Melba’s decision to participate in the integration of Central High School is one that she makes based on her personal curiosity. She had always wondered what was inside of the school that she and other black people were forbidden to enter. However, her willingness to be part of the group to integrate Central High raises fears among her black community that white segregationists in Little Rock will attack her and the rest of the Little Rock Nine. Thus, Melba and her family contend with the moral dilemma of having to choose between doing what is just versus doing what will keep them and other black people in Little Rock safe. Melba learns that following her own desires and principles can put her at odds with the wishes of her community and strain her relationships with Mother Lois and Grandma India, who are initially wary of her decision to integrate Central, and angry with her for not discussing the matter with them first. Melba’s choice to attend Central High is ultimately a choice not to conform to the system of segregation nor to her family’s habit of “kowtowing” to whites to remain safe.
Melba does not tell her family when she signs up to attend Central High School. She describes the act of putting her name on the sign-up sheet as a spontaneous gesture. Although the implications of this action are far from ordinary, her impulsive decision-making is typical of what any teenager might do when piqued by curiosity and the chance to do something new. On the other hand, it is that kind of decision-making—the ready willingness to do what others are too hesitant to do—which spurs social change. The mixed reactions from within Melba’s family reflect the divergent views that people in the black community had in the 1950s about fighting segregation. Though everyone wanted an end to Jim Crow, some people sought to confront the system more actively, while others thought it safer to bear it and continue living their lives.
The reactions from her immediate family, which must deal directly with the consequences of Melba’s decision, is harsh and angry. The night before they leave Uncle Clancy’s home in Cincinnati for Little Rock, Melba hears her family yelling, pacing, and discussing the issue all night. Her mother refuses to talk to her over breakfast and her Grandma says that Melba is “too smart for [her] britches.” Mother Lois and Grandma India’s reactions reflect both their concerns about Melba’s growing up and making decisions without them—decisions which, however noble, could put her at great risk—as well as their personal concerns over retaliation from angry segregationists who would punish Melba for disrupting the status quo.
Reactions from Melba’s extended family are mixed, but more positive. On Labor Day, Melba goes to her Auntie Mae’s house “for the last picnic of the summer.” Melba admires her aunt, a “real live wire” who, people say, passed down “some of her feisty ways” to Melba. Mae is sure that Melba is “sassy enough” to integrate the school. On the other hand, Melba’s Uncle Charlie does not understand why she would want to go someplace where she is not wanted. Mae’s words validate Melba’s willingness to take action in favor of integration, a position that her mother and grandmother later support. In the Beals family, it seems that the women are more inclined to act in support of justice: Mother Lois participated in the integration of the University of Arkansas, Grandma India fearlessly defends the family home, and Auntie Mae lauds Melba’s courage while Uncle Charlie doubts her. Thus, while her mother and grandmother doubt the wisdom of her decision, they neglect to realize the example they have set for going against social expectations to do what is just and necessary. If, as Grandma India asserts, God “had pointed a finger at [their] family,” then, it stands to reason that they are unique and have an obligation to do what is right, no matter the personal cost.
In addition to her family’s doubts and concerns, Melba’s motives are also misunderstood by members of the black community, some of whom gossip behind Melba’s back. Some of the gossip misunderstands the Little Rock Nine’s motives just as much as the segregationists do, illustrating that when individual principles sharply differ from established norms, hostility and misunderstanding can occur on all sides.
During Thanksgiving, the Beals family prepares to donate the clothing and toys they no longer need, but Conrad stalls when Grandma India and Mother Lois ask him to donate his train. They use Melba’s willingness to give up some of her favorite clothes and shoes as an example of the kind of selflessness he should strive to embody, but he protests that Melba “likes suffering and doing without,” which is why she goes to Central. Conrad heard this from his friend Clark, who had heard it from his parents. Clark’s family does not understand why Melba would stay in a white school and endure “being mistreated every day.” Their position reveals the depth of fear felt by many black people at the time, many of whom preferred to bear segregation and live in relative peace within their own communities, rather than seek integration and draw the ire of white segregationists.
Melba’s isolation becomes particularly clear when none of her friends from Horace Mann High School show up to her birthday party. She intentionally does not invite any members of the Little Rock Nine, except for her old friend Minnijean Brown, because she wanted to feel like her old self again. However, as Melba’s friend Marsha tells her, Melba is not one of them anymore, for she and the other members of the Little Rock Nine “stuck their necks out” and the other black children simply are not “willing to die with [them].” As much as Melba wants to believe that she is the same person she was when she attended Horace Mann High, her birthday experience illustrates that she is no longer an average black teenager or even an average member of the black community. Instead of offering her comfort and support, her community keeps its distance from her to protect itself.
