. But I knew the word “dirty”. It was usually followed by “Dago” or “N…..”. I sensed this was the same kind of biased hate. The words and the rocks hurt. But, they also made me angry because they made my baby brother cry, and I could not protect him.
The group did not follow us across the street. I carried Michael home to my mother, Angela. I explained what had happened as I placed Michael in her arms. She examined our scratches, and the lump growing over my eye from a particularly large rock. Cleaning up, icing bruises and lumps, and bandaging cuts meant nothing. My anger meant everything. How could these children be so mean to Michael, who was so helpless? I knew kids could be mean, but to a baby? Why did they care that we were using the public school playground? What did the words WOP and fish-eater mean? How did such words make it okay for them to attack us? How could I have protected Michael? By the time Dad got to the playground after Mom called him home from his restaurant, it was empty.
I listened to Mom’s explanation of Wop and fish-eater, and the accepted dislike for Italians and other racial or ethnic groups. “That’s the way the American people are,” she explained. “That’s the way the American people are” was a constant explanation for incomprehensible behavior as I was growing up. I found white Americans very confusing, until Mom explained their thought processes, biases, prejudices and racism to me. Every discussion ended with “That’s the way the American people are.” This time she added, “Always remember this: Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names can never harm me. Never listen to the names people call you. You are the only one who can hurt you.” I stopped listening after shouting at my own wise mother, “Words do hurt! They do harm!” It took many more years to understand the message she intended to impart with her words.
The front doorway into our elementary school was massive; the double-wide doors encased in blocks of limestone. Messages had been carved in each side of the limestone lintel overhead. On the left side were the words “Knowledge Is Power”; and on the right, “Ye Shall Know The Truth and The Truth Shall Set You Free.” Our class lined up two-by-two behind the convent every morning and again after lunch, then Sister led us into the school. Each day, during the pause while two of the boys opened the doors wide so our class could enter, I read those comments carved in stone. They became my motivation to understand what my mother and father, and the nuns and priests tried to teach me. I wanted to understand what words really meant,how knowing words would set me free and give me the power to change “the way the American people are.”
In high school, swastikas and “fish-eaters” routinely graced the outside walls of our high-school gymnasium. I learned about water hoses, Jim-Crow words like “colored fountain”, …and much worse. I read the DIARY OF ANNE FRANK and learned about yellow stars of David, words like “crystallnacht” …and much worse. Anne Frank taught me that every word had two meanings, the inner meaning and the outer meaning.
In college I learned how this duality of meaning could be used to obfuscate and confuse. MAO’S RED BOOK and 1984 taught me how words’ many meanings are used to create propaganda. It is not only mean and nasty words that damage and destroy; even kind and gentle words can if their outer meaning is code for the inner meaning of how to harm. And a lie becomes truth simply by repeating the words over and over.
I have listened to propaganda and hate speech all my life it seems. I have seen the confusion, misunderstanding, and harm and such words cause. They even cause death:
Irresponsible mortgage holders or responsible homeowners?
Union thugs or organized laborers?
Welfare Queens or struggling single Moms?
Radical revolutionaries or progressive thinkers?
Propaganda or “spin”?
Truth or talking points?
Residents of the prison or inmates?
War Between the States or a Civil War?
Contented slaves or people suffering human bondage?
Wealthy job creators or greedy pirates of industry?
Save social security or privatize and underfund it to an early demise?
Bail out banks and auto-industry or save the world from a severe Depression?
Attack business or reasonably regulate business to avoid another world-wide economic collapse?
Attack religion or enact “The Sermon On The Mount”?
Reverse racism or affirmative action?
Black thug in a hoodie or typical teenager?
