In Memoriam 1992-1997/Roger White

In Memoriam 1992-1997 Roger White

Proofread once

[Page 58]

1929-1993

We are grieved to learn of the passing of Roger White who served the Faith with such great devotion for over four decades in North America, in Africa, where he provided secretarial support to the Hand of the Cause William Sears, and in the Holy Land. For a period of twenty years he rendered distinguished services at the World Centre, the highlight of which was the major role he played in the preparation of materials for the volumes of The Bahá’í World published during that time. He will long be remembered for his humility and kindness, his humour, his dedication to the Cause, and for his outstanding poetic skills through which he enriched the literature of the Faith and contributed immeasurably to its proclamation. Kindly convey to the members of his family and his friends our condolences and the assurance of our prayers in the Holy Shrines for the progress of his soul.

Universal House of Justice April 12, 1993

Roger White was an artist whose works transcended race, culture, or religion and inspired others around the world to create music, poetry, plays, paintings, and dance—to make art. Perhaps his influence was due to his ability to help us understand and rejoice in the dual nature of man—the dual nature of each of us. He described the intrinsic tension within himself and within us all in an essay written in 1972 entitled "Point a Loving Camera":

Without admitting to schizophrenia in the clinical sense, I will perhaps be understood if I say that two of me recently visited Nassau, and took along a camera.

There is a "culturally bound" me, the part that grows nostalgic remembering early Shirley Temple movies, the original Flash Gordon comic strip, carousels, Christmas trees and Cole Porter songs, and a limitless array of penny candy that made choice a harrowing experience; the me of a simpler time when cars seemed to be of only two kinds, big and baby Austin; when love was something that happened regularly on the silver screen to Jeanette MacDonald and Nelson Eddy, and when heaven was to be able to dance like Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire. That part came to Nassau—perhaps even led me there—for how could I resist relating to the bronzed languid figures in the travel folders.

And there came to Nassau, too, that part of me which I seek to have Bahá’u’lláh take possession—the central part, the essential me. Here are found the roots of faith, the beginning of a dim consciousness of eternal life. If I am to know myself, it must be this part. If I am to be reached, to reach others, it must be from here.

My camera is trained on an Israeli ship marked "Haifa" at the public dock. A Bahamian some feet away and not in range of my lens springs forward, almost striking the instrument from my hand—"Don't you take pictures of me!" It is as though one kept running into invisible barbed wire.

So begins my vacation. Is Bahá’u’lláh right? In this day, is there no place to go? [Page 59]

Roger White

For the visitor to Nassau the solution is simple. He confines himself to the white tourist ghetto-frequents the private white beaches and bars of the luxury hotels.

For the Bahá’í, this does not seem to be adequate if we are to take literally the injunction to be engaged in delivering the message of the coming of One Who summons all mankind to the recognition of oneness. In the atmosphere of entrenched hostility in Nassau, one asks with a new intensity, is there "a power in this Cause that far transcends the ken of men and angels?" Can we become channels for it? For it is only this power of universal love that can conquer the citadels of men's hearts. Without it, we are like my bronzed authoritative people of the travel folders, meaningless mannequins against a painted backdrop.

The question of how to achieve the quality of universal love has long held my attention. In Nassau, from a simple young man (a member of the race the Master described as the "pupil of the eye of mankind") I received the gift of the knowledge that love begins with recognition.

Sam, a native Bahamian, and his family of small children shared a bench with me. My presence was ignored in a studied manner and my acknowledgment of the smile of one of the children gingerly scrutinized. A white tourist with borrowed courage speaking too loudly and defensively (only later did I pause to consider the tourist's fear and the inevitability of his action) descended on us, announced "those kids are cute as a bug's ear and I want a picture"-simultaneously clicking and darting away. Sam winced. I knew I had witnessed something hurtful and ugly. I said the Greatest Name.

In the next instant, when Sam's eyes locked with mine, he sensed a shared rage-we had been photographed in an offensive manner, like inanimate objects. In a flash born of the pain of the moment (for Sam, I am sure, a familiar pain) Sam recognized me- saw beyond my color, to me. Barriers, self-consciousness gone, the gates of communication swung open and we spoke from the heart. He said, in effect, he felt no one who loved him, who saw him would indiscriminately point a camera and shoot; he wanted to be selected, singled out, recognized for his essential self. We spoke of the need to teach ourselves not only to see the world from one another's eyes (it will not be enough to exchange one cultural prison for another) but to see with the eye of God, as it were, Who sees only the whole.