Soon after she makes her decision to attend Central High, Melba experiences firsthand the way in which personal decisions can have political implications—and the ways in which her individual decision to help integrate Central High would hinder her and her family in unforeseen ways. She learns that, sometimes, one has to make hard choices without the support of one’s community, or even one’s family, for those choices often stir other people’s fears and insecurities. The process of integrating Central High briefly isolates Melba from her family and causes her to lose friends. However, the book suggests that in particularly difficult times, isolation is one of the unfortunate but justifiable costs associated with going against convention to stand up for one’s values and challenge the status quo.
The Cost of Non-Conformity ThemeTracker
The Cost of Non-Conformity Quotes in Warriors Don’t Cry
With the passage of time, I became increasingly aware of how all of the adults around me were living with constant fear and apprehension. It felt as though we always had a white foot pressed against the back of our necks. I was feeling more and more vulnerable as I watched them continually struggle to solve the mystery of what white folks expected of them. They behaved as though it were an awful sin to overlook even one of those unspoken rules and step out of “their place,” to cross some invisible line. And yet lots of discussions in my household were about how to cross that line, when to cross that line, and who could cross that line without getting hurt.
I ran to my room and fell onto the bed, burying my face in the pillow to hide the sobs that wrenched my insides. All my disappointment over not getting into Central High and the mob chase as well as the big sudden changes in my life over the past few weeks came crashing in on me. Then I heard Grandma India padding across the room and felt the weight of her body shift the plane of the mattress as she sat down. “You had a good cry, girl?” Her voice was sympathetic but one sliver away from being angry [….] “You’ll make this your last cry. You’re a warrior on the battlefield of the Lord. God’s warriors don’t cry, ‘cause they trust that he’s always by their side. The women of this family don’t break down in the face of trouble. We act with courage, and with God’s help, we ship trouble right on out.”
It’s Thursday, September 26, 1957. Now I have a bodyguard. I know very well that the President didn’t send those soldiers just to protect me but to show support for an idea—the idea that a governor can’t ignore federal laws. Still, I feel specially cared about because the guard is there. If he wasn’t there, I’d hear more of the voices of those people who say I’m a nigger […] that I’m not valuable, that I have no right to be alive [….] Thank you, Danny.
“Look out, Melba, now!” Danny’s voice was so loud that I flinched. “Get down!” he shouted again as what appeared to be a flaming stick of dynamite whizzed past and landed on the stair just below me. Danny pushed me aside as he stamped out the flame and grabbed it up. At breakneck speed he dashed down the stairs and handed the stick to another soldier, who sped away. Stunned by what I had seen, I backed into the shadow on the landing, too shocked to move. “You don’t have time to stop. Move out, girl.” Danny’s voice sounded cold and uncaring. I supposed that’s what it meant to be a soldier—to survive.
“You’ve gotta learn to defend yourself. You kids should have been given some training in self-defense.” “Too late now,” I said. “It’s never too late. It takes a warrior to fight a battle and survive. This here is a battle if I’ve ever seen one.” I thought about what Danny had said as we walked to the principal’s office to prepare to leave school. I knew for certain something would have to change if I were going to stay in that school. Either the students would have to change the way they behaved, or I would have to devise a better plan to protect myself. My body was wearing out real fast.
A girl smiled at me today, another gave me directions, still another boy whispered the page I should turn to in our textbook. This is going to work. It will take a lot more patience and more strength from me, but it’s going to work. It takes more time than I thought. But we’re going to have integration in Little Rock.
Later in The New York Times, Sammy Dean Parker and Kaye Bacon said that as a result of the meeting they now had a new attitude. One headline in the Gazette read: “Two Pupils Tell of Change in Attitude on Segregation.” Sammy Dean Parker was quoted as saying, “The Negro Students don’t want to go to school with us any more than we want to go with them. If you really talk with them, you see their side of it. I think the NAACP is paying them to go.” When I read her statement, I realized Sammy hadn’t understood at all our reason for attending Central High. I wondered where on earth she thought there was enough money to pay for such brutal days as I was enduring [….] What price could anyone set for the joy and laughter and peace of mind I had given up?
As I stepped into the hallway, just for an instant the thought of fewer troops terrified me. But the warrior inside me squared my shoulders and put my mind on alert to do whatever was necessary to survive. I tried hard to remember everything Danny had taught me. I discovered I wasn’t frightened in the old way anymore. Instead, I felt my body muscles turn steely and my mind strain to focus […]. A new voice in my head spoke to me with military-like discipline: Discover ink sprayed on the contents of your locker—don’t fret about it, deal with it. Get another locker assigned, find new books, get going—don’t waste time brooding or taking the hurt so deep inside. Kicked in the shin, tripped on the marble floor—assess the damage and do whatever is necessary to remain mobile. Move out! Warriors keep moving. They don’t stop to lick their wounds or cry.