Dr. Frank Hale Jr. was a wonderful man, my friend, a distinguished scholar and civil rights leader. Hale Cultural Center at OSU is named in his honor. This past week, someone scrawled “hate speech” on the wall of this center for African-American cultural appreciation and racial understanding when they painted on the words “Long Live George Zimmerman”. George Zimmerman had been using a photograph of this wall on his legal-fund support web-site. It was removed just hours ago. Let me use words clearly: The white man who shot and killed an un-armed African-American teenager used this image, of words whose inner meaning appealed to racists (making a hero of a white man who killed a Black child) to raise funds for his legal defense fund. Ironically, after many weeks he remains free, possibly armed with the murder weapon, and has not been charged with a crime. This scenario speaks volumes.
This scenario has resurrected the pain over Dr. Hale’s death; as if George Zimmerman had not only desecrated Trayvon Martin’s life, but also the life and honor of Dr. Hale. The pain of words can hurt with the pain of a bullet. Words kill the soul while taking a life. For, what Mom was trying to tell me that day is that George Zimmerman’s words kills his soul as he uses words to justify taking a life. Words cannot harm my soul, nor that of Dr. Hale or Trayvon Martin, though the sticks and stones of the speakers may break our bones. However, they will harm the soul of those who use words to hold others in bondage rather than to set each of us free. They will harm those who lie to enrich and empower themselves rather than seek truth to enrich and empower us all.
We have heard many lies during past political campaigns. But, this is worse. Propaganda is now a spectator sport thanks to 24/7 cable news. And too few children are being taught to appreciate words such as those I read at my school door. Instead we are teaching them to appreciate the best “spin”, the sexiest image, a talking point that “sticks”. We admire pundits who can “hit” the other side “hard”. Despite the many hours we devote to political discussion, very few truth seekers can hold our short attention spans, entice advertisers, or keep their jobs. So, our political commentators settle for less than true, kind of true, half-truths, and interesting lies…and call it today’s news. And our politicians tell us our freedom is threatened by President Obama’s Black Panther associations, Muslim faith, fake birth certificate, socialist economic plan, secret agenda, apologist foreign policy etc. No, it is threatened by those politicians unwillingness to “seek the truth”, speak the truth, and accept the power of an African-American president. It is not our president who threatens freedom, but those who unfairly attack him with words that fail the truth test.
I want Dr. Hale to be remembered for his grace; not the dis-graceful words visited upon the Hale cultural Center. Dr. Hale’s truth is stronger than hate and lies. Dr. Frank Hale, Jr. was inducted into the Ohio Civil Rights Hall Of Fame. I wrote the following poem in his honor to celebrate that occasion. My Reflection of Dr. Hale at his funeral service follows the poem.
Dr. Frank Hale
Ball Player Extraordinaire
Louise Annarino
Barefoot
you stepped up to the plate
eager to test your strength;
your aim,
your best effort
to simply hit the ball
and get to first base.
Frank, you did it all.
You can stand tall
and stretch
to see how far
that first ball
flew
when it met your bat.
Every day
ball after ball
you pushed your luck
and learned all you should
about what could
push the ball
off the would into space.
You are a man of grace.
It is written all over
your face,
and in the mind
and heart
of each of us to whom
you gave a start.
You taught us how to play
the game,
then let us rest and foment
while we struggled
to face the next inning.
Pushing and shoving
ball against wind.
All the time hoping
and praying
and trusting the umps
to be fair;
too often, not.
Yet, we kept on playing
off all that you taught.
It was a hard game to play;
though your skills won the day.
We soon understood it
must be won anew every day,
pushing wood against air to get a single hit.
Doubles, triples and home runs
all too rare.
You have been our captain,our coach,
and our spiritual guide
sliding your pride into stolen bases
for all races.
It is only right that your name will remain
in the Ohio Civil Rights
Hall of Fame.
REFLECTIONS OF DR. FRANK HALE, JR.
by Louise Annarino
August 7, 2011
It is not Frank Hale, Jr.’s death which brings us together today, but his life. Frank was quite simply…a good man. To many of us Frank was also a hero…a role model…a mentor…and a kindred spirit.
How did such a kind and gentle man inspire and elevate us to be more and do more than we thought possible?
-By CHALLENGING the status quo
-By CALLING OUT racist ideologues.