I think of Sam now, whenever I use my camera, which has become [Page 60]a symbol for the resolution to try to recognize the essential reality of things. My camera helps me see better. The subject is selected, looms in clear focus, unaffected by extraneous distracting elements; there is a moment before the shutter snaps when the face of the subject looks more defenceless than a butterfly impaled on a pin. Defences, reserve, hostility drain away—the expression left says something like "be kind."

My task is now to acquire the capacity of recognition with my naked eye and to apply it in daily life. For Sam was right: our world will be changed only through the power of universal love, and the beginning of love is recognition.

It begins, as Bahá’u’lláh tells us, with a recognition of ourselves—do we know who we are? Reread The Hidden Words. The picture its Author paints of man and of human nature is noble and exalted. Do we know this? "Turn thy sight unto thyself, that thou mayest find Me." [The Hidden Words, # 13, Arabic]

And turning from self to the arena of human relationships and service, how do we fare? What do I "see" when I examine a Bahá’í committee, my local assembly? If I see only an old lady with a loose upper plate and a penchant for Presbyterian hymns, an aggressive fearful woman who is prone to tension headaches and a fear of being alone, a compulsive talker with a gravy-stained necktie, a blue-jeaned youngster with unkempt hair and a facility with the jargon of the psychedelic drug set, a dictatorial man who turns from a world that might contradict him, a pun-ridden runabout whose emotional need compels his un-required attendance at every function, an alienated girl whose theatrical makeup cannot conceal her despair—if I see only that, then I have failed to recognize them. Do I suppose I can love someone I cannot see? Consult with him? Can I do either, if I have not recognized myself? And if I cannot see, can I be seen?

It lies within the power of each individual to recognize, and be recognized. Here, perhaps, is the beginning of love.

John Roger White

John Roger White's journey of love began on June 2, 1929. He was the eldest of four children born to Kathleen Rogers and John White, whom he describes in poems entitled "Kathleen's Song" and "In Memoriam: John Bernard White" published in Another Song, Another Season (George Ronald, 1979). The family lived in southeastern Ontario, Canada, moving from Toronto to Belleville, then to Sarnia and back to Belleville.

He was a devout Catholic in his formative years a time defined by the Great Depression and then by the Second World War. While still a very young man, he confided to a close friend that he no longer believed in God. He described this period in his poem "New Song":

When you heard that God had died, you wondered whether it was from sheer boredom —all that joyless music and our imprudent prayers. Your sophomoric selfrighteousness would have been enough to do Him in. So you would have described it then, the frightened child striving to cope with acne and Auschwitz and an anger that sought release in a word powerful enough [Page 61]

IN MEMORIAM 1992-1997

to shake the universe, intimidate the stars, blind to His love of the people of your town for the innocence of their aspiration; blind to their genuine virtue and power and beauty. The tempest came in your twelfth or fifteenth year a clean cold wind, and you were left like a stripped young tree in autumn with a cynical winter setting in and nothing large enough to house your impulse to believe. The need lay as quiet, unhurried and insidious as a seed snowlocked in a bleak and lonely landscape.

After his graduation from high school in Belleville, Roger left home to live in Toronto. There he was introduced to the Bahá’í Faith by Gary Rea-Airth. Attending fireside meetings in Kingston, Ontario, he became very attached to the prominent Canadian Bahá’í teacher and administrator, Winnifred Harvey, and he declared his belief in Bahá’u’lláh in August 1951.

Winnifred Harvey had been taught the Faith by Rowland Estall, who had himself been taught by May Maxwell. Thus, from these earliest days, Roger developed a deep personal affinity with the early heroes of the Faith and dared to hope that he might enjoy some kinship of spirit with them.

Roger returned to live in Belleville after his declaration as a Bahá’í. It was there that he met Helen Owens, who shortly afterward also recognized Bahá’u’lláh. They were married in a Bahá’í ceremony in 1952. The newlywed couple became instrumental in confirming new believers, and within one year the first Local Spiritual Assembly of Belleville was formed, with Roger and Helen serving on it.

Roger worked as a clerk to the County Court in Belleville, progressing to the post of assistant editor of Hansard, the daily record of debates in the Canadian Parliament's House of Commons in Ottawa. He was also on call to the United Nations as a shorthand reporter. The Whites, having moved as a result of Roger's appointment, were soon elected to the Local Spiritual Assembly of Ottawa. In the ensuing years they held regular firesides in their home and, between them, served on four national committees.

