Most people believe there were no Blacks among the Allied soldiers who hit the beaches of Normandy on D-Day. Historical researcher Linda Hervieux relates a conversation she had with a U.S. Army Museum archivist who stated flatly, “There were no black men at D-Day.”
That archivist was wrong. There were hundreds of African American soldiers who fought, performed heroically, and, in some cases, died on Omaha and Utah beaches on June 6, 1944.
But the widespread belief to the contrary is understandable. In the multitude of books and films made about that pivotal event in world history, there is almost no acknowledgement of the presence of African Americans. Their contributions to the the Allies’ D-Day victory have been practically erased from popular history. But as one of them put it decades later:
You won’t read much about what Black soldiers did on D-Day, but we were there.— Tech. Sgt. George Davison, 320th Antiaircraft Balloon Battalion
Yes, they were there. And now their story, deliberately neglected for decades, is finally being rediscovered and made known. A good example of that trend is the comprehensive account provided by Linda Hervieux in her book, Forgotten: The Untold Story of D-Day’s Black Heroes, at Home and at War. Much of the information in this article comes from that source.
Why You Never Heard About Blacks at D-Day
For most of World War II African Americans were not allowed to fight. They were reluctantly brought into the military due, in large part, to political pressure placed on the administration of President Franklin D. Roosevelt by Black newspapers, the NAACP, and other civil rights organizations. But once enlisted, Blacks were put in racially segregated units that were used mostly for non-combat support roles such as supply, transportation, and maintenance.
Of the 909,000 Black Americans who joined the U.S. Army during WW2, only about 50,000 were allowed to serve in actual combat roles.
That’s why on D-Day there were no African American soldiers whose primary mission was to storm the beaches as assault troops.
But African Americans were nonetheless a key element of the D-Day invasion plan.
The African American Units That Participated in D-Day
Among the 59,000 American soldiers who came ashore at Omaha and Utah beaches on June 6, about 2,000 were Black. They included members of the 3275th Quartermaster Service Company, the 582nd Engineer Dump Truck company, the 385th Quartermaster Truck Company, and the 490th Port Battalion.
These men assisted the assault troops by unloading supplies from ships, and driving trucks, earth-movers and ambulances on the beach. They did their jobs well, showing extraordinary bravery under extremely dangerous conditions. John Ford, the well known Hollywood director of such films as Stage Coach (with John Wayne) and The Grapes of Wrath (with Henry Fonda), witnessed one such incident.
Ford, serving as a Commander in the United States Navy Reserve, was on Omaha Beach (in, as he said, “a relatively safe place”) directing a Coast Guard film crew. He later recalled his awe at the bravery of one African American soldier who was fulfilling a “support” role:
“I remember watching one colored man in a DUKW loaded with supplies. He dropped them on the beach, unloaded, went back for more. I watched, fascinated. Shells landed around him. The Germans were really after him. He avoided every obstacle and just kept going back and forth, back and forth, completely calm. I thought, By God, if anybody deserves a medal that man does.”
Another African American who displayed great bravery in a “support” capacity during the invasion was Coast Guardsman John N. Roberts. He served aboard an LCI(L) [Landing Craft Infantry – Large] that was transporting troops to the beach under heavy fire.
As Roberts was taking a message from the ship’s commander to the engine room, a German shell exploded beneath him, causing the loss of one leg and serious injury to the other. He was awarded two purple hearts at the time, and in 2008 received the French Legion of Honor for his heroism.
The only African American command that was specifically designated as a combat unit, and the one that had the greatest impact during the early hours of D-Day, was the 320th Antiaircraft Balloon Battalion.
How the 320th Antiaircraft Balloon Battalion Helped Secure the Beaches
The 320th Very Low Altitude (VLA) Barrage Balloon Battalion, consisting of about 1,500 soldiers and 49 officers, was tasked with deploying balloons over the beaches to protect them from air attack by Luftwaffe planes. These helium-filled inflatables, each about the size of a small car, were designed to fly over the beach at an altitude of about 2,000 feet. Their purpose was to serve as obstacles to low-flying planes attempting to strafe or bomb attacking soldiers as they emerged from their landing crafts and attempted to cross the beach.
“The primary aim of these balloons is to keep the enemy’s planes up so that the AA (anti-aircraft) automatic weapons can track them, and to render their bombing ineffective and strafing impossible in the area being defended.”
