supported, and happy that he did not have to give up his dream. But I
believe it would have been a triumphant encounter no matter the
fraternity president’s response. Carlos had embraced his power to
stand up and speak his truth at the risk of being excluded and
criticized. He had chosen not to be a victim. And he had taken a moral
stand. He had acted in alignment with a higher purpose: to combat
racism, to protect human dignity. In defending his own humanity, he
protected everyone’s. He paved a way for all of us to live in keeping
with our moral truth and ideals. Doing what is right is rarely the same
as doing what is safe.
* * *I think that a certain amount of risk is always inseparable from
healing. It was true for Beatrice, a sad woman when I met her, her
brown eyes distant, closed off, her face pale. Her clothes were loose
and formless, her posture slumping and hunched over. I immediately
recognized that Beatrice had no idea how beautiful she was.
She stared straight ahead, trying hard not to look at me. But she
couldn’t stop herself from shooting me quick glances that seemed to
probe me for secrets. She had recently heard me give a talk about
forgiveness. For more than twenty years, she had believed that there
was no way to achieve forgiveness over her stolen childhood. But my
speech about my own journey of forgiveness had sparked questions for
her. Should I forgive? Can I forgive? Now she assessed me carefully, as
though trying to discover if I was real, or just an image. When you’re
listening to someone up on a stage tell a story about healing, it can
seem too good to be true. And to some extent, it is. In the hard work
of healing, there’s no catharsis when forty-ĕve minutes are up. ere’s
no magic wand. Change happens slowly, sometimes disappointingly
slowly. Is your story of freedom genuine? her darting glances seemed to
ask. Is there any hope for me?