Archive for the ‘Ella Baker’ Category

The Death of A Liberal

Wednesday, August 26th, 2009

I never thought I’d live to see the day when the word “liberal” was a bad word. Progressive is the preferred appellation these days to describe those who believe in justice and fairness for all. But debating the difference between “liberal” and “progressive” is not why I came on the blog today.

With last night’s passing of Senator Ted Kennedy of Massachusetts comes the end of an era. The death of Camelot, again? Yes. The death of the Kennedy franchise in politics? Yes. But also the death of old line liberals  and old fashioned liberalism Senator Ted Kennedyin this country. For years there you could find portraits of  Kennedy’s older brothers, John and Bobby, along with that of Martin Luther King, on the walls of black homes, black business, and on the fans of black churches. “Good white folks” are what black folks white folks like the Kennedys. Meaning they were the kind of white folks you could count on to speak up on behalf of the poor and disenfranchised.  I will resist the urge to romanticize what documents  amply show, which is that Ted Kennedy, like his brothers before him, was a very imperfect of a man. But the last of the Kennedy dynasty did manage to do something his brothers before him did not, and that was to die the death of a patriarch. Ted Kennedy died both patriarch of the Kennedy clan and patriarch of a particular era in American political history.  Patriarch, you say? Yes, patriarch. Meaning Kennedy lived long enough to outlive his sins and to ascend to the ranks as  sage and icon in his profession.  Sure, he died with one of his lifelong goals, universal health care, within reach though struggling on Capitol Hill. But you can bet that he managed to accomplish lots of good in his 47 years in Congress.

Anybody here remember an  old song from the 60s written as a tribute to Abraham (Lincoln), John (Kennedy), Martin (King) and Bobby (Kennedy) whose politics left them murdered at an early death? Ted Kennedy outlived King and his brothers, but he couldn’t outlive the influence of the era in which they lived and worked. The song captured the hopes (and tragedies) of that era . Scroll down and click to hear the late Moms Mabley’s beautiful rendition of “Abraham, John, Martin and Bobby.”

Here are the song’s lyrics.

Anybody here seen my old friend Abraham?
Can you tell me where he’s gone?
He freed lotta people but it seems the good they die young
You know I just looked around and he’s gone

Anybody here seen my old friend John?
Can you tell me where he’s gone?
He freed lotta people but it seems the good they die young
I just looked around and he’s gone

(brief instrumental interlude-organ)

Anybody here seen my old friend Martin?
Can you tell me where he’s gone?
He freed lotta people but it seems the good they die young
I just looked around and he’s gone

Didn’t you love the things that they stood for?
Didn’t they try to find some good for you and me?
And we’ll be free
Some day soon, it’s gonna be one day

Anybody here seen my old friend Bobby?
Can you tell me where he’s gone?
I thought I saw him walkin’ up over the hill
With Abraham, Martin and John

I’m A Community Organizer, and I Bet You Are Too

Monday, September 8th, 2008

I join progressive bloggers today in honoring the great work that community organizers do and in saying that, contra Sarah Palin, community organizers are changemakers and have made critical contributions to American history.community organizer

What are some things community organizers do?

Anyone who has volunteered to help register voters is a community organizer.

Anyone who has volunteered to pick up people and transport them to the voting poll, to a cleaner and better hospital than the one they usually go to, to a cleaner and better supermarket because the one in their neighborhood is a rip off.

Anyone who has tried to organize a group for a cause is a community organizer.

Anyone who has spoken out about injustice, whether writing into a campaign, talked to their friends, or made a phone call is a community organizer.

Says sister progressive blogger, Sojourner’s Place:

Whether it be HIV/AIDS or Apartheid in South Africa or genocide in Darfur or Voting Rights, community organizers have played an integral part and had significant impact these issues and instigated change. To discount the significance and importance of Community Organizers, is to discount the significance and importance of what it means and is to be American.

For it is the Community Organizer who accepts the challenge and ofttimes thankless and dangerous position to go up against the status quo. It is the Community Organizer whose very life is dedicated to leaving the pile higher that it was found regardless of the cost. Yet, it is the Community Organizer who finds him or herself in the throes of ridicule, obstacles, and obstructions.