A plane hitting one of the cables by which the balloons were tethered would likely be brought down by having a propeller fouled in the wire or a wing sliced completely off. To make doubly sure, some balloons even had explosives attached to their cables. A plane hitting one of these “flying mines” was almost certain to be destroyed.
The D-Day planners considered having adequate barrage balloon coverage so important that they reduced the normal crew of four men per balloon to three to ensure that they had enough trained personnel for the number of balloons needed.
The 320th Performed Heroically During the Landings
Due to the nature of their mission, the men of the 320th had to be among the first U.S. troops to hit the beaches. Members of the battalion first landed on Omaha Beach at 9 a.m., about two hours after the invasion began. A July 5, 1944 article in the army newspaperStars and Stripes detailed the reception they received:
“The [320th] has the distinction of being the only Negro combat group included in the first assault forces to hit the coasts. The balloons were flown across the channel from hundreds of landing craft, three men to a balloon, and taken ashore under savage fire from shore batteries. Some of the men died alongside the infantryman they came in to protect, and their balloons drifted off. But the majority struggled to shore with their balloons and light winches and set up for operation in foxholes on the beach.”
The assault troops the 320th “came in to protect” recognized and appreciated their bravery and commitment. The reputation the battalion earned for itself that day was reflected in a letter from the editor of Yank, the US Army’s weekly magazine, to the staff of Supreme Allied Commander General Dwight Eisenhower:
“It seems the whole front knows the story of the Negro barrage balloon battalion outfit which was one of the first ashore on D-Day… [they] have gotten the reputation of hard workers and good soldiers.”
General Eisenhower Commends the 320th
Gen. Eisenhower took note of the “splendid manner” in which the men of the 320th got their balloons into the air and kept them there while under intense German artillery and machine gun fire. In an official commendation of the unit he said:
Despite the losses sustained, the battalion carried out its mission with courage and determination, and proved an important element of the air defense team…. I commend you and the officers and men of your battalion for your fine effort which has merited the praise of all who have observed it.
— Supreme Allied Commander General Dwight Eisenhower
A Soldier Who Earned – But Did Not Get – the Medal of Honor
A member of the 320th who displayed extraordinary heroism during the landings at Omaha Beach was a 21-year-old medical corpsman, Sgt. Waverly Woodson.
Because it was anticipated that there would be heavy casualties among the troops assaulting the beaches, the medics of the 320th were not kept in a racially segregated group, but were distributed among the incoming units without regard to race.
Sgt. Woodson was assigned to an LCT (Landing Craft Tank) that never made it to shore. It first struck a mine in the water, then was hit by an artillery shell. Most of the Army and Navy personnel aboard were killed. Sgt. Woodson suffered shrapnel wounds to his groin and back.
Under withering fire from artillery, machine guns, and snipers, the severely injured Woodson made it to the beach and set up a medical aid station. For the next 30 hours, still under intense enemy fire, he cared for wounded soldiers, patching wounds, removing bullets, dispensing blood plasma, and helping to rescue and revive men who were half-drowned in the surf. He even performed at least one amputation.
Finally the effects of his own wounds caught up with Sgt. Woodson, and he collapsed. He was evacuated to a hospital ship, but within three days was asking to be sent back to the beach.
According to a contemporary account, he finally underwent a three-hour operation several days later to remove a piece of shrapnel that had torn through his leg and embedded itself in his groin.
Sgt. Woodson was awarded the Bronze Star for his extraordinary bravery and commitment to duty. Actually, his commanding general recommended him for the Medal of Honor, but he never received that award – and neither did any other African American during WW2. A 1995 Army investigation concluded that it was not any lack of heroism on the part of Black soldiers, but “pervasive racism” that accounts for that fact.
Finally, in 1997 President Bill Clinton awarded long overdue Medals of Honor to seven Black WW2 soldiers. Because his service records were lost in a fire in the seventies, Sgt. Woodson was not among them. But his case is not yet closed.
Although Waverly Woodson died in 2005, an effort to have him awarded a posthumous Medal of Honor has been initiated by Senator Chris Van Hollen of Maryland.
The Waverly Woodson Story
The D-Day Record is Being Set Straight
The African Americans of D-Day have been unjustly overlooked or ignored for far too long. Even the highly acclaimed 1998 Steven Spielberg/Tom Hanks film, Saving Private Ryan, faithfully showed the barrage balloons put up over Omaha Beach by the 320th, while totally ignoring the men who put them there. Hopefully, that kind of neglect will never happen again.
