www.usatoday.com /in-depth/opinion/columnists/2022/10/26/need-teach-americas-racist-history/8180291001/

Pam's experience at my 1960s white school is the history we need to teach. Not ignore.

Jill Lawrence 27-34 minutes 1/2/2023

More than 50 years ago in Mississippi, a Black teenager named Pamela Gipson decided to spend her junior and senior years at a blindingly white high school on Long Island in New York. She was 15 years old, and she missed home so much that sometimes, she says, “I would walk down to the street and through the woods to see a major highway, just to see Black people driving.”

What on earth led her to leave everything and everyone she knew at that age?

The simple answer is that her parents wanted her to have an excellent education and a limitless future. She wanted all that, too. Syosset High was an exceptional school with far more resources than her segregated high school in Jackson. “The whole idea was to broaden my horizons, to better myself, to have a better opportunity,” she says. 

Black 'exchange' students

There were good high schools closer to home, and a few Black students were starting to attend white schools in Jackson. But “back then, there were all kinds of dangers for integration in schools,” Pam says. Rather than subject her and themselves to those fears, her parents agreed to the safer alternative: Going North. “My daddy told me years later that my mother cried every day,” Pam says.

I was one of her classmates, and I just learned all of that this year. 

1970 Syosset (N.Y.) High School yearbook photos of Jill Lawrence, left, and Pam Gipson.
1970 Syosset (N.Y.) High School yearbook photos of Jill Lawrence, left, and Pam Gipson. Provided

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When the program was explained to her, Pam says, “the idea was it should have been an exchange.” Then she added what we both knew: “No one ever came from Syosset back to the Deep South.”

Then, as now, few Northerners knew much about the South and the Black experience or felt any need or obligation to learn. Then, as now, the burden was on Pam, and Black people writ large, to figure out how to adapt, to accommodate, and even sometimes to survive.

Syosset was like most suburbs on Long Island and across the United States: almost entirely white. Pam wrote on her 1970 yearbook page that there were four Black students at Syosset High (one of them another "exchange" student from the South). There was also a Black art teacher during our time there, along with a couple of South American exchange students and a handful of Asian American classmates. One of them was Elaine Chao, who went on to marry Mitch McConnell, now the Senate Republican leader, and to hold Cabinet posts in two presidential administrations. 

These dashes of diversity were nearly imperceptible in a school of about 2,200 students. I don’t recall anyone mentioning the absurdity of Black “exchange” students from our own country. I don’t remember any teacher or student commenting on the overwhelming whiteness of our town and schools.

And I didn’t think to ask, nor did Pam.

I was worried about how my hair looked, how to end the Vietnam War, how to pass calculus, why girls had to wear skirts or dresses to school, even when it snowed. I was a teenager.

And so was Pam, even as she coped with problems unimaginable to me. She had been an excellent student in Jackson, but in Syosset, some teachers made her doubt herself. She also encountered “colorism,” or prejudice triggered by her dark skin. “I questioned who I was,” she says. 

‘The history we forget to remember’

When America started arguing last year about how and even whether to teach kids about our nation’s ugly racial history and its seemingly infinite half-life, I started wondering what had happened to Pam and what she thought about that argument. When I finally found her, we both marveled at the vacuum in our education. Where were the adults who should have made sure we learned about the centuries of official and unofficial policies that shaped North and South, Pam’s family and mine?

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Here are a few bits of history that seem like news flashes, even today:

New York was a slave state, starting with 11 Black Africans “purchased” by the Dutch West India Company in 1626. Slavery was especially popular on Long Island because the area needed labor. Most slave owners on Long Island enslaved just a handful of people. They worked on farms, in homes and sometimes as tailors, whalers or other skilled jobs.

Caleb Smith Slave House in Commack, N.Y., about 16 miles from Syosset.
Caleb Smith Slave House in Commack, N.Y., about 16 miles from Syosset. Library of Congress

Long Island’s two counties, known then as Suffolk and Queens (most of today’s Nassau County) had the highest enslaved population in the North during most of the Colonial era, according to historian Christopher Claude Verga, author of “Civil Rights on Long Island.” Or, as WSHU public radio in Westport, Connecticut, put it in 2020, “Slavery was not just a ‘southern’ thing. It played a central role on Long Island.” The station called it “the history that we forget to remember.”

