I finally saw the movie version of Kathryn Stockett’s The Help. I resisted seeing it initially because I hadn’t read the book, but I finished the book months ago, and even wrote my review of it here.

The movie was engaging, the acting was superb, and the adaptation to the book was mostly accurate, with some slight modifications for easier screen viewing. My personal favorite performance was Sissy Spacek as Missus Walters. If you haven’t had a chance to see the movie, I highly recommend you do so. I still prefer the book over the movie.

Enough about the movie. I want to get to what’s really on my mind. When I posted my opinion of Mrs. Stockett’s book, I got a response from Christina that has, quite literally, given me pause. I never replied to Christina, because I wanted to ponder my opinion, watch the movie, compare it to the book, and determine a more thoughtful and deliberate response. Here, for your perusal, is Christina’s comment:

For the sake of full disclosure, let me remind my readers that I am a white female, raised on the Maison-Dixon line border, and I reside in the south. Until I relocated to North Carolina as a 15-year-old, I honestly didn’t know race issues existed, and not because I’d never met anyone of African-American heritage. Things (opinions, attitudes, language) were just different here than they had been in Maryland.

I do not see myself as an expert on racial issues, nor do I think I have anything to share besides an honest personal opinion of a story, and the public reaction to that story. Christina referenced an article written by Roxane Gay, in which Ms. Gay shares her very strong opinion of The Help. I got the impression from Ms. Gay that The Help was an abysmal failure by a white female author to appropriately and accurately portray the lives, emotions, and reality of black women living in Mississippi in the 1960s.

Among other feelings, Ms. Gay suggests that the “The Help provides us with a deeply sanitized view of the segregated south in the early 1960s,” and “gives the impression that life was difficult in Mississippi in the 1960s for women, white and black, but still somewhat bearable because that’s just how things were.” She also suggests that to ease the viewer through those uncomfortable moments of truth, sprinkled throughout the movie was “a great deal of easy humor or contrived touching emotional moments.”

I don’t necessarily disagree with Ms. Gay, but I don’t necessarily agree with her, either. Race is a difficult subject. It’s an issue that is part of our past, and therefore, part of our present, and future, as well. Culturally, and individually, how we choose to view our racial roots says a lot about our willingness to look beyond color to see the beauty within each of us as human beings.

But I would posit that any story – regardless of its storyteller – that creates a wave within our larger cultural community is positive. We are each at different places along the divide of racial inequalities, and how we view the world around us. I cannot assume that everyone else (or anyone else, for that matter) sees others in exactly the same way that I see them. Nor can I assume that others interpret life in the same way that I do. For this very reason, it seems that any opportunity for one individual to grow in perception and understanding toward greater knowledge and acceptance of the past that is our present, is a good thing.

I am allowed to like The Help, just as much as Christina is allowed to like The Help, and we need not feel guilty about enjoying a story that increased, if only marginally, our broader awareness of what really happened in America during the Civil Rights Movement of the 1960s. My original review of the book states:

The horrific events and circumstances surrounding the civil rights movement cannot be sugar-coated, and I did feel that The Help only gave us a glimpse of reality.

There is no guilt or shame or thoughtlessness for appreciating a story well-told, or for recommending the book to others. What would be shameful is to ignore the opportunity to educate ourselves on all the finer details of our American history rich with accounts of bravery, courageous acts, and sacrifice in the face of bigotry. Am I ashamed of that part of my heritage? Yes, but that does not mean I cannot have a visceral reaction to the story, regardless of the skin color of its author. If I draw a line there, am I not taking a step backward, instead of stepping toward a future in which we’re all color blind?