-By NAMING racism in its most minute practices, and in its grandest schemes.
-By REDEFINING and RESTRUCTURING racist practices and procedures of institutions of higher education, and within other corporate settings.
-By STANDING FIRM against injustice and oppression of African Americans, and all who suffer oppression.
-By REFUSING TO BEND moral and ethical codes of civil conduct to simply satisfy base emotions.
We each have stories to tell about Frank. But I challenge us to do more than reflect ON the life of Dr. Frank Hale, Jr. I challenge us each to BE his reflection in each of our communities.
Whenever WE challenge authority which enforces institutional racism in our schools, our workplaces, our boardrooms, our banks and investment houses, even in our own homes and houses of worship – we are a reflection of Frank.
Whenever WE refuse to laugh at a racist or bigoted joke, and instead use it as a teachable moment to stop bigotry -we are a reflection of Frank.
Whenever WE refuse to become uncivil despite racist provocation, and instead respectfully command the respect of others to listen to truth and become more just – we are a reflection of Frank.
Whenever WE hold tight to the courage to tell uncomfortable truths at the risk of losing social acceptance amid the mighty and monied – we are a reflection of Frank.
Whenever WE focus our “eyes on the prize” instead of on material gain – we are a reflection of Frank.
Whenever WE lift our voices in an oratory against injustice – we are a reflection of Frank.
Today, I challenge each of us to BE a reflection of Dr. Frank Hale, Jr. We could do no better to honor Frank. Frank’s spirit will always be within us; and, through us, Frank’s spirit will continue to make this a better world.
Thank you, dearest Mignon, for asking me to reflect today upon my loving friend, Dr. Frank Hale, Jr.
annarino writes 
A LETTER TO US ALL
Dear Us:
Did you ever hear of the Golden Rule? “Treat others as you would be treated.” When asked which of the ten commandments Moses shared with the Israelites was the most important, Jesus advised questioners to “Love others as I have loved you.” In the 60s, even non-believers of any religion, or of even the existent of God, followed the precept “Lead with your heart.” “Flower children” believed in love, for everyone, at all times. And those were turbulent times. We watched freedom riders maimed and killed, their busses set on fire, their murdered bodies hidden and buried in shallow graves. We watched the perpetrators of violence go free; the Citizen Councils ( marketing change for KKK) often included law enforcement and local judges. This is the America currently referred to when Trump supporters urge us all to “Make America Great Again.” They no longer wear white robes nor hide their faces. They wear red ties, dark suits and sometimes red hats.They pretend to be news anchors on FOX News and elsewhere. They pretend to be president like Elon Musk. The delivery system of hate may have changed; the racism and sexism have not. We are experiencing a backlash to the progress made over the past 50 years. It took 50 years for it to grow this strong.
I was a resident student advisor (RA) at Lincoln Tower on the OSU campus in Columbus, Ohio in the late sixties and early 70s. I was also a student activist. I had to become one because I believed in the Golden Rule. I watched Black students, Jewish students and women students derided and demeaned. I was privy to racist commentary because white students assumed they could say them to my white face with my full agreement. White men also felt safe making sexist comments to me despite the fact I was a woman. As an Italian-American I was sometimes mistaken for Jewish and heard my share of anti-semitic remarks. Much of the time such hate-talk was passed off as a joke. Whenever I heard the joke I stopped the speaker and explained nothing they said was funny, nor factual. I demanded such language never be used while in my presence. Those who just joined in to feel safe in the crowd became serious and apologized. The bullies did not apologize. But they shut up. “Stand up to shut them up” became part of every day life on campus. That is activism at its core.
I had a few empty suites on my floor due to an on-going criminal investigation. A mentally ill student was on trial for arson, having set fire in a suite the year before. Once the case was resolved, those suites were re-opened and spaces filled, as were other vacancies on my floor. Who moved in to those spaces? Black women looking for a safe space. Some had repeatedly been locked out of their rooms by white roommates. Several had threatening notes nailed to their door; threats to rape or kill them because they were Black. Most were ostracized and demeaned daily by white roommates. Their complaint to Student Affairs fell on deaf ears. When the spaces opened on my floor, they found refuge there.
