As a teen, I lived in 1980s Selma, Alabama — the cradle of the civil rights and voting rights movements.
        My mother and father grew up in the segregated South. My mother was on the Edmund Pettus Bridge, tear-gassed and trampled by horses on that fateful day in 1965, now known as “Bloody Sunday.”
        But, 1980s Selma was much different than 1965 Selma.
        After all, I attended the best schools and had just as many white friends as black. People were friendly and generally looked out for one another. Actually, it wasn’t uncommon for someone to tell my mother, in passing, that they saw me somewhere before I could tell her. The community mostly was safe and my friends and I hung out without much care.
         Yes, 1980s Selma was much different than 1965 Selma.
        Or was it?
        My parents once sought purchasing another home. There was a house for sale across the street from the city’s country club, where I hung out with friends.
        But, my parents refused to consider buying the house because, as my father said, “I don’t want my child standing in the yard watching people play tennis at a place she’ll never be allowed to play because she’s black.”
        Surprised, it wasn’t until he said this that I realized, while we “hung out” at the club, we never tried to access the services. My friend, whose father sat on the club board and knew my family, later confirmed what my father said was true.
        Another occasion, a friend invited me to her church — one of the most prominent churches in downtown Selma.
        When I asked my mother if I could go, she explained that I would not be welcomed in that particular church because African-Americans were not allowed. My friend seemed just as surprised as I after her father told her the same thing.
        Then there were the NBF (Nathan Bedford Forrest) Homes, located on what used to be Craig Air Force Base. This housing complex was home to mostly low-income African-Americans and a daily reminder of the painful stains of segregation, violence, the silencing of voices, and the robbing of opportunity for a better life that taint so much of the deep South’s history.
        But 1980s Selma was much different than 1965 Selma.
        Or was it?
        Today, the NBF homes no longer stand. A statue of Forrest stands, however, inside the historic Live Oak Cemetery and is a source of contention between black and white residents.
        One community sees the statue as a perpetuation of the gapping, toxic fester in history that symbolizes racism and intolerance. The other community sees the statue as history too; but a symbol of their heritage, a tribute honoring their ancestor.
        One city, two different communities impacted in significantly different ways, by one era in history.
        Statesboro’s Confederate memorial statute offers a very similar scenario. A symbol of one era in history that continues to impact two different communities in significantly different ways — yet in one city.
         As a mental health professional, I help individuals heal their wounded components, accept their true selves, and integrate their true selves into various aspects of their lives.
        As humans, we are not one dimensional people. We assume various roles and identities that sometimes conflict with each other. In essence, we are one person with dueling identities jockeying for the “top dog” position, much like Statesboro on the issue of the Confederate monument.
        One city with dueling identities.
        Sounds strange? Not really, when we think about the fact that we live in a community that is comprised of different people who identify differently. And like its residents, a community’s sustenance is based upon how well it is able to uphold the validity of and integrate those various identities, giving attention to the past without staying stuck there — and embracing change for the sake of progress and wellness.
        Statesboro has evolved into a very diverse community. A rural city, integrated with a suburban flare of various individuals, families, races and ethnicities, socio-economic statuses, genders, sexual orientations, religions and non-religions, and industries.
        A reflection of its economic revitalization, it was recently recognized as one of America’s best communities. The Confederate monument has been a part of Statesboro since 1909. Like it or not, it is a part of the city’s history and identity.
        But, like it or not, Statesboro’s identity has evolved.
        As one of America’s best communities, how does Statesboro move toward a more integrative reflection of its identities from yesterday and today? Unfortunately, due to being stuck in the past, Selma has not accomplished this task.         Instead of economic revitalization, the city is economically devastated.
        We have to give recognition to where we came from to understand how we got to where we are. But we cannot stay stuck in where we came from if we expect to progress beyond where we are today.
        It’s kinda the nature of identity-related work. When you think about it, it’s kinda the nature of progress.

        Dr. Dionne Bates is a licensed professional counselor in private practice. Visit her at www.drdbates.com or call (912) 755-7069.