When his marriage to Helen ended in 1962, Roger moved to Vancouver where he worked for the Supreme Court of British Columbia. The Hand of the Cause of God William "Bill" Sears and his wife, Marguerite, visited Vancouver, and one night, when Bill went to bed after delivering a talk, Marguerite, Roger, and another Bahá’í discussed Bill's health. Marguerite believed that if her husband's workload could be eased, he might live to serve longer. From this a plan was formed for Roger to become Bill's secretary. For three years, from 1966 to 1969, Roger devotedly served the Sears in Kenya and acted as secretary to the Hands of the Cause in Africa. During a lull, when his other duties permitted, he danced a leading role in a professional production of Guys and Dolls; he was a lithe and graceful dancer.

Returning to North America a further two years were spent with Bill in Palm Springs, California, as secretary and research assistant. It was an amicable relationship, enhanced by the love of laughter the two men shared and warmly recalled in a late poem: "You may alter my grammar and sentence structure," Bill had told Roger, "but don't rewrite my jokes!" [Page 62]In 1971 Bill planned a lengthy teaching tour during which Roger’s services would not be required, so he offered to loan Roger to the Universal House of Justice for six months to help catch up with the production schedule of The Bahá’í World volumes. Twenty years later Roger was still serving at the Bahá’í World Centre and still trying to catch up. Under the supervision of the Universal House of Justice, he was responsible for compiling and publishing volumes XIV to XIX of The Bahá’í World, the standard reference work charting the growth and development of the worldwide Bahá’í community. He also compiled and edited A Compendium of Volumes of the Bahá’í World I-XII, published in 1981.

Stimulated by his proximity to the Bahá’í Holy Places and by the vibrant atmosphere of Israel, Roger renewed an earlier interest in creative writing, particularly the composing of poems and short stories. While in his early twenties he had published at his own expense a book of poetry entitled Summer Window, but now an innate and truly exceptional talent began to emerge. Roger was encouraged in this by David Hofman, then a member of the Universal House of Justice and founder of the publishing house George Ronald. First, two major anthologies of Roger’s poems were published by George Ronald: Another Song, Another Season (1979) and The Witness of Pebbles (1981). In 1983 George Ronald published A Sudden Music, a novel which presented a semi-fictionalized account of the early days of the Bahá’í Faith in Paris. It was followed by a biographical tribute to the poet Emily Dickinson in the form of more than a hundred poems: One Bird, One Cage, One Flight (Naturegraph, 1983). The Shell and the Pearl (George Ronald, 1984) was the short, historical account of the martyrdom of ‘Alí-Asghar of Yazd. Indeed the resumption of the persecution of the Bahá’ís in Iran, with its obvious parallels to earlier outbreaks of opposition, moved Roger to pen some of his most deeply empathic and powerful work, much of which is collected in Occasions of Grace (George Ronald, 1992).

In addition to pursuing his own muse, Roger encouraged hundreds of budding writers and artists around the world through copious correspondence and called upon Bahá’í communities to assist the artists to find their place. He also served as an associate editor for the first English language poetry journal of Israel, Voices Israel, founded in 1971. His considerable talents in the graphic arts expressed themselves most often through papier-mâché, unique collages, and colorful appliqués.

Roger retired from his work at the World Centre in 1991 after undergoing major heart surgery. Returning to Canada he was soon diagnosed with terminal cancer. With his usual dignity he set his affairs in order and continued to teach the Faith by starting a poetry writing group and speaking at firesides. He taught his personal physician, his surgeon, the nursing staff, and social workers. His quiet acceptance of his coming transition was voiced to his family when he said, "It’s really alright, I’ve done everything I’ve ever really wanted to do." His last works of poetry, The Language of There and Notes Postmarked the Mountain of God, were published privately "because I’m running out of time." He completed the text for Forever In Bloom, the photographic essay by Ragu Rai, at this time also.

In one of his final poems, this craftsman of the English language contemplated what vocabulary might be needed in the place where he was going.

Yes. There, light will be our language, a tongue without words for perhaps, or arid, or futile, [Page 63]though shadow will be retained that we may contrast the radiance... ... In time, our desire to speak will abandon us. All that need be said the light will say. Yes.

Roger White passed away on April 10, 1993, in Richmond, British Columbia, surrounded by his family.

Based on memorial articles by Eileen White Collins, Anne Gordon Perry, and Robert Weinberg