Emmett Till's Accuser & The Talk
Carolyn Donham has passed away, and now we must continue to preserve joy for black children
I remember the first time I heard about Emmett Till. In a small house on the Southside of Atlanta, my grandad helped me understand the first dose of the reality that I was a Black child.
I remember the day so vividly. I can see the furniture, feel the air, and still smell the breakfast my grandmother was cooking. I was ten years old and was sitting across from my grandfather, Herman Lester, Sr.
He leaned towards me to offer what I now treasure as words of wisdom for my children, Zion Joy and Terence II.
He said, “This world will be challenging, and you will be mistreated because of your skin color, but remember you always have your family... That's your support system.”
“Papa,”1 told me about living when Emmett Till was lynched because a white woman named Carolyn Bryant Donham accused this young black boy, who was closer to my age, of whistling at her.
Her actions caused Till to be hunted down by a group of white men who took his life in 1955. He explained in detail the open casket that his mom, Mamie Till Mobley, had in their hometown of Chicago.
The casket revealed to the world what racial hatred did to her son and his mutilated body, which was pulled from a river in Mississippi. This galvanized a generation of activists to rise in the Civil Rights Movement, including Martin Luther King, Rosa Parks, and many others.
Years later, Carolyn Bryant Donham admitted that she lied about Till, causing his death.2 The two white men accused of his murder got off in a courtroom with a jury full of their peers.
Yesterday, the world received the news that she had passed away at 88. I chose to write about this today because I still remember the impact of that story and why my grandfather gave me “the talk” about race when I was ten years old.
I recall my ten-year-old brain not fully comprehending what he was saying, but I sensed that it was necessary because my palms started sweating, and I could feel fear rising within me.
The Talk is a rite of passage for black children. Essentially, we are taught how to behave in a society that regards black skin as a threat and how to minimize potential harm.
It's a conversation that black parents and grandparents consider a necessary evil, dreading the day where their children go from being innocent to being considered threats (Solis, 2021).3
According to Russell (2020), Black children have an adult view of racial, social constructs as early as age ten.4
"For generations, “The Talk” has been a mainstay in African American families. At some point, Black children all get warnings from elders about how to avoid – and survive – police encounters."5
Or, this Talk can prepare Black children for potential racial encounters with white people who may go out of their way to mistreat or harm them.
These talks that my grandfather gave me continued to come from various sources, including my uncles, coaches at the recreational center where I played sports, black teachers, and my mother. Growing up, I started experiencing anxiety about whether I would be safe because I was a black child like, Emmett. The more I heard about “The Talk,” the more questions I had; sometimes, those questions went unanswered. While being taught how to behave, I struggled to maintain the natural joy I had as a child.
I'll never forget the passionate version of “The Talk” my mother gave me as a teenager. She was a single mother raising two children, one of whom was a son, in a world where people judge others based on the color of their skin.
“Always keep your hands out of your pocket when you walk into a store...”
“If you don't have money, do not go into a store...”
“If people are watching you while you are shopping, pull your money out of your pocket and make it visible...”
Although this Talk came from a place of concern, it often produces a fear many children have to live with. My mom told me,
“When you start to drive and get pulled over, keep your hands on the wheel (10-2).”
“Do not wear baggy clothes and keep your hair cut low because you are a young black man, and you already have two strikes against you...”
“Never pick up anything if you don't intend to buy it...”
All these rules seemed overwhelming for me, but I am sure they were even more overwhelming for young boys like Emmett Till and others whose lives may have been taken, but we do not know about them.
I remember when I was thirteen, and those words became a reality. One day, I was at the park in a neighborhood with a few friends, and a group of white police officers pulled up in two cars. They seemed to be looking for someone and asked everyone to come to the street and stand on the curb. One of my friends yelled, “We haven't done anything,” to which the officers made us all sit on the curb as one of the officers unholstered his gun.
Could this be what my grandfather and mom were talking about? I asked myself as I remembered Emmett Till. The fear began to settle in.
When I turned 14, like Emmett Till, I will never forget asking myself, “What type of talk do white parents have with their children?” My friends and I made it home safely that night, but I left thinking that could have been my last night alive. These thoughts began to fill my mind as I saw black men and women depicted negatively on television.
Who are we? Where did we come from? Why is there so much hatred towards us? Gaps were missing in The Talk during my teen years, and they slowly took my joy away.
I did not understand the greatness and gifts I possessed because I was constantly thinking about being black in a world full of racial hatred. Looking back, I can't imagine the perpetual fear Emmett Till had to live in because of how people might perceive him during the 1950s before his life was taken.
