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I had a few random thoughts after seeing this movie tonight (and previewing it at home on Monday), talking to a (very) few people who saw it and then heading back here to write. Because it likely won't be screened around here again anytime soon, I've gone ahead and thrown in a few spoilers. If you want to be surprised, read no farther.

(CORRECTION: Film will be screened at 4 p.m. Saturday at the Main Theater at N.C. School of the Arts, 1533 S. Main St. in Winston-Salem. Also, you will soon be able to buy it off the Web site.)

No, really.

Stop now. Go read the funnies or something.

OK, here we go.

I know I'm supposed to neither notice nor care about this, being a text guy and all, but the cinematography was outstanding. Anyone who thinks filmmaker Adam Zucker was trying to make us look bad could not possibly be correct in the literal sense.

Paid admission at the Carolina Theatre was 206, most of whom were middle-aged or older and most of whom hung around for the Q&A. I had to leave before the Q&A ended, at which point it had gone on more than half as long as the film.

Some of what our city's Establishment leaders had to say:

• Jim Melvin, former mayor and longtime mover and shaker, appeared on camera with a baseball bat across his desk. You'd probably have to be from 'round here to know that the bat symbolizes his (successful) efforts to get a new minor-league baseball stadium built downtown, but I suspect to some viewers who aren't from around here that it'll conjure up a Bull Connor image that he didn't intend. Whether Zucker intended that, I couldn't say.
• Melvin estimated that a poll taken today would show roughly 85 percent of Greensboro not supporting the truth-and-reconciliation effort. He also added, contra a civil jury's finding, that the city had had no involvement with the shootings. Finally, referring to people involved with the truth-and-reconciliation movement, he said, "We don't have much time for these people."
• Later in the film, Melvin touts his lifelong residence in Greensboro, claims he knows what's going on in town and adds, "I don't need some commission to come in and tell me what's going on."
• At-large council member and possible mayoral candidate Florence Gatten said of Nelson Johnson that "a leopard never changes his spots." She added that as a Presbyterian she always hopes for reform, but said, "I haven't seen it." Later in the film she said, "Greensboro is like a 1950s town in a Ziploc bag with the zip lock closed." Some audience members mocked her remarks.(Full disclosure: Florence and I attend the same church.)
• Outgoing Mayor Keith Holliday suggested that the truth-and-reconciliation movement was being driven by fewer than 50 people who could never accept what happened and never move on. Feel free to see the film for yourself and decide whether the images confirm or disprove his assessment. Oh, and he also expressed concern about how this whole thing might affect business recruiting.

One other technical thing that struck me: There was no spoken narration except for a few voiceovers from interview subjects who would pop up onscreen a second or two later, and just a few paragraphs of text at the very beginning and the very end. It was real people saying real things. Sure, you can wonder what Zucker left in and left out, and what questions he asked to prompt the comments he got. I do. But there was no omniscient voice telling you what you were seeing or what to think about. I know squat about filmmaking, but I prefer documentaries that let subjects talk to me over the other kind.

To those I'd asked to interview after the film and didn't: I apologize that we didn't get to connect. I had to leave about 9:15 to make deadline, at which point the Q&A was still going strong.

That's all for tonight.

Every time I publish a story related to the Greensboro Truth and Reconciliation report and its aftermath, I hear from people either curious or angry about why the N&R, almost a year after the release of the report, continues to cover it.

My short answer is this: because they tell me to. And my long answer wouldn't be much longer. I'm a general-assignment reporter these days; my assignments trend toward the odd one-day assignment or weather story. The only thing I've been specifically asked to follow is the T&R fallout, specifically what has happened since the report release, not what led up to that point.

I've heard a lot of different reasons why we should give up TRC coverage. Some of the reasons for us to give up that coverage are more logical, more courteous or both than others. For example, I heard from someone who pointed out the opportunity cost to the paper of having me follow this issue -- there might be better stories out there that won't get into the paper because I'm busy following something TRC-related, in other words. That's a legitimate concern. And in real life, many such coverage decisions are subjective, even when a news operation runs under some recognized guidelines, such as "local, local, local" or "whenever possible, look forward, not back" or what-have-you. There's no set or matrix of rules into which you can feed your info and get the "right" decision all the time.

But the one argument I really don't get is the notion that because the events of Nov. 3, 1979, happened so long ago, they don't matter. That argument comes in two flavors. One refers specifically to that case; and I won't get into that here.

But some correspondents appear to be saying not just that this particular case is ancient history and has nothing to tell us, but that all history has nothing to tell us.

I'm happy to take on that second issue, irrespective of my current assignment, because it's so patently false, particularly here in the South, with our oral-history tradition stemming back to the days of both the earliest Scots-Irish settlers and the African slaves who were brought here. William Faulkner famously got it: The past isn't dead here, he said -- it isn't even past.