As Gen. Omar Bradley said years after D-Day, “every man who set foot on Omaha Beach that day was a hero.”
It’s taken decades, but the African American heroes of D-Day are finally beginning to receive the recognition and honor they deserve for the courage and sacrifice they displayed that day.
For Frances Wills and Harriet Pickens, December 21, 1944, was one of the most exciting days of their lives. It was the day they were commissioned as officers in the United States Navy. It was also the day they stepped into history as the first African-American women ever to receive such commissions.
Two Very Accomplished Women
Frances Eliza Wills was a native of Philadelphia but later lived in New York. She was a Hunter College graduate who had worked with famed African-American poet Langston Hughes while pursuing her MA in Social Work at Pitt.
She then worked at an adoption agency, placing children in adoptive homes. Under her married name, Francis Wills Thorpe, she would eventually write a book, Navy Blue and Other Colors, about her experiences as a pioneering naval officer.
Harriet Ida Pickens, a public health administrator with a Master’s Degree in Political Science from Columbia University, was the daughter of William Pickens, one of the founders of the NAACP.
The July 1939 issue of “The Crisis,” the NAACP’s monthly magazine, has an article about Harriet moving into the job of Executive Secretary of the Harlem Tuberculosis and Health Committee of the New York Tuberculosis and Health Association. She had previously been a supervisor of recreation programs in the New Deal’s WPA.
The article notes that Harriet was a 1930 cum laude graduate of Smith College in Northampton, Massachusetts. She was one of only six seniors to receive the “S” pin, the highest honor at Smith for all around merit.
Obviously, these were two accomplished and well-educated women, highly qualified to serve their country as military officers in time of war. It was only their race that stood in the way. This remarkable pair would help to tear that barrier down.
The two were forever linked in November of 1944 when together they were sworn into the US Navy as apprentice seamen, then went on to join the last class of the Naval Reserve Midshipmen’s School (Women’s Reserve) at Smith College in Northampton, Massachusetts.
Starting Their Officer Training Course
As a graduate of Smith College, it must have felt like something of a homecoming for Harriet to be on that campus again. But getting through the training program there was a challenging assignment for both women. It was only on October 19, 1944, that the Navy finally announced its decision to integrate its female reserve program.
By the time Harriet and Frances arrived at Smith in November, they were already well behind the other officer candidates in the program and had to work very hard to catch up.
But catch up they did. By graduation day in December, they were on par with the rest of the women officers-to-be. In fact, according to the Negro History Bulletin, Volume 11, page 88, Harriet graduated as the top-ranking member of her class.
Lieutenant (Junior Grade) Harriet Ida Pickens (left), and Ensign Frances Wills Source: National Archives
The Female Naval Captain Who Helped Make It Possible
That they were there at all, in a fully integrated environment, was due in no small part to the efforts of another pioneering female naval officer, Captain Mildred H. McAfee.
Mildred McAfee had become President of Wellesley College in 1936. When the United States was drawn into World War II, she took a leave of absence from that post to enter the US Navy. In August 1942 she was commissioned a Lieutenant Commander in the Naval Reserve, becoming the Navy’s first female commissioned officer.
At the urging of Eleanor Roosevelt, Congress had authorized the formation of the “Women Accepted for Volunteer Emergency Service” program, popularly known as the WAVES. Mildred McAfee became its first director.
Unlike the Army’s Women’s Auxiliary Army Corps, the WAACs, the WAVES were an official component of the US Navy, its members holding the same ranks and ratings, and receiving the same pay as male members of the service.
A Totally Segregated Military
The question of the admission of African Americans to full and equal participation in the US military was being fiercely debated at that time. The NAACP and other black organizations were putting the Roosevelt administration under intense pressure to end segregation in the armed forces and allow African Americans to serve on the same basis as other groups.
All arms of the US military were segregated, with blacks relegated to non-combat, supporting roles. However, it was the Navy that was most resistant to calls for desegregating the services. The Navy command structure had been especially insistent that the only role it saw for African Americans was as servants, mess stewards and the like. But in 1944, things began, ever so slowly, to change.