Under pressure from abolitionist Quakers, New York phased out slavery by July 4, 1827. But as in the South after the Civil War, many freed slaves worked for their former owners as tenant farmers, and New York cut them out of the political process with a constitutional amendment requiring property ownership to vote.

This “racial caste system,” as Verga calls it, was still in place a century later when Long Island became a hotbed of Ku Klux Klan activity. The historical record includes jarring documentation of the Klan as a highly visible part of life on Long Island. KKK members in robes and hoods, their faces fully exposed, attended funerals, held rallies, sponsored fire department events and marched in community parades. 

Ku Klux Klansmen in Freeport, N.Y., about 16 miles from Syosset, march beside a fellow KKK member's hearse.
Ku Klux Klan women turn out for a parade in Lynbrook, N.Y., about 20 miles from Syosset, on July 20, 1930.
(Left) Ku Klux Klansmen in Freeport, N.Y., about 16 miles from Syosset, march beside a fellow KKK member's hearse. (Right) Ku Klux Klan women turn out for a parade in Lynbrook, N.Y., about 20 miles from Syosset, on July 20, 1930. (Left) Ku Klux Klansmen in Freeport, N.Y., about 16 miles from Syosset, march beside a fellow KKK member's hearse. (Right) Ku Klux Klan women turn out for a parade in Lynbrook, N.Y., about 20 miles from Syosset, on July 20, 1930. (Left) Ku Klux Klansmen in Freeport, N.Y., about 16 miles from Syosset, march beside a fellow KKK member's hearse. (Right) Ku Klux Klan women turn out for a parade in Lynbrook, N.Y., about 20 miles from Syosset, on July 20, 1930. Bettmann Archive via Getty Images

This, too, like slavery, was not just "a 'southern' thing." 

During the 1920s, as it grew more Catholic, Jewish and Black, Long Island had the largest Klan membership in New York and the Klan had “a strong presence on most of Long Island” until the late 1970s, according to Verga. Klan members “infiltrated local real estate markets and law enforcement and gained political influence.” Real estate brokers, mortgage bankers and insurance companies were their “financial backbone,” Verga wrote. 

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This unholy segregationist alliance locked Black people out of the post-World War II housing boom and white neighborhoods. In Levittown, the archetypal mass-produced suburb that sprang up after the war barely 10 miles from Syosset and spread quickly across the country, developer William Levitt rented and sold affordable homes to white families only. They agreed in their leases and deeds “not to permit the premises to be used or occupied by any person other than members of the Caucasian race,” except for domestic servants.

It sounds like an outrage now, but as historian Joshua Ruff wrote in American History magazine, it was national policy then: The Federal Housing Administration supported “nationwide racial covenants and ‘redlining’ – or devaluing – racially mixed communities.”

Covenants barring Black or nonwhite residents were common all over the country, including in and around the Washington, D.C., neighborhood where I live today. In 1930, one nearby development promoted itself on a billboard as “restricted” (to whites only). Early in the 20th century, the Chevy Chase Land Co. required that no property “shall ever be sold, leased to or occupied by any person of negro blood.” Except, as in Levittown, your domestic servants could live in your house.

Billboard for a whites-only "restricted" home development in 1930 in the Washington, D.C., area.
Billboard for a whites-only "restricted" home development in 1930 in the Washington, D.C., area. DC Public Library courtesy of Prologue DC

Syosset did not have explicit covenants. It just had an implicit rule: You do not sell to Black families. This line was not crossed until 1964, when a white family arranged a sale to a Black family. Local newspapers chronicled what happened next. Essentially, nothing.

“For the first time in Syosset’s history, a Negro has bought a house here. And the skies have not fallen,” the Syosset Tribune wrote in a June 11, 1964, editorial headlined “First Negro Here.” Or, as Newsday put it a couple of months later, “A Negro Family Finds Serenity in Syosset.”

Lost opportunities that still reverberate

It is impossible to overstate the damage done by governments, banks, developers, realtors and countless other players in creating segregated residential suburbs all across America. Though housing discrimination has been illegal for decades, its legacy is very much present.

In 1997, a Queens College sociologist found that Nassau County was the most segregated suburban county in America. That’s where Syosset is located; in 2021, only 0.8% of its population was Black or African American.

