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Every now and then, the cracks in our Bermuda society show through our veneer of civility and politeness. Over the past nine days, the biggest crack broke through again.

This rich and sun-blessed 13,000-acre coral atoll holds two separated societies. These two societies don't actually fight one another as happens in Iraq. Nor do they wrangle as badly as happened in Northern Ireland.

But these two societies, as close and friendly as they genuinely are, are still two separated societies. What separates them is their history. That separation showed in the attitudes and perceptions surrounding the passing of Dame Lois.

I learned of her passing early on the morning of Tuesday May 29. I immediately dashed off a short piece, sent it on to the Editor of the Bermuda Sun, and went off to work.

But I knew, and knew instinctively, that we would give Dame Lois the biggest send-off that this Island could muster.

I knew, instinctively, that there would be a national day off to mark her funeral service. I knew it instinctively because I am black and I know how large Dame Lois loomed in Bermuda's black community.

All the nice things that everybody said about her were true. But all those nice things still did not convey the depth of emotion that the 'Dame' stirred deep down in the souls of all black Bermudians. The Dame occupied an extra special place in the whole of Bermuda's black community.

Looked at dispassionately and from a distance, Dame Lois's political activity put her level with or slightly ahead of 'Mazumbo' - Dr. Gordon. But Dr. Gordon was an outsider who had come here and tried to stir us up. Dr. Gordon had been a match that arrived, flared up, singed us into action, and then died after twenty-two years.

Dame Lois was one of us. Born here. Played here. Ran around here. She was all of us - wrapped up in her one big, black, happy frame.

She was special to us. She was ours.

We were hers. That special relationship spanned almost fifty years. Dame Lois was a torch that burned, sometimes big, sometimes small, but always it burned and lit the way forward.

For black Bermudians, it was natural to stop everything on the day that she was buried.

That's what each of us - black people and white people - does on the day that we bury our mothers. Or fathers. Or children. Dame Lois was that close to all - and each - of us.

But white Bermuda didn't quite understand that.

It was mostly white Bermuda - sharing this Island with black Bermuda - that expressed reservations about the declaration of a public holiday. It was mostly white Bermuda that spoke of Dame Lois as a series of first black female politician and first female lawyer and first female Leader of the Opposition. White Bermuda, in its expressions of its genuine sorrow, sympathy, and sadness at her passing was noting the passing of another important person - who happened to be named Dame Lois.

White Bermuda's reaction was polite, correct, and honest. But that reaction never had the depth - nor could that reaction ever have the depth - that comes from the mourning of someone so close that they felt a part of you.

This difference in reactions comes out of our differences of the present.

The differences of the present come out of our pasts. Our differing pasts are still closed books and unwritten chapters.

Those closed books and unwritten chapters help hide our present. We need to open those closed books, write the chapters, and thus learn more about each other.

A wise observer would have seen and understood how both communities saw and perceived Dame Lois.

That observer would have understood how strongly and deeply embedded Dame Lois was in the psyche of Bermuda's majority

population.

Beneath the veneer

That we can have such a wide public gap in our public perceptions shows that our fissures, well concealed though they are, remain deep, wide, and real. These re-appearing fissures say that we need to learn more - much more - about each other.

We need to understand, much better, each other's feelings and emotions.

We've shared this tiny sun-blessed coral isle for three hundred and ninety-one years. After all that time, we really, really ought to understand each other much better than we've just demonstrated. Or, is it that beneath our veneer of civility and politeness, we really, really, don't see each other?[[In-content Ad]]

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