Early that year, unable to withstand the pressure being applied by the NAACP, other civil rights organizations, and especially, First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt, the Navy commissioned its first male black officers, a group that came to be known as the “Golden Thirteen.”
Still holding as much as it could to its tradition of strict segregation by race, the Navy limited the new officers to serving in segregated units involved only in shore duty. Still, it was a breakthrough.
The Navy Continues to Resist Integration
Now came the question of what to do about the female arm of the service. Morris J. MacGregor, Jr., in a study of the integration of the military sponsored by the US Army, details how resistance to integrating the WAVES was overcome.
The Navy was clear that it saw no need for blacks to be recruited into the WAVES. The Bureau of Naval Personnel argued that since the WAVES were designed to provide female replacements for men who could then be released for combat duty, and since there were more than enough black male sailors available for all the duties to which the Navy was willing to assign them, there was no need to admit black women.
“Over His Dead Body”
Mildred McAfee, promoted to Captain in 1943, firmly resisted that line of thought. She became an aggressive advocate for the full integration of the WAVES but faced an uphill fight. According to MacGregor, Secretary of the Navy Frank Knox told Captain McAfee that blacks would be enlisted into the WAVES “over his dead body.”
Well, that’s exactly what happened. Knox died in office in 1944 and was replaced as Navy Secretary by James Forrestal. The new Secretary, a longtime member of the National Urban League, a major civil rights organization, brought an entirely new attitude to the office. He immediately began working on a plan for the gradual integration of the Navy, including the WAVES.
However, because of the continuing fear that attempting to integrate naval vessels while the war was still going on would cause too much turmoil, Forrestal’s plan envisioned commissioning black officers to serve only in segregated units.
Captain Mildred H. McAfee Source: National Archives
Captain McAfee’s Commitment to Integration
When Forrestal consulted Captain McAfee for her advice regarding enlisting blacks in the WAVES, she strongly insisted that there should be no segregation. She wanted blacks to be recruited into her unit on a fully integrated basis. Forrestal remained unconvinced of the practicality of such a course while the war lasted.
However, the combination of Captain McAfee’s tenacious insistence, and not having enough African American WAVES applicants to justify a blacks-only arm, finally prevailed.
Under Captain McAfee’s direction, the WAVES became the first fully integrated arm of the US Navy. Their experience training officers and enlisted personnel on a fully integrated basis, routinely and without incident, became a model for the integration of the rest of the Navy.
Role Models for the Navy
Frances Wills and Harriet Pickens also became, in their own way, models for the rest of the Navy. In her memoir recounting her experiences as a naval officer, Frances shares an incident that shows the impact these women had personally on a previously totally segregated Navy:
Soon after her commissioning, Frances, along with other female officers, visited a ship docked in Brooklyn.
“I became aware of a brown face, staring, wide-eyed from the galley opening. I tried to appear casual as I smiled lightly in his direction. The face disappeared and another brown one took its place immediately, equally wide-eyed….(This was) a reaction which I would soon become accustomed to see in various places, with different people. It was the first time that these stewards (the only job available for many years for Afro-Americans in the Navy) had seen a person of color in officer’s uniform. It may well have been the first time they had seen WAVES of any color since they had just returned from duty.”
The Navy seemed to be proud of its accomplishment in commissioning Harriet and Frances. As Frances recalls in her memoir:
“Navy photographers were everywhere. Harriet and I were asked to pose pushing down together to close a suitcase. Although the photograph itself was first-rate and has been shown many times in the years since that day it was entirely fictional. By the time that the photographer approached and described the shot he wanted, both Harriet and I had long since stowed away all our gear and were waiting with the same undisguised eagerness as all of our classmates for train time. It was not difficult to smile a happy smile.”
Posing for the Navy photographer Source: National Archives
A Lasting Legacy
By the time the war ended on September 2, 1945, 72 black enlisted personnel had joined the two pioneering African American officers among the Navy’s 86,000 WAVES.
After receiving their commissions, both Frances Wills and Harriet Pickens served at the Hunter Naval Training Station in Bronx, NY, the main training facility for enlisted WAVES recruits.
Source: National Archives
Frances Wills taught naval history and administered classification tests. She died in 1998.
Harriet Pickens led physical training sessions. After suffering a stroke, she died in 1969 at the age of 60.
Mildred McAfee continued on active duty in the Navy until February 1946. She then returned to her post as President of Wellesley College. She died in 1994.