Jill Lawrence
But it never occurred to me to ask questions about the near total absence of students of color, and unpleasant close-to-home truths about race did not come up in class in the 1960s.

“It was the way of the world,” says Elaine Gross, who founded the Syosset-based group Erase Racism and led it for 21 years before becoming president emeritus in September. “The official policy was that you do not mix the races in housing. And one way to ensure that is to have a policy that says you can’t get a loan if you’re an African American. You will not be able to get a government-backed mortgage. And you can’t leave the segregated areas and go to another area.”

These policies have reverberated through the generations in lost opportunities for Black families to own homes and build wealth.

Our View: Repair legacy of racism. Explore reparations in housing, education, entrepreneurship.

My family of commuter dad, stay-at-home mom and three kids fit comfortably into these exclusionary suburbs made just for people like us. I was white, privileged and oblivious. I was cramming two years of high school into one so I could leave town. I had proposed and won approval for an independent study English project on “Black male sexuality in literature.” Me, a white teen in an almost entirely white town. In my defense, reading Eldridge Cleaver truly was educational. 

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But it never occurred to me to ask questions about the near total absence of students of color, and unpleasant close-to-home truths about race did not come up in class in the 1960s. I don't recall learning about Long Island’s enslaved people, the KKK, the racial covenants, the iron-fisted segregation, or the role of local and federal governments in perpetuating a blatantly discriminatory housing system.

As recently as 2008, in his book “New York and Slavery: Time To Teach The Truth,” Alan J. Singer – a professor and high school social studies teacher – documented the racial history of the North and its absence from New York classrooms despite the state’s central role. Reviewer William Loren Katz said the subject “has yet to find its niche in our school social studies curricula, in teacher college courses, and on Regents examinations.” 

A teen ambassador in her own country

The Gipson family in 1972, clockwise from bottom left: Thelma Gipson (Pam's mother), Lonnie Gipson (her father), Jeffery Gipson (her brother, age 17), Pam Gipson (age 19) and her godsister, Angela Hollins (age 2).
The Gipson family in 1972, clockwise from bottom left: Thelma Gipson (Pam's mother), Lonnie Gipson (her father), Jeffery Gipson (her brother, age 17), Pam Gipson (age 19) and her godsister, Angela Hollins (age 2). Family photo

Pam moved to Syosset in 1968, the same year Congress passed the Fair Housing Act and just four years after the first Black family had bought a house there. She was surprised by what she found. Her high school counselor in Jackson and a local Urban League official had said she’d be living with a family. But, she told me, “I can’t tell you that they said you’re going to be in an all-white environment. I don’t remember that coming up.”

Much of what she encountered in Syosset, however, was sadly predictable. “Many people thought I came from a large family, and that I didn’t know my father, that we had dirt floors,” she says. “I said ‘No, I have a mother and a father. They’re married. I live in a house, and my parents own the house.’ ” And for the record, she has one sibling, a brother.

Her father, with a sixth-grade education, drove an 18-wheeler brick truck and rose to brickyard supervisor. Her mother, who finished high school, was a beautician and a beauty salon owner. “They were excellent providers. They were active in their church in leadership roles. Had they not been deprived of opportunities to advance themselves, they would have been – in my opinion – very outstanding professional people,” Pam says, laughing as she adds “in my opinion.” We both knew it was a fact.

Pam’s host family, with three teenage sons, threw her a party and did all they could to make her comfortable. “People thought I was a maid. But I was actually a member of that family,” Pam says.

Pamela Banks and her Syosset host mother, the late Jane Perlstein, in New York City in 2015.
Pamela Banks and her Syosset host mother, the late Jane Perlstein, in New York City in 2015. Family photo

John Perlstein, one of her host brothers, says his mother, Jane, was “delighted to have a daughter in the house” after raising three sons and was fiercely protective of Pam. Both his parents “made sure that Pam knew they had her back” if she needed them, he says.

The Perlsteins lived in Muttontown, a tony area with large homes and lots. My parents, both college graduates, lived there as well. They had moved from a small 1955 split-level to a larger Muttontown ranch house in 1968. So Pam and I were neighbors, but our paths did not cross in a meaningful way until this year.

‘If you open up the door, I’ll show you what I can do’

My trajectory was not unusual for that time and town. I went to the University of Michigan, protested the Vietnam War and wrote for a feminist newspaper in Ann Arbor called “her-self.” I became exactly what anyone who knew me could have guessed in junior high school: a politics reporter and, in 2009, after 32 years of reporting, a columnist. 

