The time to talk about racial divide

Last month, nearly 100 people gathered at the Robert Gould Shaw Memorial for a communal reading of Frederick Douglass’s fiery Independence Day speech, “The Meaning of the Fourth of July for the Negro.’’ I conceived the idea of this public reading out of my concern that the hoopla surrounding the bicentennial of Abraham Lincoln’s birth was not relevant to and was failing to reach our young people, particularly immigrants and youths of color. I thought we might seek to unite the various streams of our history by reflecting on the powerful words of Douglass, whose legacy has become so inextricably joined to that of Lincoln. It seemed like a powerful way to respond to Holder’s lament about our inability to discuss race.

The July 5, 1852, speech is a scathing critique of America’s unconscionable trade in human misery. On this day in 2009, though, the words - including the still relevant “sense of disparity’’ between Douglass and his audience - were bracketed by three startling but ultimately encouraging visual images.

To the right of the stairs at the monument, I watched several young white workers in hard hats as they restored its stone foundation. As the readings began, they silenced the machines that just moments before had drowned out all other sounds. Several of these men stood at the fence enclosing their site, intently listening to the parade of readers.

To the left, I noticed several young men of color on lunch break from their work as YouthBuild participants. YouthBuild offers young people a chance to succeed, develop marketable skills, connect with their communities, and give back to others. The program serves as a bridge between the divergent - dare I repeat Douglass’s word: disparate - paths available to so many young people today, all too often broken down along color lines.

Up above on the street, I noticed a row of bright eyed, clean scrubbed, mostly blond-haired elementary school students. Clearly here on a field trip, they were treated to a perspective on American history that I doubt they ever read about in their history books.

As I gazed around, I thought back to Ted Landsmark, the African-American president of the Boston Architectural College. In 1977, his image was captured for the world to see as he was attacked with the American flag by anti-busing protesters. That became an iconic portrait of racial discord in the city.

Last month I felt that I was witnessing a very different, but equally iconic, moment. Those to the right, to the left, and directly above me were open to listening to the experiences of others. They appeared ready, in a way the generation before them were not, to engage in honest dialogue about our racial past and what that means to our future.

There has been a great deal written about the significance of Barack Obama’s election, with some proclaiming ours a “post-racial’’ era. However, to me and many others, the true meaning of that election is not that we are relieved from talking about race but that we are relieved to talk about it. As Obama himself remarked, “I have never been so naïve as to believe that we can get beyond our racial divisions in a single election cycle.’’

This weekend, residents of Massachusetts will come together in locations across the state to read Douglass’s speech as part of their Independence Day celebrations. I hope that these readings inspire further dialogue and communication. Perhaps these conversations can echo Douglass himself, who concluded that “While drawing encouragement from the Declaration of Independence, the great principles it contains, and the genius of American Institutions, my spirit is cheered by the obvious tendencies of the age.’’

David Harris is the managing director of the Institute for Race and Justice at Harvard Law School and past president of MassHumanities.