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In fact, some blacks even contemplate a return to neighborhood schools. Hal Sieber, executive editor of the Carolina Peacemaker, a black newspaper, calls it a desire for "equal but separate" communities, a twist on the old doctrine of segregation. Sadly, the cycle of division, passed from parent to child, endures, as last winter's tempest at prestigious Page High School showed. A student newspaper poll on race relations prompted an outcry from black students, who complained about inadequate representation on the cheerleading squad and in advanced classes, among other things. Even a state championship basketball team drew fire for its all-white starting five.
As they do across the nation, economic class divisions further complicate racial rifts, with wealth filling the gaps and poverty widening them. The average black family in Greensboro makes about two-thirds of what a typical white family brings in, and, while the city's jobless rate is only 3.4%, the unemployment rate for blacks is about three times as high as it is for whites. "It's still a legacy of race, but it's written about more in terms of class," says Robert Davis, a sociology professor at North Carolina Agricultural and Technical State University.
Apparent progress has its limits in politics too. The city finally implemented in 1983 a district system that would guarantee black seats on the city council. Today two blacks sit on the council, but since their power springs from predominantly black districts, blacks, ironically, are boxed in. Before districts, black voters could sometimes help defeat a candidate like County Commission Chairman Forrester. Says the now safe Forrester: "When guys like me start getting elected, that's got to reflect something."
It certainly does. And what it reflects pains Jim Schlosser, a veteran reporter on race for the Greensboro News & Record. "In the 1960s," says Schlosser, "when we talked about a color-blind society, we thought we'd party together, we'd live on the same block. But maybe our expectations were unrealistic. Maybe we are a separate society." Perhaps whites have been too paternalistic, too insensitive, too impatient. Maybe blacks have been overly sensitive, too defensive, too race conscious. Both sides are paralyzed by confusion; neither fully understands the other.
Until the minds meet, the perception gap will widen, and some predict that unless festering tensions subside, violence may again erupt in Greensboro. , Even today the Klan shootings linger like a bad dream. In 1960 the sit-ins worked, but today the problems are too complex to solve simply.
Back at the historical museum, the ironies hit home. Thirty years ago, David Richmond was a radical. By now he should be a hero. Instead, he is unemployed, ready to rake leaves or paint houses to make ends meet. Although his two kids graduated from college, Richmond never did. As he talks, a young man there with his girlfriend looks up from the display. "Are you one of the guys here?" asks Bill Fox, pointing to the life-size photograph. "Wow." As they discuss the sit-ins, Richmond offers some advice about the color line. "You can choose," he says. "Legislation can't change people's hearts. It takes time." With that, he awkwardly hugs his two new friends and turns to leave.