Pam’s uncharted, far braver journey continued beyond high school. She probably would have attended Tougaloo College near Jackson if she hadn’t relocated to Syosset. Instead she went to Ohio’s Antioch College, which she recalls now as an “almost radical” liberal arts campus popular with white, well-to-do hippies in T-shirts and torn jeans.

That was not Pam. She calls her college self “a Southern belle” who wore dresses and skirts and did not smoke, drink, protest, go to jail or get arrested. She was not angry. She was, she says, focused on improving and proving herself: “It’s like James Brown would say – ‘I don’t want nobody to give me nothing. Open up the door, I’ll get it myself.’ I had been so used to doors not being open. So my approach was, if you open up the door I’ll show you what I can do, how I can succeed.”

Antioch’s real-world work requirements allowed Pam to connect with civil rights and War on Poverty activities in her home state. She worked with children in the Mississippi Delta and at the Jackson office of the Lawyers' Committee for Civil Rights Under Law. The assignments gave her a mission: “I said, ‘I must go back home. I need to be home trying to help.’ ”

The wedding of Pamela Gipson and Fred L. Banks Jr. on Jan. 28, 1978, at Hope Spring Missionary Baptist Church in  Jackson, Miss.
The wedding of Pamela Gipson and Fred L. Banks Jr. on Jan. 28, 1978, at Hope Spring Missionary Baptist Church in Jackson, Miss. Hawkins Photography/Jackson, Miss.

On her page in the 1970 Syosset High School yearbook, Pam said she was confused in Syosset about who she should be. “I am picking up the pieces to my puzzle slowly,” she wrote. “It is my goal to be me, Pam Gipson, young woman, black soul-sister. I shall succeed.” 

And she did.

After graduating from Antioch, Pamela Gipson earned a masters degree in social work and a Ph.D. in psychology. Dr. Pamela Gipson Banks is now a licensed clinical psychologist, a professor and chair of the Department of Psychology at Jackson State University. She has a daughter, two stepchildren and two grandchildren. Her husband, Fred L. Banks, a former civil rights lawyer, state legislator, trial judge and Mississippi Supreme Court justice, is a senior partner at Phelps, a large law firm with offices in five Gulf Coast states as well as North Carolina and London. 

Reckonings with racism and treason

Wild pendulum swings on race have been a constant in America's past, for centuries and in our lifetimes. Just in the last couple of decades we have seen police brutality against Black people and multiracial Black Lives Matter protests, Barack Obama’s historic election followed by Donald Trump’s presidency that gave license for hate speech, violence and Confederate flags brandished by the Trump mob in the deadly attack on the U.S. Capitol.

A Ku Klux Klan member in Hampton Bays, on Long Island in New York, on Nov. 22, 2016.
A Ku Klux Klan member in Hampton Bays, on Long Island in New York, on Nov. 22, 2016. William Edwards/AFP via Getty Images

So much of this is occurring in a historical vacuum for people of all ages. It is only recently that many Americans have concluded it was wrong to name highways and military installations after Confederate traitors and erect public monuments honoring their betrayal. It was 2003 when Congress passed a bill to establish a National Museum of African American History & Culture and 2016 when it opened – nearly four centuries after the first enslaved people set foot in the New World.

The 1968 Fair Housing Act was supposed to end discrimination in housing. But on Long Island, a Newsday investigation 50 years later showed that it had not.

Late last year, New York Gov. Kathy Hochul signed nine new fair housing laws designed to end statewide the bias exposed by undercover Newsday investigators who secretly recorded real estate agents and prospective buyers. In March, the Biden administration announced a national plan to root out bias in home appraisals.

Education has also been resistant to transcending the past. Dr. James F. Redmond, a Syosset schools superintendent hired in 1963 from New Orleans, is a case study. In a March 1963 profile, the Syosset Tribune said the Louisiana Legislature had fired Redmond seven times for integrating schools as ordered by the Supreme Court – and a federal court reinstated him each time. 

