Nobody Said Amen by Tracy Sugarman

at the others. “We’re all from Millsaps. We were just wondering who was living here and decided to drive over to see.”
    Jimmy said, “Why don’t you get out of the sun and sit down on the porch?” His voice was careful. “We don’t often have the chance to welcome white visitors. They’re usually in a hurry to leave.”
    Timmy Kilbrew led the group to the shady porch. They stood, nervously scrutinizing the students in the yard and the piles of books on the porch, continuing their restless vigil even after Kilbrew settled on the top step. “We had questions and thought we’d come to the source for answers. Reading the papers about you doesn’t help a lot. Are you really a Communist conspiracy like it says in the Clarion?”
    Jimmy suppressed a smile. “Kind of a shabby place to have a Communist conspiracy. Not at what we’re getting paid!” For the first time the young men laughed, and settled on the porch steps.
    Kilbrew’s eyes swept the gaggle of kids in the yard. “So, what are you hoping to do in Shiloh?”
    “We spend most of our time talking with the families we’re living with,” said Jimmy, “trying to convince them that they have the right to vote down here. You have questions, Kilbrew? Ask away. We’ll tell you what you want to know.”
    “Senator Tildon is leading the fight against the Voting Rights Bill and our group thinks that he’s doing a hell of a job, protecting the states’ rights to determine who should vote.” Kilbrew gazed steadily at Jimmy. “It’s fair to say we resent people who don’t live here who come down and tell us how to live differently.”
    Jimmy said, “I’m sure that’s true. Feelings run pretty deep, on both sides of the highway.” He met Kilbrew’s unblinking eyes. “About six hundred thousand Americans died arguing about that. But we didn’t come all the way down here to fight the Civil War all over again.”
    Kilbrew pressed forward. “To a lot of the folks here, your coming down, acting high and mighty, feels a lot like an occupation we remember very vividly. It’s humiliating. And we’re not about to sit still for it.”
    Mendelsohn looked quizzically at Timmy Kilbrew. “Didn’t think you were old enough to remember the occupation, Timmy. But that’s your prerogative. That’s what the courts are for. That’s what the laws are for. That’s the system we all established, and the Constitution we ratified. That’s what brought me out of Washington.”
    “I’m old enough, Mendelsohn,” Kilbrew said, his voice rising, “to recognize that you’re down here covering only one side of the argument.”
    “That’s not so,” said Ted. “I’m a journalist. I get paid to do this. So I’m reporting about Negro Americans who are trying to achieve equality of the franchise, and honestly telling about the obstacles they have to overcome. The people have a right to know that.”
    “That’s crap!” Kilbrew was clearly aggrieved. “Then the people ought to be told that white Mississippians are daily being portrayed as savages and brutes who hate black people because they object to race mixing. There’s never a word about kindness and generosity by the white community.”
    Ted nodded. “That may be so, but the headlines are more likely to be about three nonviolent students who have disappeared and are probably dead. Or about the Sojourner Chapel which was attacked while I watched, by violent men hurling Coke bottles at the black parishioners.”
    Jimmy studied the faces of the Millsaps students, “Can you guys justify that violence?”
    “Of course not!” snapped Timmy Kilbrew. “We believe in law and order, same as you. People who commit crimes should be held responsible. You may think of us as a lynch mob, but you’re wrong. We just know from our history that the state is a better vehicle to provide law and order than a detached federal bureaucracy. We have our traditions and we respect them. We know our people and trust them to elect