What these three remarkable women accomplished lives on. By helping to demonstrate that racial integration could work in the military service most resistant to it, they contributed to making possible President Harry S. Truman’s executive order of July 26, 1948, mandating full equality of treatment and opportunity in all elements of the United States military.
Hugh Nathaniel Mulzac (1886-1971) was a master seaman, well qualified to command a merchant vessel. He had many years of sea duty aboard British, Norwegian, and American merchantmen. After studying at the Swansea Nautical College in South Wales, he earned a mate’s license in 1910, qualifying him to be second in command.
With those credentials he was able to serve as a deck officer on four ships during World War I. Then, in 1920 he passed the U. S. shipmaster exam with a perfect score of 100 and earned a master’s rating. He was now fully qualified to serve as the captain of a vessel in the United States Merchant Marine.
But there was one apparently insurmountable problem: Hugh Mulzac was black.
A Captain Who Could Only Find Work As a Cook
Qualified as he was to command an entire ship, the only jobs Hugh Mulzac could get at sea were in the galley. For two decades, he was the most over-qualified ship’s cook in maritime history. (He made the most of that limitation by becoming an acknowledged expert in shipboard food service management).
German U-Boats Take a Toll
But then came World War II. When America entered the war in December of 1941, Germany immediately began stationing submarines off the East Coast of the United States to sink supply ships headed for Europe. The U-boats were very successful. In 1942 an average of 33 Allied ships per week were sunk.
Serving as an auxiliary to the US Navy in time of war, the Merchant Marine suffered the greatest percentage loss of any branch of the American military.
Those losses were tragic for the seamen who died and their families. And the loss of such a large number of cargo vessels, putting in jeopardy the ability of “the arsenal of democracy” to get troops and war materiel to the European theater, was potentially devastating to the Allied war effort.
But, ironically, it was those heavy losses in both ships and men that finally gave Hugh Mulzac his opportunity to become the ship’s captain he was so well qualified to be.
Liberty Ships to the Rescue!
It was clear that if the U. S. and its Allies were to receive the supplies needed to carry on the war, thousands of new cargo vessels would have to be put afloat.
That need was filled through the famous “Liberty Ship” program. These vessels, all built to the same standardized plan, were designed to be mass produced as quickly as possible. By war’s end, 2,711 of them would be launched.
VIDEO: Building Liberty Ships in Georgia
A Shortage of Seamen Forces a Change in Racial Attitudes
But it was not only ships that had to be provided in massive numbers. Each ship had to be manned by a crew of trained seamen. And with the pool of qualified merchant sailors being rapidly diminished by losses to the U-boats, the Merchant Marine was finally pushed to the point of employing experienced seamen wherever they could be found. Even if they happened to be black.
So, it came about that in 1942, Hugh Mulzac, with qualifications far exceeding those of anyone still on shore by that point, was finally offered command of a ship.
But there was still a problem so significant that Mulzac initially refused the offer. The U.S. Maritime Commission wanted him to captain a vessel with a segregated, all-black crew. And Hugh Mulzac would have none of it.
A Seaman Becomes an Activist for Racial Equality
Born on March 26, 1886 in the British West Indies, Hugh Mulzac had first come to the United States as a crewman aboard a Norwegian vessel that landed in North Carolina. It was then, as he says in his autobiography A Star to Steer By, that he was first confronted with the “barbarous customs of our northern neighbors.”
Although he immigrated to the United States in 1911, becoming a citizen in 1918, Mulzac never got over his abhorrence of the “barbarous customs” of race prejudice and segregation that afflicted his new homeland, and absolutely refused to willingly participate in perpetuating that evil system. He would stick by that determination even when it seemed doing so would prevent him from ever fulfilling his dream.
In 1920 Mulzac served as mate on the SS Yarmouth, a ship of African American activist Marcus Garvey’s Black Star Line. Although he briefly became the captain of the Yarmouth, he grew disillusioned with the way Garvey’s shipping company was managed (it went out of business in 1922). Mulzac resigned in 1921 to start his own maritime school. That only lasted a year, and Mulzac soon found himself once again at sea, relegated to the galleys of the ships he served on.
With his first-hand experience of the pernicious effects of racial prejudice in the shipping industry, Mulzac in 1937 became a founding member of the National Maritime Union. There was one key issue that led Mulzac to involve himself in the labor movement.