However, there were times when I needed someone to say to accompany The Talk:
“It's true you will be treated poorly in some settings because of white supremacy…but your blackness is not defined by whiteness.”
“You are the seed of ancestors who built pyramids, ruled land as kings and queens, and maintained joy, community, and faith, despite oppression.”
“You are from a people who are ideators, intellectuals, scholars, and inventors.”
“You have not been defined by history but have helped shape history.”
I learned Black history from watching my grandparents. I saw images contrary to what the TV told me Black people were. My grandparents were married for 70 years before my grandfather’s death.
“Papa” Herman modeled what it meant to have joy.
He once told me, “When you get your family, make sure you make your family a priority.”6
I knew that with that message, I would have to prepare to give “the talk” one day, but I would do it differently—to ensure that my children were aware but also heard messages of joy. And then, my turn to give “the talk” came. My son walked into the room right after George Floyd was murdered. The news stations showed the knee being pressed into Mr. Floyd’s neck and then flashing to the tanks and police officers in the streets standing on guard. At the same time, peaceful protestors gathered to mourn and advocate for Mr. Floyd and against police brutality.
My nine-year-old son (at that time) walked in and noticed that the tanks on the screen looked different from his toys. The question came: “Dad, why are there tanks on the television? And why did that man have his knee on the neck of that man? What is a protest?” After all these years of processing “the talk,” now I was in the driver’s seat.
I was nervous but realized that my grandfather had prepared me. When both of my children were born, I had been having “the talk” with them since before they could talk.
Every day, I held them until they could talk and used my words to speak words of affirmation, faith, and life over them.
When they were of age and could talk, every single morning, I would call them into our room and discuss their worth, value, their potential, and the long legacy of our Black heritage.
Every morning, they hear that they are leaders who the world needs.
Every day, I affirm and validate their worth and taught them that Black joy was safe.
Every day, we discuss more of their worth than the hatred that they might encounter.
This mattered to me as a father because I did not want “the talk” to ensure their physical safety to compromise the preservation of their joy.
I guess, after reflecting on my grandfather, the murder of Till, his accuser’s passing, and the many Black parents who have to endure giving this Talk, I understand what it feels like to tell your children to reduce themselves to the least objectionable agent to be safe—it is a humiliating feeling that I saw in the eyes of many who gave me this version of the talk and one that places the fear of Blackness in children.
I believe the “talk” today should be about Black joy, existence, and awareness and NOT solely focus on the fear of whiteness. Why? Because that version of the talk produces fear and gets dragged into adulthood, leading to imposter syndrome and limiting beliefs.
We must keep telling our children,
“You are not how people treat you because you wear a hoodie.”
“You can play with toys in public.”
“You are not who they say you are because you sell items outside of a store.”
“You do deserve to breathe, sleep in your apartment, and go for a jog down the street... and not be chased down and hunted.”
And this “talk” has to exist across races.
White parents are responsible for teaching their children to stand against racism, as the harmful beliefs and biases of individuals like Carolyn Donham can be passed down through generations.
This has to be done as we teach Black children to embrace their whole selves and have joy without fearing their existence.
As I reflect on the story of Emmett Till and the passing of his accuser, I think about the talks we must continue to have with our children to preserve their joy in a world full of racial hatred and historical erasure and remind them that they, too are a part of the Beloved Community.
If you like what you read above, more stories like this will be in my forthcoming book, All God’s Children.
We called my grandfather “Papa,” His real name is Herman S. Lester, Sr.
Pérez-peña, Richard. “Woman Linked to 1955 Emmett till Murder Tells Historian Her Claims Were False.” The New York Times. The New York Times, January 28, 2017. https://www.nytimes.com/2017/01/27/us/emmett-till-lynching-carolyn-bryant-donham.html.
Solis, G. (2021, March 10). For black parents, ‘the Talk’ binds GENERATIONS and reflects changes in America. USC News. https://news.usc.edu/183102/the-talk-usc-black-parents-children-racism-america/.
Russell, T. (2020, July 23). Perspective | How black and white families discuss racism in a time of reckoning. The Washington Post. https://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/2020/06/03/how-do-families-talk-about-racism-with-their-kids/.
Mahadevan, P. (n.d.). ‘The talk’ is a rite of passage in black families. Even when the parent is a police officer. Georgia Public Broadcasting. https://www.gpb.org/news/2020/06/26/the-talk-rite-of-passage-in-black-families-even-when-the-parent-police-officer.
I am proud to say I have kept my word.