To Be a Skeeter

A few months ago I finally read The Help by Kathryn Stockett.  Correction: a few months ago I finally downloaded and listened to The Help on audiobook, and Mike and I recently watched the movie version.  (Those commercials about audible.com being super awesome are dead on, by the way. Cheap audiobooks are the only reason I've "read" any fiction at all in the last year.)  I loved the book and also really enjoyed the movie; the story touches something in me that's hard to describe.  While the ending comes off as a triumph for the protagonists, so much of the plot gnaws at me, disturbs me, and makes me feel very unsettled and self-doubting.

If you haven't read this book, you should.  It's about women living in Jackson, Mississippi in the 1960s, some of whom are rich white ladies, some of whom are black maids that work for the rich white ladies.  One of my main characters, Skeeter, is constantly being shown in increasing juxtaposition with one of the side characters, Hilly.  Hilly is a friend of Skeeter's who seems to be the big kahuna in their particular social circle.  She is head of the local women's league, organizes bridge games, and seems to be every other girl's best friend, all while making the most ignorant, spiteful comments about everyone around her, but especially the maids.  Hilly is an absolutely awful human being who presents no redeeming qualities whatsoever.  The confusion and lies surrounding race that have been thrust on her and her friends by their surroundings and upbringing is exacerbated by Hilly's intense desire for control and superiority, so she comes off not only as racist (because pretty much all the white characters in the book come off as racist to us) but as vengeful, vindictive, and just plain old deplorable.  Skeeter, on the other hand, ends the book looking like something of a hero, having stood up to the status quo despite the isolation it has caused her.  I'd argue the only heroes in this story are the maids; Skeeter faces friendlessness for her defiance but the maids risk their very lives to speak out about the unfairness that comes with being black in the 1960s deep South.  But that's beside the point.  The point is that by the end of the story, the reader (listener) sees Hilly and Skeeter on opposite sides.

It's easy for us to look at Hilly with contempt and anger, wondering how anyone could be so stupid and so mean.  When I think about the story of The Help I find myself praying with all my might that, had I been alive in such a time and such a place, I would be a Skeeter.  This is the root of why the book really sticks with me, the unsettling notion that I am, in any way, like Hilly Holbrook, that I am in with her lot.  I can't be an Aibileen, and much as I'd love it, I can't be a Minnie.  No matter how much I try to understand it, I'll never feel their struggle, and I'll never be as honorable or as strong as they are.  So while I abhor everything Hilly stands for, I have to face up to the fact that I am in with her lot.  I am white, I am privileged, I am lucky.  I face no challenges in life because of how I look or who I love.  I can choose to use my privilege wisely, compassionately, and humbly; I can be a Skeeter.  Upon recognition of my unfair advantages, I feel guilty and uncomfortable and a little ashamed.  So I keep trying to understand the struggle, with no firsthand experience of it whatsoever.  I continue to feel guilty, but that seems a pretty small cross to bear, comparably speaking.

Here's the thing: if you think history won't look at our generation's own malicious forms of bigotry the same way we scowl and cringe at Hilly, you are deluding yourself.  So, you have to stand up for your choice.  Hilly or Skeeter?  Yesterday or tomorrow?

...Which brings me to my final point.  Though none of us can say for certain that we would have been on the right side of history then, it appears that our President has {finally} picked his side now, and I am so whole-heartedly with him.  Obama/Biden(/Skeeter) 2012.