Last weekend, I read Kathryn Stockett’s book The Help. Intrigued by the title and wanting to hear their side of the story, my interest only increased when I turned to the back cover to discover that the author was a European American woman. I thought, This is going to be good. But, while reading her bio, I couldn’t help but feel at tinge of pain at the sight of her hometown– Jackson, Mississippi. Ironically, it is the same city where James Craig Anderson was brutally murdered in a allegedly racially motivated attack only a couple of weeks ago and I am yet again reminded of the trap of history.
Still, I entered the conversation with no expectation, my only knowledge attained not even secondhand but from old movies and pictures. I have no personal experience with which to compare, having never even considered the position for employment. If anything, I’m praying for the day when I can hire some help of my own. My grandmother, Eva Mae, once told me that she had worked cleaning a “white” familiy’s home but that the job ended as quickly as it began. My grandfather was uncomfortable with the position and quickly made economic arrangements that ensured that she would be able to stay home with their family. The end. That’s all that she ever shared with me regarding the experience so this was my opportunity to hear more about the conditions in which all of these women lived.
Stockett had me in the first chapter, hundreds of pages turned between my fingers in a matter of hours and with each chapter, I leaned more intently into the lives of each character. I was there, right there in Jackson, Mississippi. I was rolling my eyes with Miss Skeeter as her mother asked why she hadn’t come home with a husband instead of a piece of paper– a diploma. I was sitting at the table as Miss Hilly, Miss Leefolt, Miss Walters and Miss Skeeter played bridge each week. I was in the kitchen with Aibileen and Mae Mobley as she told her that she was kind, smart and important. I was moved to tears as Aibileen told her about “Martian Luther King,” attempting to teach Mae Mobley about diversity and acceptance. I was sitting in Aibileen’s kitchen as they recorded the stories of each of the maids. I was in Miss Celia’s bathroom as she sat in the blood of her miscarried child and with her each time, she picked up her phone to ensure that there was a dial tone while waiting for the ladies of the League to return her call. I stood in the yard with Minny and looked on as Miss Celia defended her from the attack of a socially defined “white” man and could see the awareness of love and acceptance increase in the mind of Minny. I was outside of the telephone booth when Minny made the decision to leave Leroy, finally telling herself the truth. I am so grateful for all of the voices that she honored, allowed to speak and have dialogue. I pray that this book will allow us to sit down at a table and talk to those we’ve mistreated or those who have mistreated us. The Help provided an opportunity for self- examination.
And Stockett did another thing for me. She showed me what covers the trap of history: fear and conformity. Miss Hilly’s treatment of the women under her leadership and even those she allowed to be her friends reminded me yet again of the ease with which we can fall. Miss Elizabeth almost sent an innocent woman to prison, separated her daughter from the only person who really loved her and prematurely ended Aibileen’s career– all because of her inability to speak for herself. The Help reaffirmed the power of voice and the necessity of claiming your own. But not only that the power of friendship, the possibility of change through truth- telling and the liberating act of writing that was demonstrated in the book have all encouraged me to continue to run this race. The Help tells me that it only takes one to change the conversation and in turn to challenge the status quo.
I am so glad that I did not allow assumption to prevent me from listening to Stockett’s story. Because it is her story and hers alone to tell– not to be silenced or dismissed as inauthentic or inappropriate because of the social coloring of her skin. We all have our work to do and I am certain that we can use The Help.
More Help
Cookin’ in Other Women’s Kitchens: Domestic Workers in the South, 1865-1960
The Raceless Gospel 