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                           24 Hours of Democracy

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by Jennifer Powell
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"Some day you'll stop asking so many questions."

That's what my algebra teacher wrote in my high school year book. I upset
him, because I wanted to know more than he had planned to cover in the
class.
Asking questions was disruptive. He couldn't teach the material he wanted
to teach when forced to follow side paths.

Now that I'm somewhat adult, I better understand his dilemma. Do we allow
the creative and the unusual to lead us out of our clearly defined paths,
paths that seem secure, planned, or at least familiar? We all have to
answer this question. We face this question right now.

Sometimes the questions are important ones.

My father's family was from the southern U.S.A., and I spent several years
there as a child. 1959-1964, to be exact. We lived in Waynesboro,
Mississippi,
a small rural town. Those years were the Jim Crow era, and segregation
between white and black people was rigidly enforced by social convention,
and backed with the threat of violence.

I was born in Toledo, Ohio and while in the North I lived in areas that
were
integrated (mostly because they were very poor areas). When we moved to
Mississippi I was curious, as a child might be, and I can recall asking
questions
of my father when I was only seven years old. Why aren't black people
allowed in your store? Why can't they come to my school?

He had no answers that satisfied me. He wasn't happy that I asked, although
he didn't take me seriously either. But those questions were asked
by many people, and slowly, with much pain, the United States, both
North and South, changed in important ways.

I want everyone to keep asking questions.

The pressure to remain silent is intense. Don't rock the boat, don't make
other people uncomfortable, don't argue, don't disagree.

But there is no freedom more important than the right to ask questions,
the right to disagree. It isn't easy to ask questions, especially of those
in power. They won't thank you for it. It's entirely possible that
no one at all will thank you for it.

Do it anyway, in the hopes that once or twice in your life you will ask one
of
the important questions, and contribute to some very necessary change.

My teacher was wrong, of course.

I continue to ask questions. I intend to continue to think for myself
each day I am on this earth. I want to be able to do that without fear,
without worrying that I might offend the government, or some other person,
and end up in jail for simply speaking my mind.

I hope you ask questions, too. You don't need to ask in hatred. You don't
need to ask with disdain. Just ask -- calmly, quietly, but persistently.
Don't turn away, don't ignore the narrowing of our freedom.

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