Community organizers, says, Prof BW DO in fact have responsibilities:

Community organizers are sometimes unpaid and more often underpaid for the work they do. Their hours are long as they have to accommodate constituents, emergencies, and changes in strategies and venues. They develop some of the strongest coalition building skills of anyone involved in civic work because they have to work closely with ideologues, establishment, rich, poor, the hurt, the angry, the apathetic, and the uncaring to accomplish their goals… More than that, many community organizers have been the first and strongest defense against the assault on the rights of marginalized people.

Come to think about, I too AM a community organizer.

I’m working with folks on my street to do something about the house across the way that some overzealous builder started building last year but went bankrupt and abandoned six months into the project and has now become an eye-sore street and a danger to kids in the neighborhood who like climbing its inside rafters to get a view of the city as the house sits on a hill.

I recently signed on to help register to vote the under-served residents who live around my church and to see to it that the members of my church know where to go in their neighborhoods and how to make certain ahead of time that they haven’t been dropped, because of some inconsistency, from the voting records.

After living in this neighborhood for over ten years I only recently spotted a nice neighborhood park that I’d like to take daily walks in (rather than driving 10 miles across town to walk around the university track), But I think the city should cut back some of the hedges, bushes, and growth surrounding the park to make it more safe for women to walk alone. I think I’ll see if there are others in the community who think the same and are willing to help start a petition to take downtown.   Fannie Lou

Here’s to the memory of the hundreds of community organizers, especially the women talk about a lot on this blog, whose fire breathing work on behalf of justice made it possible for us to enjoy the freedoms we have today.

Contra Sarah Palin, community organizers are changemakers.

Think about, Miriam, Deborah, Mary Magdalene, Priscilla and Lydia. I bet you’ve done some organizing, agitating, disseminating information, marching, and speaking truth to power in your lifetime.

I bet you can can come up with something you’ve done (or are currently doing) that’s said to the powers that be ”Let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream.” If you haven’t, just hold on: these hard economic times we’re living in are gonna make prophets and community organizers out of all of us before it’s over.

Anybody wanna give a shout out to some community organizer that you know of or to some comunity project you’re working on and the many volunteers who work with you on the project?

I Can’t Deal With Her: Black and White Women in the Movement

Monday, June 16th, 2008

Other major writing deadlines claim my attention this week, and I must thank my friend Ruby Sales for stepping in and contributing a guest column here on Something Within today.
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I grew up in the South where white women were “Ms. Anne” the pillar and post of a segregated society and black women were expected to bend to their power and every command in the kitchen and all areas of society. When black women refused to accommodate this white female supremacist structure, white women acted as ruthless as white men in pushing us in our places. This is the only kind of white woman I knew before I joined the southern Freedom Movement in the 60s.

In the Movement, I worked met and worked alongside white women who were just as fierce about democratizing the south and the rest of the country by breaking the backs of economic and racial injustice. Like black women, they took the body blows and the vicious name calling without backing down or finding easy ways out. We stretched each other’s lives! Thinking back on it now, had we gone through life without meeting each other our lives would be the poorer for it.

The Movement taught the black and white women who worked in it to interrogate our assumptions about each other even if it meant going into territories that reeked of bad history and seething anger.

Much of black and white women’s anger and mistrust toward each other today has long and deep roots that extend beyond the Southern Freedom Movement, back to slavery and echoes throughout black and white women’s history with each other in this country. I came face to face, however, with that history during the Southern Freedom Movement where black and white women, when we weren’t fighting against our common enemy racist oppression, we engaged in an intra- gender war among ourselves. We each used what we thought were our most beautiful assets to jab each other and to score beauty and power points. In the presence of black women, white women often untied their hair and flung it shoulder length at us. Not to be outdone, we flung and shook our hips as we blew air between our lips. In these battles, both white and black Movement women retreated behind defensive walls because we wanted what the other had and what we thought we lacked. We waged attacks against each other with different weapons with always a view on what we thought were the prizes of our struggle: Black men, leadership, and white male power.

In far too many instances, the struggle between Black and White women gave way to a horizontal and irrational meanness and narrowness that hampered our abilities to critique our actions so that we might see more of the other and less of ourselves. For many southern and northern white women, black male freedom fighters represented taboos they wanted to cross over. For us, black men were strong, take care of business, spit in the face of white culture and lived to tell about it – a new breed of race men. When black men stood up during the Movement up and asserted “I am a man,” black women stirred with pride and ownership. And, we were not letting any one rob us of this moment that we dreamed and prayed into being. In the end, we could not unite in long run coalitions as mutual partners in a struggle for racial and gender justice. Sad to say, but the white and black men who worked alongside us in the Movement found ways to fuel the divisions among us for their own benefits, which often meant securing their places of power.