‘Economics of inequality’

Whatever the exact number of "firings," Redmond stood up to the pressure and his presence in Syosset was a harbinger of later progress. Syosset High School has worked for years with groups like the Holocaust Memorial and Tolerance Center and Erase Racism, has relationships with others through a Diversity and Inclusivity Task Force, and has long offered electives on the “economics of inequality,” “government & society in the 60s and 70s,” and "contemporary issues in Asia and America" (the town is now 29% Asian American). 

After George Floyd was killed by police in 2020, Syosset school superintendent Tom Rogers said he had heard from former students wishing that “their own experience learning about racism at Syosset had been more thorough.” Since then, the high school has added a full-year Long Island Studies elective that dives into postwar history, including residential segregation, and also touches on slavery and the KKK presence on Long Island. 

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Is Syosset typical? Gross, of Erase Racism, suggests it is not. “We work with high school students and they tell us they do not get that history,” she told me before she retired. 

In sessions with educators, she says, some said they learned new things at an Erase Racism presentation summarizing 400 years in 20 minutes. “There is a kind of ignorance about everything,” she says. “We still meet people in our workshops that don’t even know the story of Levittown and the federal government’s role in segregation.”  

A past that refuses to recede

The Floyd murder initially had an energizing effect, not just in Syosset but on educators nationwide. New York state’s Board of Regents captured the mood in April 2021 with a new diversity, equity and inclusion framework designed to make students feel like they belong and have a voice. The entire nation has reached a “point of reckoning,” the authors wrote. “Finally, we appear ready to address our long history of racism and bigotry, and the corrosive impact they have had on every facet of American life.”

That was the hope. Then came the backlash.

Critical race theory, a framework for analyzing systemic racism, suddenly became a political weapon in races for school board, state legislature and governor. Though CRT is rarely discussed outside of academia, some conservative politicians portrayed it as a threat to white students, intended to make them feel guilty about slavery and racism. Protests against "a caricatured vision" of CRT roiled about 900 school districts around the country in 2020 and 2021, California researchers found.

In my classroom we don't bury it: I always challenge my students and never place racial guilt on them

Gross says the New York curriculum plan spurred some districts to explore how to bring more racial history and diverse books into their curriculum. “We thought that was really going to be a bonanza of all things good related to public school education. And then the school board elections came,” she says, with attacks on CRT, threats of book bans and fears stoked by outside groups.

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At least one group canceled an Erase Racism workshop “because of this whole topic,” Gross says, and curriculum discussions on race during the 2021-22 school year largely moved behind the scenes – if they continued at all.

Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis, Virginia Gov. Glenn Youngkin and other ambitious Republicans are scoring political and policy wins in this arena, and the tactics continue to spread. At least seven states have passed laws banning CRT teaching and many more are trying to limit what’s taught.

An August report from PEN America, “America’s Censored Classrooms,” found that “proposed educational gag orders" have increased 250% compared with last year. The group said 137 gag order bills were introduced in 36 states, up from 22 states and 54 bills last year, and most of them “target teaching about race.”

The risks of not teaching about racism

There's little doubt that these bills are having what Lauren Weisskirk, chief strategy officer for the curriculum review group EdReports, described to me as “a chilling effect” in many classrooms. And yet you only need look at Pam Gipson’s life to see the risks of not talking and teaching about the facts of systemic racism.

Residents distribute cases of water in Jackson, Miss., on Sept. 3, 2022.
Residents distribute cases of water in Jackson, Miss., on Sept. 3, 2022. Seth Herald/AFP via Getty Images

Infrastructure: Jackson’s water crisis isn't just a moment. It's a systemic catastrophe.

Pamela Gipson Banks lives in Jackson, an 80% Black city where the water system collapsed in August. That was the culmination of chronic underinvestment in Black communities.

Years ago, Pam left home for educational opportunities that weren't available to her then in Jackson. That was the result of chronic underinvestment in Black schools generally, leading to Black underrepresentation in higher education, leading in turn to affirmative action and the Supreme Court arguments Monday on whether Harvard and the University of North Carolina may continue to consider race as a factor in admissions.

We can push for students to learn about all this. Or we can perpetuate generations more of ignorance about how America failed Black families like the Gipsons in ways that are rooted in yesterday yet persist today.

