In the spring of 2005, Senator David Jordan led the effort to rename a portion of U.S. Highway 49 after Emmett Till. When the highway signs were dedicated on July 1, 2005, Till cousin Simeon Wright understood the gesture as “proof that change is taking place.”
The change has not been met with open arms. Less than a year after it was dedicated, the Till sign on U.S. 49 was spray painted with the letters “KKK.” Since that time, Emmett Till signs have been stolen, thrown in the river, shot, replaced, shot again and defaced with acid. The vandalism has been targeted and it has been persistent.
To understand the vandalism, one needs to first understand the symbolic landscape of the 50 years immediately prior to the erection of the 2005 highway markers.
Between Till’s murder in 1955 and the renaming of Highway 49, there was not a single museum, statue, roadside marker, or even a plaque in the state of Mississippi that commemorated the Till murder. The 50-year span without a single physical memorial is a handy way to remember that the symbolic landscape has always been white.
From the Jim Crow signage that directed African-Americans to inferior facilities in the 1960s, to the Confederate monuments in virtually every county, to the battle flags that still fly: the symbols of public space have always announced white supremacy.
It is possible to document the social impact of white space. If the experience of longtime Sumner resident Betty Pearson can be trusted, it was not until the Emmett Till Memorial Commission (ETMC) began giving African-American experiences a publicly acknowledged place on the landscape, that it became possible to address racial reconciliation.
When the commission was formed in 2006, Pearson confided to her friend Susan Glisson that “this is the first time in 50-plus years that there has been any open dialogue about the Till murder and trial.” According to Pearson, Deltans did not speak openly of the Till murder until they began the process of transforming public space.
Her sensibilities are confirmed in rather dramatic fashion by the minutes from one of the earliest meetings of the commission. On June 20, 2006, member after member, both white and black, spoke against the long silence that had prevailed in the Delta on the subject of Till’s murder. One claimed that the silence was enforced by the White Citizens Council, another suggested that the “Klan had a hold on [the] county” and “harassed” those who broke the silence; another complained that children in the Delta didn’t know the story, and still another complained that he had to “bite his tongue.” By the end of the meeting, there was a palpable sense that the commission’s “1st order of business” was simply to “acknowledge what happened.”
Pearson’s convictions that racial reconciliation requires the transformation of public space is central to the mission of the ETMC. The commission does not put up historical markers to generate tourist revenue or simply correct the historical record. Rather, they put up signs to acknowledge Till’s story because it makes new sorts of conversations possible.
If only white history is dignified by statues in public places, or if only white history is publicly acknowledged, then it is difficult to imagine honest conversations about reconciliation. If Pearson’s experience can be trusted, the process of reconciliation in Tallahatchie County was tightly calibrated to the transformation of the county’s public space.
With this background, it is possible to understand why vandalism sometimes registers as terror. The vandalism is, in effect (if not in intent), a forcible reclamation of white space. It turns markers of the black experience into reminders of white supremacy. Much like the burning crosses of the Klan, the bullet-ridden markers visibly announce white supremacy and foreshadow the violence that maintains it.
The commission remains committed to the intertwined work of commemoration and reconciliation. They are currently raising money to fund two projects. The first is the development of Graball Landing — the site where three frat boys posed with guns in front of the vandalized historical marker.
The centerpiece of the development is a new sign, the fourth one for this location. Unlike the first three, the language on this sign addresses the history of vandalism directly. Believing that the bullet holes are part of Till’s story too, the new sign must not erase the evidence of vandalism and thereby obscure the persistence of racism.
The new sign is bulletproof. Built out of 1/2 inch AR500 steel, and covered with a 3/4 inch acrylic panel, the sign is designed to withstand a rifle round. The commission hopes the new sign will endure, and that it will prompt conversations about racism, both in the 1950s and in our own day.
In addition to the bullet-proof sign, the ETMC is also developing a smartphone app to commemorate Graball Landing and other Emmett Till sites. Known as the Emmett Till Memory Project, the app provides historical narratives, photographs and site-specific archival documents.
Much like the sign, the Memory Project foregrounds the ongoing life of Till’s story and the ways that it still divides the Delta, the state of Mississippi, and the country at large. The Emmett Till Memory Project will be live and freely available by Aug. 28 — the 64th anniversary of the murder.
To support the Emmett Till Memorial Commission’s work, please visit their website, https://emmett-till.org. The commission works in one of the poorest counties in the country and their work depends on broad, nationwide support.
Dave Tell is professor of Communication Studies at the University of Kansas. He is author of the book, “Remembering Emmett Till,” and codirector of the Emmett Till Memory Project.