Lest I feed into the revisionist notion of the Civil Rights Movement as principally a gender war and a sexual playground, I, as a Movement witness can tell you without any hesitation that a passionate and uncompromising commitment to freedom and justice for southern African Americans drove my Movement sisters and brothers, both black and white. This deep and abiding commitment cut across race, class and gender. It was the glue that held our relationships together beyond our differences and skirmishes in the hottest and most devastating moments of the Movement. Black and white women formed a circle of friendship and camaraderie that held throughout the worst days of white terrorism and gender wars. Many of these friendships hold steady today.

Sit ins
 ©Fred Blackwell; Seated, left to right, are Joan Trumpauer (now Mulholland), and Anne Moody

Whether you were a black or white woman, the South was a dangerous place to work and go to jail. White male jailers raped black and white women, conducted invasive and deep vaginal searches and often poured acid on women’s genitals. They tortured black women more frequently than white women. Today revisionist historians, along with 20th Century White Redeemers, Right Wing Conservatives, Christian Coalitions and their colored allies, obscure the nature and violence of these barbaric actions with public propaganda that depicts the southern Freedom Movement as a movement of black and white female sluts who engaged in endless abnormal and depraved sex with men, especially animalistic and predatory black men. In the short and long term, these revisionist lies work to undercut the meaning and victories of the Movement and the complex friendships that emerged from it.

I, as was the case with many of my black sisters, belonged to a generation of black women that did not feel limited in the Movement because of our gender. Immediately upon entering Lowndes County, Alabama, I was assigned as a sole organizer to a city with about 2,000 black people. This was not true for white women whose public presence with black people, especially black men, jeopardized the entire black community. White women resented the fact that they could not always work out in the field like the rest of us and had to work behind desk answering phones and taking care of administrative tasks. It reminded them of all the times in their lives they had been held back because of their gender. 

Some Black women gloated over the restrictions placed on white women. For the first time in history, we seem to have more freedom of mobility and access to power than white women. In response to what seemed to be unequal power, white women retaliated by using their position in the administrative offices by controlling information and keeping those they disagreed with in the dark about key Movement decisions. These dynamics fed the divide that already existed between black and white women. Despite the common experience between black and white women in the Southern Freedom/Civil Rights Movement, the bond between black and white women would eventually finally snap. And when it came, it was not over men but over the deeper issues of systemic racism, power, leadership and Black women’s unwillingness to come to feminism on white women’s terms in ways that left our fathers, sons and brothers out.

White women would eventually leave the Southern Freedom Movement to form their own feminist circles using the skills they gained from their experiences in the Southern Freedom Movement. I do not blame them for building gender organizations. They should have. The Movement shouldn’t have expected white women to swallow sexism any more than we were prepared to swallow racism. I do blame the white women who worked in the Movement, however, for building what in many instances became racist organizations that closed doors in black women’s faces—appropriating the tools of their white mothers and fathers and forgetting what they learned from local black women like Victoria Gray Adams and Ella Baker.

race women 

Today as I watch all that has taken place in the recent presidential primaries I see black and white women falling prey to a static history that leaves out this ebb and flow with each other. Instead we lock each other into a one dimensional contentious history that does not tell the stories of the hopeful times when we stood together in Mississippi, Georgia, Alabama, Florida, Tennessee and South Carolina our voices earnestly singing , “I will die for my freedom if the spirit says die”…. Gone are those memories.

We see evidence of our collective loss of memory from the vitriolic comments of white women for Hillary and black women for Barack. Learning very little from Popular Movements of the 60’s- 90’s, both groups imagine a dualistic world where their grievances take up the entire stage. Grievances that close them off to the suffering of others. Yes, deep bitterness runs throughout the conversations between black and white women, blighting truths and the questions that we must ask about ourselves each other and the men in our communities. I ask myself: Are black and white women doomed to repeat the past? Will we always be going our separate ways because it’s just too hard to interrogate our assumptions and get past our differences? Can no better future for us be imagined?

©Ruby Sales, 2008