A Story of Humanity - Anne Carter

This is a short post to share a story of humanity, well many stories of humanity all linked to the same.

I met with Anne a few weeks ago in her home town of Cedar Rapids, Iowa, along with my friend from the UK, Andy.

After we had enjoyed a lovely lunch and conversations together, Anne invited us back to her home, which was close by, as she wanted to show us the driveways opposite her family home.

It was a powerful story, as you will see, about how seemingly small childhood experiences can shape who we become as people.

There is much more to Anne's story, the story of her parents when they came to Cedar Rapids many decades ago. This is covered elsewhere, just look up Percy and Lileah Harris and Cedar Rapids, Anne's parents.

The picture at the top of this post, of Anne with Robert Becker tells its own story, as Robert's father was key in welcoming Anne's parents, Percy and Lileah, to Cedar Rapids, providing her dad with space to run his healthcare surgery in a time when few others would.

What a wonderful connection, the smiles in the picture say it all!

Anne Carter — crossing the line

Anne Carter stands outside her family home in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, looking across the street at a driveway.

To anyone else, it might look ordinary. A strip of concrete. A neighbour’s property. A route that children might take on their way to school.

But for Anne, that driveway carries a story, an important story, a story of humanity, of choice, connection and creation.

It was the story of a line she had been taught not to cross.

Anne’s parents built their family home and moved into it just before she was born. But before they were able to buy the property, some people in the neighbourhood had tried to stop the sale. A petition had circulated against them.

Cedar Rapids, like many American cities, carried the legacy of redlining — a system that shaped where Black and Brown families were allowed, encouraged, or prevented from living.

Through banking, insurance and neighbourhood pressure, opportunity was not simply distributed unevenly. It was deliberately controlled.

Anne was the eighth child in her family. By the time she went to kindergarten, her elementary school was just behind the neighbouring properties. Some neighbours allowed the Carter children to take a shortcut across their driveways and yards, making the walk to school simple and direct.

But one driveway was different.

The neighbours connected to the petition had not allowed the Carter children to walk there, or at least that is what they understood.

Anne’s older siblings passed that knowledge down to her. This was the rule: don’t cross the line.

For Anne, the rule became more than practical instruction. It became part of her inner world.

She describes herself as the rule-abiding child. The one who followed instructions. The one who would not risk getting it wrong. The one who would not bring trouble on the family.

Looking back, after returning home following 30 years away, Anne began to wonder whether that driveway had shaped something deep in her: a sense of perfectionism, a fear of breaking rules, an instinct not to cross lines, not to bring disgrace to the family name.

“I’m not going to ruin the family,” she reflected.
“I’m not going to break the rules.”
“I’m not going to cross the line.”

But Anne’s story does not end with the line.

In 2020, Cedar Rapids was hit by a devastating derecho storm.

Trees came down. Power was lost. The city’s canopy was badly damaged. In the disruption, neighbours had to rely on one another in new ways.

Something changed.

Anne got to know the neighbours better. What had once been distance became conversation, connection.

Anne texted the neighbours and asked a simple question: would it be okay if she walked on the driveway the next morning?

It was a small act. But it was not small.

For Anne, walking on that driveway meant crossing a line that had existed since childhood. It meant facing a memory that had lived in her body for decades. It meant choosing not to let an old boundary have the final word.

This is where Anne’s story reflects the Champions Pathway of Choice, Connection and Creation.

First comes choice.

Anne chose to look honestly at the story she had inherited. She chose not to dismiss it, minimise it, or pretend it had not mattered. She recognised that a childhood rule had shaped her — and that she now had the power to respond differently.

Then comes connection.

The storm created the conditions for neighbourliness. Anne did not cross the driveway in anger or defiance alone. She reached out. She asked. She opened a human conversation. The line was crossed not only by a footstep, but by relationship.

Then comes creation.

Anne’s act created something new. A new memory. A new possibility. A new way of carrying the past. The driveway did not disappear. The history did not vanish. But the meaning began to change.

Anne has since listened to others in the neighbourhood — including an elderly woman whose family had been part of the church community involved at the time, and people Anne’s own age who remember what was said around family dinner tables.

Her story has become part of a wider act of truth-telling.

Anne has recently been appointed Executive Director of the African American Museum of Iowa.

In that role, she will help preserve, interpret and share stories that might otherwise be forgotten, softened, or left unspoken.

Her own story shows why stories matter, stories that inform and inspire others.

History is not only found in archives, photographs and public records.

Sometimes it is found in a driveway. In a childhood instruction. In a neighbour’s memory. In the line a child learns not to cross.

And humanity begins when someone is willing to return to that place, tell the truth, make connection, and create something new.

Andy and I felt a privilege to join Anne as she shared this story, her story. It builds a connection built on humanity, what makes us human, creating real and genuine human bonds. She invited us, and we responded, we learned and grew as people, as humans, and can now share this with you.

It reminds us that we cannot change the past. But we can change what happens next through the choices we decide, the connections we build, and what we create.

Founded in 1993, the African American Museum of Iowa has a vision to: "build a community that comes together to foster a greater understanding and appreciation of Iowa’s African American history and culture through conversation, engagement, and reflection".

Wishing Anne every success as she continues her story of humanity and brings honor to her family name!