He reached down to pick up the glass of water. The circular waves on the surface came from the flimsy table on which it was sitting. The table was set beside him for relief as he spoke to the southern audience, and the waves came from the vibrations . . and agitation of the audience.
The audience, in Hattiesburg, was reserved but appreciative at the conclusion. Now, the question and answer period was here, the real meat for the confederates was at hand.
He nervously picked up the glass.
His statements in the the press leading up to this event pictured Mississippi as a social backwater where bigotry was still king. They wanted to know more.
He drank slowly as he considered his response.
I am only the lens. If you look through the lens and don’t like what you see, don’t look. And, a personal comment, it is always difficult to look, and there is a history or not being willing to look’.
He paused and looked out. There was some rustling.
The lens is not the cause, it is only the tool which allows you to see, if you want to. It is not guaranteed to be comfortable, and, to some degree, what you see is guaranteed to be disconcerting, even disturbing, because we are all different and see the world through different lenses.
A bead of sweat rolled down his brow and onto the lecturn as the lights came on. . . back to reality.