As Minnijean and I spent time together that evening, I could tell she was beginning to be deeply affected by what was being done to her at Central High. She seemed especially vulnerable to the isolation we were all struggling to cope with. She had decided she would be accepted by white students if she could just show them how beautifully she sang. She was almost obsessed with finding an opportunity to perform her music on stage [….] Little did we know that even while we were discussing her performing in school programs, the Central High Mother’s League was preparing to make a bigger fuss than ever before to exclude her. But their threats did not stop Minnijean [….] Did she figure they would be enraptured by her performance? I shuddered at the thought of what the students would say or do to her if she made it.
“Melba likes suffering and doing without; that’s why she goes to Central. But why do I have to?” “Where did you get a notion like that about your sister?” “Clark said that’s what his folks say because Sis stays in that white school, being mistreated every day.” “Her staying there means she has made a promise that she intends to keep, because she told God she would and she doesn’t want to let herself and God down,” Mother Lois said, walking over to look Conrad in the eye. “So you must explain that to Clark the next time he inquires about your sister’s motives.”
When Mrs. Bates asked, “Do you kids want white meat or dark meat?” I spoke without thinking: “This is an integrated turkey.” The annoyed expression on her face matched the one on Mother’s, letting me know that maybe I should have prepared a speech. The reporters began snickering as they posed a series of questions on turkeys and integration, calling on me by name to answer. My palms began sweating, and my mouth turned dry. I hadn’t meant to put my foot in my mouth. I didn’t want the others to think I was trying to steal the spotlight, but once I had spoken out of turn, “integrated turkey” became the theme. “You’ll live to regret that statement, Melba,” Mother said as we were driving home. I knew she was agonizing over the consequences of my frivolity. She was right. I would suffer.
Sweet sixteen? How could I be turning sweet sixteen in just a few days and be a student at Central High, I thought as I entered the side door of the school […]. I had relished so many dreams of how sweet my sixteenth year would be, and now it had arrived, but I was here in this place. Sixteen had always seemed the magic age that signaled the beginning of freedom, when Mama and Grandma might let loose their hold and let me go out with my friends on pre-dates. But with integration, I was nowhere near being free.
I pretended to become intensely involved in my book. I was reading about Mr. Gandhi’s prison experience and how he quieted his fears and directed his thoughts so that his enemies were never really in charge of him. All at once I was aware that one of my hecklers was coming toward me. “Niggers are stupid, they gotta study real hard, don’t they?” he said in a loud voice. “Thanks for the compliment,” I said, looking at him with the pleasantest expression I could muster so he would believe I wasn’t annoyed. “Study hard now, nigger bitch, but you gotta leave this place sometime, and then we got you.” “Thank you,” I said again, a mask of fake cheer on my face. He seemed astonished as he slowly started to back away. I felt myself smiling inside. As Grandma India said, turning the other cheek could be difficult […] it was also beginning to be a lot of fun.
Meanwhile Mrs. Huckaby, the woman I considered to be somewhat near fair and rational about the whole situation, had lapsed back into her attitude of trying to convince me there was nothing going on […]. I was seeing things; was I being too sensitive; did I have specific details? When she stopped behaving in a reasonable way, she took away the only point of reference I had […]. I supposed that she must be under an enormous weight and doing her best […]. But once again I had to accept the fact that I shouldn’t be wasting my time or energy hoping anyone would listen to my reports. I was on my own.
Early on Wednesday morning, I built a fire in the metal trash barrel in the backyard, fueled by my school papers. Grandma said it would be healing to write and destroy all the names of people I disliked at Central High: teachers, students, anyone who I thought had wronged me […]. Grandma India stood silent by my side as I fed the flame and spoke their names and forgave them […]. Finally she said, “Later, you’ll be grateful for the courage it built inside you and for the blessing it will bring.” Grateful, I thought. Never. How could I be grateful for being at Central High? But I knew she was always right.
In 1962, when I had attended the mostly white San Francisco State University for two years, I found myself living among an enclave of students where I was the only person of color. I was doing it again integrating a previously all-white residence house, even though I had other options. I had been taken there as a guest, and someone said the only blacks allowed there were cooks. So, of course, I made application and donned my warrior garb because it reminded me of the forbidden fences of segregation in Little Rock.
“How does the city look to you now?” I answer the question to myself. Very different from when I lived here. Today I could not find my way around its newly built freeways, its thriving industrial complexes, its racially mixed, upscale suburban sprawl. It is a town that now boasts a black woman mayor. My brother, Conrad, is the first and only black captain of the Arkansas State Troopers—the same troopers that held me at bay as a teenager when I tried to enter Central.