So let's say you think anything that happened only 28 years ago doesn't matter. OK. Fine. Perfectly respectable opinion. But I'm curious: How old do things have to be before they cease to matter?

Do events that happened six years ago matter?

How 'bout 21 years ago?

Does even more ancient history than that matter? How 'bout 47 years? I ask because a lot of people in Greensboro seem to think it does and celebrate it every year.

Do you think even more ancient history matters?

What about this case, whose fallout continues to affect society even today? (My own connection to this case is here.)

How 'bout these folks (and the folks not affiliated with this group who nonetheless sport Confederate flags on their vehicles or fly Confederate flags in their yards)?

Oh, and how 'bout these folks?

For that matter, how 'bout these folks and their even more ancient history? Is that history no longer meaningful?

There's a reason we've been studying history at least since Herodotus -- and, one might argue, even longer than that -- is that history will teach us, if we let it.

Society derives huge benefits from examining and learning from history. For that history is littered with incidents in which the great and powerful harmed the small and weak, without punishment or other repercussions. And inevitably, it's the great and powerful who resist going back and examining those harms, even if the likelihood of repercussion is zero.

And here the rest of society must ask: What are you so afraid of?

And that question must be asked; otherwise, for the harmed, the harm frequently becomes inseparable from the other parts of their lives. Those who haven't been harmed utterly fail to grasp this fact because they haven't experienced it for themselves. Water, after all, isn't the only thing that flows downhill.

But here's the problem with ignoring the wrongs and the hurt that litter our past -- and I am indebted to the old comic books I read as a kid for the imagery: You can cover up the past all you want, but often it won't do any good. If you clean and bind the wounds of past harm, and acknowledge the loss and grief of those to whom it happened or their survivors, then you can bury it and perhaps it will rest easy.

But if you don't, then don't be surprised if, as you walk through the garden, smelling the magnolias and enjoying the evening air, a rotting hand reaches up from the ground and grabs you and won't let go. Sometimes the dead don't stay buried.

Greensboro attorney Robert Peters, one of seven members of the Greensboro Truth and Reconciliation Commission, wrote a column for today's print-edition op-ed page. He criticizes outgoing Mayor Keith Holliday and the rest of the City Council for not at least approving a resolution calling for the council to "seriously consider" the commission's report on the Nov. 3, 1979, Klan-Nazi shootings here.

Note that he is not asking the council to approve any specific recommendation. Instead, he's asking, albeit very diplomatically: Why are you so afraid even to talk about this?

I've heard from John Young, a frequent commenter here on TRC-related matters, asking if I can post the column on my blog. (Our Editorial folks don't routinely post freelancers' work online because of legal/copyright concerns.) I've e-mailed Bob that question. He's under no obligation, of course, but if he approves, I'll post the column.

UPDATE: Here it is, and thanks to Bob for making it available.

Last July the City Council had a promising roundtable discussion about the Greensboro Truth and Reconciliation Commission’s work. In view of this, I was surprised that the majority of the City Council opposed a resolution to “seriously consider” the commission’s recommendations.

Why could not the council work cooperatively to amend the resolution in the hope of finding some common ground? The resolution was not asking the council to accept the commission’s recommendations; it was merely asking the council to “seriously consider” them.

What does the majority fear so much that it won’t even consider the recommendations?

True, the commission’s recommendations are based on a tragic shooting that happened more than a quarter of a century ago. Does it not appreciate that this tragedy of the past impacts the present? Does it not realize that “The past is not dead. In fact, it’s not even past,” as pointed out by William Faulkner?

In the words of Leonard Pitts, “the past is present.” We are all affected by the past. It defines us. We can’t change the past, but we can do a lot about the future, but only if we have open minds that are willing to consider the past. “And yes, those who do not study history are condemned to repeat it,” observed John Thorn.

I certainly do not expect the City Council to agree with all or most of the commission’s recommendations. No reasonable person would expect this of the council. I, as a member of the GTRC, don’t even agree with all of the recommendations as is apparent from my opinion that concurs in part with the majority. Handled properly, disagreement is not a bad thing — that is, if it does not result in any personal attacks, such as using degrading name-alling, blaming, violent language or actions or the like. Not only can disagreement challenge but more importantly it can enrich. Often what divide us are not so much our differences, but our unwillingness to talk about them. Obviously, much good often comes from different points of view, but only if we engage in meaningful dialogue about them.

I would hope that the council would at least seriously consider these recommendations and publicly state what it can and can not support and why, perhaps with the help of the city’s Human Relations Commission. A wholesale rejection seems shortsighted; especially when the Human Relations Commission could thoughtfully conduct an in-depth analysis of the recommendations for further consideration by the full council.