“Most important for me,” he said, “was the inclusion of a clause in the constitution providing that there should be no discrimination against any union member because of his race, color, political creed, religion, or national origin. This was a milestone in the history of the waterfront…it was the first maritime union to establish this basic principle and to enforce it.”
Mulzac Refuses To Command a Segregated Ship
With this commitment to racial equality on the seas, Hugh Mulzac was in no humor to compromise about shipboard segregation. When, in 1942 at the age of 56, he was offered what would likely be his last opportunity to command a vessel, but with the proviso that there must be no race mixing among the crew, Mulzac resolutely stuck by his refusal to captain a segregated ship. “Under no circumstances will I command a Jim Crow vessel,” he told the Maritime Commission, and turned down the offer.
“Under no circumstances will I command a Jim Crow vessel“ — Captain Hugh Mulzac
He later expressed his outrage in his autobiography:
“If there was ever a moment when the real meaning of democracy could and had to be demonstrated to the peoples of the world, the moment was now! And what was America’s answer in this hour of need? A Jim Crow ship! Named for a Negro, christened by a Negro, captained by a Negro, and no doubt manned by Negroes!”
Finally, desperate for qualified officers, and spurred on by protests by the NAACP and other black organizations, the Maritime Commission relented and dropped their insistence on segregation. Hugh Mulzac would finally have his ship, and an integrated crew with it.
The SS Booker T. Washington: First Liberty Ship Named for an African American
The ship Captain Mulzac would command was a pioneer for racial equity in its own right. Each Liberty Ship was named for some prominent American. Out of the total of 2,711, seventeen would be named for African Americans. The very first of these was the SS Booker T. Washington.
The SS Booker T. Washington
Keel laid
August 19, 1942
Launched
September 29, 1942
Completed
October 17, 1942
Displacement
14,245 tons
Length
441 feet
Speed
11 knots
Scrapped
1969
From the moment of its naming, the Booker T. Washington was a source of pride and hope, and as importantly, jobs for the African American community. It was built by racially mixed construction crews, many of whom were gaining access, for the first time in their lives, to training for something beyond menial jobs.
The shipyard in Richmond, California where the Booker T. Washington was constructed eventually employed 6000 African American workers, 1000 of them women.
Original 1942 caption: Jesse Kermit Lucas, experienced Negro welder at the California Shipbuilding Corporation’s yards, is shown instructing his white welder apprentice, Rodney Gail Chesney, as the two work on the “Booker T. Washington” Source: Alfred T Palmer at Library of Congress (public domain)
Massive Press Coverage of the New Ship and its Captain
At a time when the U. S. Navy would allow black sailors to serve only as stewards, the story of the Booker T. Washington and her African American skipper received wide coverage. For example, the October 5, 1942 issue of Time Magazine had the following story:
“Slight, grizzled Hugh Mulzac, ex-seaman, ex-mess boy, was catapulted front and center last week to become a Symbol of Negro participation in the war. When the Liberty freighter Booker T. Washington goes into service from California Shipbuilding’s Los Angeles yard in mid-October, the Maritime Commission decided, she will be commanded by a British West Indies-born Brooklyn man, the first Negro to hold a U. S. master’s certificate and the first to command a 10,500-ton ship.
“Captain Mulzac not only promised that he would be able to get qualified Negro officers to serve under him but said that he knew white as well as Negro crewmen willing to serve under him—for the Booker T. is not to be a Jim Crow ship. The Booker T. (for Taliaferro) will serve not only in the war of ocean transport but in the war against race discrimination.”
Captain Mulzac was as good as his word. The crew of 81 he assembled consisted of 18 different nationalities from eight nations and thirteen American states. The captain later noted in a newspaper article that among the crew were white seamen from Florida and Texas.
“They were the finest fellows I ever sailed with,” Captain Mulzac said, “and their attitudes were much different from that of the Southerners you meet in those States.”
The Booker T. Washington is Launched
The launching of the ship, on September 29, 1942, was an occasion of deep significance and celebration for the entire African American community. The event was front page news in the black press all across the nation. A headline in the Baltimore Afro-American trumpeted, “Launching Called Morale-Building Show of Democracy.”
Not only did the Afro-American do full-page spreads on the story, it went so far as to pay the way of Captain Mulzac’s daughter from Baltimore to the Wilmington, California launch site, and then featured her first-person account of her “Thrilling Transcontinental Flight.”