Our dorm was typical for OSU where Black students made up a tiny percentage of the student population. My floor was unique. I held floor meetings to discuss expectations that we would all follow the Golden Rule. When I saw or heard of a racial incident I immediately intervened. Soon, I was doing racial mediation on a regular basis. Black women entered the elevator and experienced white women moving close to the emergency call button, with hand hovering, ready to cry for help from women just like themselves returning exhausted from a day of classes ? Time for mediation! Call everyone together and talk it through. Day after day. Incident after incident. It was exhausting for the Black women, and the Black men who visited them, to face daily racial challenges and outright discrimination.
Another RA and two students worked with me to develop a racial mediation program in our dorm. Whenever the Student Judicial Council was handed a case involving a white student and a Black student in dispute, it was handed off to us to mediate the conflict. Our efforts were not always welcomed, but we persisted. Incidents of violence, write-ups to judiciary, and racial conflict decreased. Today, this program would be outlawed by the President who gleefully extorts OSU by threatening loss of education grants and federal funds for programs and research. OSU has caved to the bullies. OSU is not standing up to shut up the racism. It would cost money. And money is god in America, and on college campuses.
OSU is caving to racists and bullies again. And, not just OSU. Columbia University, indeed nearly all colleges and universities, if not all, are caving to racist bullies under the guise of following the law, accepting the lawless and illegal actions of the current administration. Following the law would require universities to protect the free speech rights of faculty and students, to abide by employment contracts and civil service laws to protect both administrative employees and faculty. Universities with law schools had readily-available experts to stand up, speak out and take action. I was an Associate Director of Law at Ohio University. There is a national organization of such attorneys. Why are they so silent? Why have university presidents and provosts not joined arms to defend their campuses against illegal searches and seizures of students? Why did Columbia University not come to the aid of Mahmoud Khalil and his family? If they did so in any way, it was neither apparent nor sufficient.
The Poster Boy President leading the racist mob of greedy Americans spoke at the DOJ recently. His racist and personal attacks on lawyers, prosecutors and judges, was accepted and even cheered. Racism and greed cross all boundaries and sexual preferences, exist within every profession, religion and community group. It is a constant and persistent threat to the principles of democracy. Those whose racism had been laid low, who crawled under rocks to hide their sins, have crawled back out, empowered by the greed for wealth and power, threatened by those they spurn who have finally found success on a more equal path, and undermined by their own sense of failure despite the promise of an American Dream. Instead of blaming the greedy power-brokers of industry, banking and finance, politics and education they blame their fellow victims. Their racism blinds them to truth, and they willingly embrace false-hoods and disinformation. They would not recognize a fact if it stared them in the face. They would prefer to attack the fact and the experts offering the truth of the fact.
As a lawyer, as an educator, as a writer, I am heart-broken over the loss of my country, my Constitution and its guarantees of personal freedom for all persons who are in this country…no matter where they came from, or how they got here. That is the promise of America. That is the American Dream. Shopping for cheap goods because your existence only matters if those power-brokers can make a buck off you cannot fill the place freedom once filled within the American heart and psyche. Woke? Woke is what is required to survive the on-slaught against a free people who simply want to find a good-paying job, buy a house, feed and educate their family. The power-brokers want us to stay asleep. Like children, we are angels in our sleep, causing them no discomfort, and quietly staying out of their way as they take over our economy, our government institutions, our military, our banking system, our educational systems and local/public schools…even our post office!
Wake up, my fellow lawyers, my fellow professors, my fellow school teachers, my fellow social workers, my fellow counselors, my fellow retail workers, my fellow waitresses and caterers, my fellow babysitters, my fellow students, my fellow Catholics and people of faith, my fellow Americans. Wake up and stay woke! We have work to do, if we can stay awake to do it loudly and persistently. This is no time to lie down and feign sleep. God knows, none of us sleep well theses days.
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