Our time now

I turned of drinking age my first week of law school. After that mind trip of a week I was ready to go imbibe legally with my best friend. I drove Highway 70 east from Little Rock that Saturday morning stopping in DeValls Bluff to grab a couple barbecue sandwiches from Craig’s, and a cold six pack.

Finally arriving in Forrest City I noticed a barricade of school buses and state police cars in the old downtown near the courthouse. I took my brown bag with a couple beers and sandwich and climbed up the hill to the courthouse lawn to get a better view. I sat down in the grass and popped one open.

It took no time to spot the white hoods and robes. There were 10 to 15 others in militia dress, one with a megaphone jabbering some ignorant unintelligible hate. I commenced to munching on my sandwich.

I looked over toward Front Street and noticed a large group of all black counter protesters. Their shouts, too, I couldn’t make out over all the commotion.

I sat there and thought how several years earlier the town’s first black mayor had been elected. I remembered how surprised I was when many of my friends of color were so excited and expressed an air of “finally, it is our time now.” It at first seemed vengeful in a way but quickly I got it, it was easy for me to understand how they felt.

I finished my sandwich and thought about how these foolish cowards covered up in their militia gear and robes had realized that yes, their good ole boy network wasn’t what it once was, and never again would be. It was now somebody else’s “time” and they didn’t like it. The tide had shifted in this small Delta town.

Reading the August 7 Independent article on our new neighbors at Spring and Main who came to live amongst us, I was really bothered that it brought me back to my thoughts that morning sitting on the courthouse lawn. Our new neighbors chose to come join our community and live here. They spent their money to purchase private property and became the owners of the property. They didn’t abandon their personal beliefs when they moved to Eureka Springs, but then again who would…

I was astonished and saddened when what seemed like a large group of my friends and neighbors chose not to embrace them rather than showing them the inclusive and diverse community Eureka Springs is; I saw intimidating posts on social media, statements meant to bully and make clear they’re not welcome, and talk of boycotting if they have invested in a business here.

What’s it matter if the choice is due to their Christian beliefs or lack of appreciation for a large statue in their small yard? I suspect the response would have been different had they wanted it removed to put in a deck or patio… (apply fuel to the religious freedom movement here.)

The message of inclusion and diversity rings hollow if it is not preached and practiced indiscriminately.

I remember thinking on that courthouse lawn that these people are never going to get along. The withouts had become the withs, and it was “[their] time now…;” for our wonderful town to not embrace our new neighbors with open arms is simply wrong and not who we are or what what we stand for.

If they decide Eureka Springs is not the place for them, don’t let it because we didn’t invite them in and make them feel welcome. Inclusion and diversity is being able to disagree but still talk, to know our neighbor may have a different belief system but at the end of the day still love one another, and show it.

The beer was getting hot and the other barbecue sandwich was getting cold. I got up from the courthouse lawn and went home. My Dad met me on the porch. I handed him his sandwich and he asked me about my first week of school. I pulled out two barely cold cans of beer and gave him one. He said, “Happy 21^st birthday son.”

I popped the top, leaned back in the swing and said, “ thanks Pop, it’s our time now.”

Chris Flanagin