Another luminary who had her way paid to the launching was Miss Louise Washington, granddaughter of Booker T. Washington. An employee of the US Department of Agriculture, she was sent to the event by the Maritime Commission.
Famed contralto Marian Anderson, accompanied by pioneer educator Mary McLeod Bethune and other prominent dignitaries, christened the new vessel. Ruby Berkley Goodwin later wrote a poem about the occasion:
On one never-to-be-forgotten day, we launched a ship. The full-throated voice of Marian Anderson proclaimed, “I christen thee Booker T. Washington.” A bottle broke and champagne sprayed the prow Of the giant liberty ship as she slid proudly down the ways And sat serenely on the broad face of the ocean.
. . .
We launched a ship – A ship with a glorious mission, And it became the symbol of a Dawning brotherhood throughout the world.
The one who was perhaps most deeply affected by the launching of the Booker T. Washington was Captain Hugh Mulzac himself. He later wrote:
“Everything I ever was, stood for, fought for, dreamed of, came into focus that day. The concrete evidence of the achievement gives one’s strivings legitimacy, proves that the ambitions were valid, the struggle worthwhile. Being prevented for those twenty-four years from doing the work for which I was trained had robbed life of its most essential meaning. Now at last I could use my training and capabilities fully. It was like being born anew.”
The impact of the Booker T. Washington entering into the maritime service with the first ever black captain in United States Merchant Marine history was felt all around the world. For example, one event that Captain Mulzac considered a highlight of the ship’s maiden voyage happened when they reached Panama. The Baltimore Afro-American tells the story in its January 9, 1943 issue:
“When they first dropped anchor in (the) Panama Canal Zone, all of the colored schools closed to celebrate the arrival of the Booker T. Washington and the first colored skipper to be in complete charge of a United States ship.”
Starting with its first trans-Atlantic crossing early in 1943, the Booker T. Washington and her captain built an outstanding record. They made 22 successful round trips from the US to the European, Mediterranean, and Pacific theaters of war, ferrying 18,000 troops and thousands of tons of supplies, including ammunition, airplanes, tanks, locomotives, jeeps, and more.
Each Liberty Ship was armed with deck guns and antiaircraft guns manned by crews provided by the Navy. The Booker T. Washington was in action against the enemy several times, and is credited with shooting down two enemy airplanes. But not one of her own crew was lost.
Captain Mulzac himself was highly esteemed by his crew. The Baltimore Afro-American of January 16, 1943 records one crewman’s reaction after the Booker T. Washington’s first voyage. Harry Alexander, described as a white deck engineer, said:
“I’ve been on ships where the captains set up nights thinking of things to do to irritate the crew. Our old man spends his time teaching navigation.”
That was not, by any means, an isolated expression of regard. A January 16, 1964 article in the Village Voice reporting on an exhibition of Captain Mulzac’s paintings, records some memories from another of the skipper’s former crew members. Irwin Rosenhouse, whose gallery was hosting the event, recalled the impact his old commanding officer had made on him:
“The Booker T. was the only ship I’ve ever been on which had a sense of purpose from the top down,” Rosenhouse told The Voice. He recalled the classes in seamanship, in art, and in international affairs, as well as the tongue-lashing he’d received when he chose to stand watch on a stormy night inside.”
Captain Mulzac and the Booker T. Washington became an inspiration to young people of color, a signal that they, too, could dream and through hard work, see those dreams fulfilled. Joseph B. Williams, for example, served under Captain Mulzac as a cadet-in-training. He would go on to become the first African-American to graduate from the U.S. Merchant Marine Academy. For him the captain was a “demanding taskmaster” who taught him “how to be a qualified officer.”
Another young man influenced by the example of the Washington and her captain was 16-year old Merle Milton of Connersville, Indiana. He told MAST Magazine in 1944:
“Right now I’m shipping out as an ordinary seaman, but I don’t expect to stay that way for long. I want to go to officers’ school and the proposed Seamen’s Bill of Rights provides for that. Who knows, maybe I’ll get a master’s license some day like Captain Hugh Mulzac on the SS Booker T. Washington.”
The Aftermath of the War
Despite the acclaim garnered by Captain Mulzac for his performance on the bridge of the Booker T. Washington, once the war was over, race prejudice came roaring back.
