Roundabout
musings on black power, black potency, black excellence
The Souls of Black Folk in the Twenty-First Century
In today’s first post we tried to
distill 140 years of black political activity in Greater Cleveland to provide
some context for the current deplorable state of our political affairs, where
we have more representation than ever, but seemingly less power, and most
certainly less public service. Already we have heard directly from several of
our readers, mostly in a positive vein, although one — Cleveland NAACP
president Mike Nelson — called up to dispute our characterization of his
organization as “stirring”.
The prompt for that first post
was the euphoria we felt from attending two events the day before yesterday.
The first was a program at Case Western Reserve University, hosted by its Weatherhead
School of Management. It was a high caliber discussion of macro economic trends
delivered by Michael Jeans with such clarity that even nonfinancial initiates could
assimilate, followed by a discussion of opportunity structures for businesses
and the traps for the unwary that surround those opportunities. What made it
special in addition to its first rate quality were two things: a) knowing that
two African American bankers — Michael Jeans of JumpStart’s Growth
Opportunity Partners subsidiary, and Ndeda Letson of Citizens Bank — were
involved in every detail of the event, and that it was carried out to
perfection, even to the catering, and b) it was inclusive.
May I digress for a moment? Roger
Wilkins earlier this week. He was an unassuming black man of great intellect
and integrity, a civil rights champion of national repute, and a path-breaker
in many ways. From obituaries [Washington
Post[1];
New
York Times[2]]
I learned, unsurprisingly, that he was in some ways tortured by the pressures
he was forced to bear as a black man who came of age in mid-century America.
The pressures were by no means unique to him. While they have dissipated to a
great degree for many black people, especially those with some economic means,
they are nonetheless known to virtually every adult African American of a
certain age. President Obama alluded to this fact more than once, although he
tended to do so obliquely — precisely because those pressures remain so feral
in American society and polity. (If you
doubt that, glance at the White House.)
For Wilkins, who worked at the
highest “blue chip” levels of American government and society, the pressure
cooker was often too much; he had difficulty reconciling the privileged arenas
in which he worked and socialized with his notion of blackness and his understanding
and empathy for the less fortunate for whom he was a fierce and relentless
advocate.
There are moments in life where
the twoness of being African in America, so peerlessly expressed by DuBois[3],
disappears because you find yourself in a place where even the micro-aggressions
have faded away. That’s what true inclusion can feel like. And I thought how
Wilkins would have loved to have been where I was both Tuesday morning and
Tuesday evening, in settings where excellence and ethnicity combined in a way
that could make grown men cry for joy. Black folk, and the woke part of our
nation, got a taste of that during the Obama years, and we ain’t never gonna
forget or quit trying to reproduce it wherever we can.
So Tuesday night I had two events
to cover, and apologies to the Black Professionals Association Charitable
Foundation [BPACF] which was having its annual meeting and announcing to the
world that Erskine Cade [“Ernie”] was its 2017 Black Professional of the Year
[an inspired choice, we think], I never got there, which means I also missed
the tribute BPACF was scheduled to give honoring the life of Charleyse Pratt, a
very accomplished sister who died earlier this month.
Truth is, I had barely walked in
the door of The Lofts suite at 40th St. and Payne Ave. for the local
launch of a political action committee when I knew something special was going
down.
To begin with, the room was full
and the vibe was warm, natural. Healthy [that no micro-aggression thing again.
You can feel its presence or absence in the atmosphere, like extreme humidity.]
I saw people whose presence surprised me; they weren’t they types who usually
attend political affairs. The crowd skewed millennial but all generations were there,
Gen Xers and Baby Boomers and whatever fills the gaps. And significantly, there
was a total absence of that segment of the political crowd whose hands are
always out, looking for the hustle.
[By way of contrast, I remember
when Gov. Kasich came to town a few years ago to tout his administration’s
success in achieving the state’s set-aside goals for the first time in history.
It was indeed a signal achievement in which he took justifiable pride — “just
do it”, I think he said. That accomplishment was an example of what it takes
when the intent to be inclusive is real: leadership and commitment from the
top, and the willingness to hold subordinates accountable for performance.
There was a huge crowd of folk at that Kasich photo op, but even apart from the hoopty-do of a gubernatorial road show, the vibe that day was different. That particular mostly black crowd had a different flavor than either of Tuesday’s events. The people who hustled over to see and meet the Governor or his posse, to get in the pictures, to secure the right contact, put a chill in the air for this reporter. You could sense they were there, figuratively, with hands out, palms up, grins at the ready.
(That sounds harsh, but then this
site is called The Real Deal.)
I think I just broke my promise
that this was going to be a 100% positive report, and I know I have buried the
lead, which is that
[1] From a young age, he once wrote, he was compelled to
spend his life “blasting
through doors that white people didn’t want to open.” Mr. Wilkins said he lived
at times with a painful duality as an African American who had risen to
positions of leverage in white-controlled halls of power.
He felt an obligation to serve the black community, but
he also desired an identity independent from it — “my own personal exemption,”
he said. … He spent periods of his life at the Ford Foundation, where he
awarded grants from its luxurious New York offices, and on the riot-ravaged
streets of Detroit, where he was confronted by gun-wielding state troopers
unaccustomed to encountering a black federal authority. … Intense and
sensitive, Mr. Wilkins … saw himself as a microcosm of high-achieving black
America at a time of limited new opportunity amid still-festering historical
bigotry.
[2] Mr.
Wilkins had little personal experience with discrimination. He waged war
against racism from above the barricades — with political influence, jawboning,
court injunctions, philanthropic grants, legislative proposals, and
commentaries on radio and television and in newspapers, magazines and books.
Outwardly, he was a successful, popular black man with
more white acquaintances than black friends. … As he rose to prominence, he
came to regard himself as a token black in institutions and social circles that
were overwhelmingly white and privileged. It troubled him deeply. In [a]
memoir, he acknowledged years of unease with his blackness, of trying to live
up to the expectations of whites.
[3] “One
ever feels his twoness, — an American, a Negro; two souls, two thoughts, two
unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark body, whose dogged
strength alone keeps it from being torn asunder.” —
W. E. B. DuBois, The Souls of Black Folks,
[1903]
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