Dear Imaginary Friend,
Having read the book a few years ago, today I ventured out with some good friends to see the film version of The Help. I was impressed by the faithfulness of the translation from book to screen, and entranced by the period costumes, hair styles, and the omnipresent girdles from the early sixties. Sometimes when you travel back in time, history is really ugly. And Jackson, Mississippi, is portrayed here as a place that I would not care to visit.
The obsession with appearances and fitting in, the repudiation of the rights of black people, and women in general, during the late fifties and early sixties is enough to make me squirm. Or scream.
Many people look fondly back through a hazy mirror at the fifties as a time when women stayed at home with their children, divorce was rare, and the family unit stayed intact. But if you happened to be black, and were forced to use sub standard schools, separate parts of buses, bathrooms, and hospitals, maybe you would not remember it so fondly.
I grew up in New Orleans, and remember the segregation.I remember the separate water fountains, and everything else. It was very difficult to speak out against these practices, because conformity was highly valued, and anyone different or individual was to be mistrusted.
I am grateful for the diminishing of racism, sexism and classism in the twenty-first century, but America, we still have a long way to go.
Go see the movie. Then talk about it with your friend. See if it doesn't bring up some long-buried uncomfortable memories...
Your Imaginary Friend,
Patsie
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