‘Trump era has just set us back’

That's not what most people want. Like the Syosset High School alumni who told the current superintendent they wished they had learned more about race, most adults in national polls say their education was lacking. Two-thirds in a Quinnipiac Poll in February said their American history classes fell short of teaching “a full and accurate account of the role of African Americans in the United States.” A 70% supermajority in a spring poll by the Anchor Collaborative said it is appropriate for schools to discuss the continued social, economic, and political impacts of slavery and racism.

From left, licensed clinical psychologist Pamela G. Banks, a professor at Jackson State University and chair of its Psychology Department; former Mississippi Supreme Court Justice Fred L. Banks Jr.; and their daughter, Gabrielle G. Banks, a pediatric licensed clinical psychologist, at a wedding in Washington, D.C., in 2017.
From left, licensed clinical psychologist Pamela G. Banks, a professor at Jackson State University and chair of its Psychology Department; former Mississippi Supreme Court Justice Fred L. Banks Jr.; and their daughter, Gabrielle G. Banks, a pediatric licensed clinical psychologist, at a wedding in Washington, D.C., in 2017. Family photo

More than 50 years after she faced racial stereotyping at a northern high school, Pamela Gipson Banks says it’s disheartening that “age-old prejudice” is still with us. “I just feel so discouraged that our advancements have been so limited,” she says, adding: “The Trump era has just set us back, way back.” Her own family has worked toward justice, opportunity and equality for generations, and it’s not over yet. “We have two grandchildren. We’re thinking that they might have to make great sacrifices, too. But if they will help carry the torch, that would be great.”

America’s whipsawing racial narrative is exhausting. Just look at three consecutive days in January: Jan. 5 was the first anniversary of Georgia’s first Black senator winning election. Jan. 6 was the first anniversary of the Capitol insurrection, with its Confederate flags and racial subtext. Jan. 7 was the day three white Georgia men were sentenced for pursuing and killing Ahmaud Arbery, a Black man jogging in a white area.

All of that, the triumphant and the terrible, is now part of America’s story. But will it be taught? How much, and how accurately? The answer is increasingly murky. Will students be protected from the past, fed the fantasy that skin color does not matter? Or will they move into adulthood understanding the impact of systemic racism? That skin color defines so much of why we are where we are?

Jackson State University professor Pamela Banks at the spring 2022 JSU commencement ceremony in Jackson, Miss., with her second cousin, Symeon Butler (who received a master’s degree) and her first cousin, Donnie Banyard (left), who received a Golden Diploma marking the 50th anniversary of his graduation.
Jackson State University professor Pamela Banks at the spring 2022 JSU commencement ceremony in Jackson, Miss., with her second cousin, Symeon Butler (who received a master’s degree) and her first cousin, Donnie Banyard (left), who received a Golden Diploma marking the 50th anniversary of his graduation. JSU University Communications/William H. Kelly III

Americans with Black skin have been disadvantaged from the moment formerly enslaved people did not get the 40 acres and a mule that they were promised, to the moment white attackers deliberately destroyed Black Wall Street in Tulsa, Oklahoma, more than 100 years ago, to right now.

Just look at the racial wealth gap (on average, Black households have 14.5% the assets of white households) and the Black homeownership rate (nearly 30 percentage points lower than whites). Look at the Black incarceration rate, the Black poverty rate, the Black maternal mortality rate – all much higher.

We are nowhere close to figuring out how to repair centuries of oppression, generations of potential unfulfilled. In fact, our collective will to do so may be evaporating. But our current realities and the history that forged them must be taught. That is a first step.

So is acknowledging and celebrating progress and the sacrifices people made along the way. People like Pam – Dr. Banks – who dared to walk into an unknowable future. 

Jill Lawrence
Jill Lawrence Family photo

“A big part of this was to make my parents proud,” she says of her Syosset years. “They were so devoted to their children, to their community. I didn’t want to do anything that was going to bring them shame. I was not going to get pregnant or bring trouble. My folks were just too good to me, just valued me so much.”  

Dr. Pamela Gipson Banks has the life her parents dreamed of for her. As her father used to tell her: “All that crying your mama did paid off.” 

Jill Lawrence is a columnist for USA TODAY and author of "The Art of the Political Deal: How Congress Beat the Odds and Broke Through Gridlock." Follow her on Twitter: @JillDLawrence

Journalist Jill Lawrence and psychologist Pamela Gipson Banks will discuss their experiences on a webinar Jan. 19 as part of the University of Virginia's Martin Luther King Day Celebration. Please register here

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