Fortunately, a number of institutions, both local and out-of-town and in foreign countries, have taken an entirely different approach than that of the majority of the council.

For example, our Central Public Library, a number of our churches, universities, colleges and public and private institutions have seriously considered the GTRC work (and continue to do so). Some local colleges and universities have even conducted courses and seminars on this work. I believe the majority of the council could learn a lot from these institutions.

I find the mayor’s statement implausible that “many in the community viewed [the TRC] process as biased.” I particularly question the appropriateness of the word “many” and am interested in the mayor’s evidence of this. I’m certain that some feel the way the mayor stated, and I believe that in some respects the report could have been more balanced. But the process involved many people of good will over a two-year period.

The process resulted in taking more than 200 statements from individuals with differing points of view who appeared credible, though often passionate. The process involved six days of well-attended public hearings and a review of hundreds of feet of documents and trial transcripts. To characterize this comprehensive process as “biased” is not helpful toward our goal of uniting disparate parts of our community to make it a better place for all.

Substantial evidence indicates that a community open to diverse people, opinions and culture flourishes in many important respects; including economic, artistic and intellectual. Highly sought-after industry, especially high-tech, often looks favorably upon such a community.

Robert Peters was co-chairman of Greensboro Truth and Reconciliation Commission and the only attorney among the commissioners.

Let the conversation resume.

I'm only now saying anything on the discussion over at Ed's about Nelson Johnson's open letter to Jerry Bledsoe because I've only now seen the letter.

As it happens, I apparently was sent one. It is dated March 27 and postmarked March 29. It wound up in my mailbox here in the office this morning, having been opened somewhere along the line so that the anthrax powder could be safely disposed of or something.

Nothing I can add, frankly, except that we have achieved perfect post-Truth & Reconciliation Report Nirvana: Everybody's talking, nobody's listening. And almost all who are talking are talking in broad and undefended generalities that add nothing of substance to our news report or the larger public discussion. What I've heard ranges from "You've got a lot of nerve pretending to show such courage in the face of our pain" to dog-whistle appears to racism. Wait, that's not quite right: It's more like a barbell with two big ol' mounds of polarization connected by a thin bar of rationality and willingness to listen and to think.

And you know what always happens, don't you, when you grab such a thing and try to lift it?

I don't often say this in a discussion in which I have both knowledge and a shooting license, but: Y'all knock yourselves out.

*Name of an obscure collection of REM outtakes and B-sides.

Naturally, just as I was posting the other day about former Klansman E.H. Hennis's e-mail saying he'd like to join the truth-and-reconciliation discussion, the commenting went out on our blogging system.

Now that it's back up, I'd like to put this subject back at the top of the blog in hopes more people will join the discussion here (or start their own elsewhere but leave links here).

Former Ku Klux Klan leader and police informant E.H. Hennis has e-mailed me with a message regarding the truth-and-reconciliation process. With his permission, I'm publishing his e-mail verbatim.

I, E. H Hennis, am an 84 year old disabled Veteran. The FBI asked me to join the Klan which was very strong in the Groometown area. My job was to monitor extremist groups under what was known as comtempro intelligence. I became Exalted Cyclop of the local Klavern #7.

The taxpayers, through the FBI, made the payments on my new Cadillac, paid mileage and upkeep and even paid for repairs when it was shot up and bent up in Richmond, Virginia. My territory was inside of an imaginary line, i.e., Richmond, Virginia, Montgomery, Alabama and Atlanta, Georgia.

The 1979 shooting came well within the scope of my assignment. While the FBI paid me well, I did much work for Captain Bill Jackson of the police department at no charge.

Eddie (Yank) Dawson and I spent much time together before and after the shooting. I probably have much knowledge of what actually happened that people may think that Eddie took to his grave.

I have somewhat overcome a little from a bad stroke that left me so I couldn't even whisper. I am very much crippled but can now talk. I do not drive. However, if someone will furnish me transportation, I will be glad to speak at one of the T & R meetings and maybe set some records straight about what actually happened at the shooting. I haven't read the report but can talk without notes. I will respect anyone's difference of opinion.

If you care to make it some kind of “Bring it on” program, I will answer any questions and I am sure you will hear something different from anything you have previously heard.

You may call me @ 854-8467. Please understand that I suffer from a hearing loss so you must talk really loud when you call for me to understand.

Truth Detector,

E. H. Hennis

UPDATE (3/17/07): Apparently, the blog hasn't been accepting comments for some time, even refusing to let people leave them in moderation. I've changed the appropriate settings, so you should be OK now. If you try to comment and run into a problem, please e-mail me.