In 1947 the Booker T. was turned back over to the Maritime Commission. Captain Mulzac went into the hospital for a leg operation. When he emerged, he found himself, as he put it, “on the beach” again. There were no maritime jobs for him or any of the other black officers who had served with such distinction during the war. Hugh Mulzac would never again command a ship.
It got worse. During the McCarthy era, Mulzac’s labor activism was used against him by Red-baiters. In 1950 he ran for President of the borough of Queens in New York City, getting a respectable 15,500 votes. But he had run on the ticket of the American Labor Party, which some politicians accused of being influenced by Communists. All this resulted in Mulzac being branded a security risk, and his master’s license was suspended. He fought that edict in court, and in 1960 a federal judge restored his license. That allowed him, at age 74, to once again go to sea, serving not as a captain, but as a night mate.
But Captain Mulzac never allowed the bigotry that confronted him to control his life. He had started painting during the last voyage of the Booker T. Washington. Now he became more serious about it. His work was exhibited in a number of galleries in New York City to very positive reviews.
Hugh Mulzac was certainly a pioneer for racial justice. He, along with the multi-racial crew of the Booker T. Washington, demonstrated what people of color could accomplish when given the chance, and that people of all races can live and work together in harmony.
“They said it wouldn’t work, but it did,” he said.
But beyond that tremendous accomplishment against great odds, Hugh Mulzac knew that his life and career were dedicated to an even bigger idea. He said,
“I had to begin to understand that discrimination was not only my problem, but a fight of the whole colored race – and of whites too, for that matter, though precious few seemed to realize it.”
For his willingness to put his career on the line to defend the principle that prejudice and discrimination have no place in a democratic society, we all owe Hugh Mulzac a well deserved vote of thanks.
Captain Hugh Mulzac died in East Meadow, NY on January 30, 1971 at the age of 84.
For thousands of servicemen from all over the world who found themselves passing through New York City during World War II, the Stage Door Canteen was a magical place. You were treated like royalty when you walked through the door.
There was free food and top-notch entertainment from the biggest stars of radio, Broadway, and Hollywood. And best of all, there were scores of pretty young women falling all over themselves to dance with you or sit with you to share a few moments of conversation.
The purpose of the Stage Door Canteen was to provide servicemen, who might be returning from or heading into combat a place where they could relax and enjoy themselves. Except for the fact that no liquor was served and patrons didn’t have to pay for anything, the canteen was like a high-class nightclub with top-tier entertainment.
And from the perspective of the visiting servicemen, the best part was that you didn’t have to find a girl to take to the club – they were already there waiting for you and would even seek you out.
A Place Where Everyone Was Accepted, Regardless of Background
It didn’t matter where you came from. As long as you were an enlisted soldier or sailor or airman (no officers allowed) in the armed services of any of the “United Nations,” you were welcome. So, on any given night you could see vivacious young hostesses dancing or chatting with Brits or Frenchmen or Greeks or Americans.
And in the canteen, unlike almost anywhere else in the United States during that era, the term “Americans” included African Americans.
“Lincoln and the Contrabands”. Source: Painting by Jean Leon Gerome Ferris, 1908 (public domain)
Lincoln’s True Character
Most Americans think of Abraham Lincoln as the Great Emancipator, an American saint who laid down his life to bring Black people, and the nation as a whole, out of the wilderness of slavery.
But there are people today who see him very differently. For example, in his book Forced into Glory, historian and journalist Lerone Bennett, a former executive editor of Ebony magazine, attempts to make the case that “Lincoln was no friend of Black people.” In fact, declares Bennett, “To say that he was a racist is to understate the case.”
Which of these two views of the author of the Emancipation Proclamation comes closest to the truth? When it comes to his attitude toward African Americans, was Abraham Lincoln a saint, or was he the worst kind of sinner? An egalitarian or a white supremacist?
The reality is that there are parts of Lincoln’s record, both as a man and as president, that can be read as supporting either conclusion.
Of course, the only person who could really know what was in Lincoln’s heart was Lincoln himself. So, in this article, we’ll let him speak for himself. It is his own words and actions that will reveal whether the charge that Abraham Lincoln was a racist and white supremacist holds water.
A Definition of Racism
If we are going to decide whether Abraham Lincoln was a racist, we need to first know what racism is. One online dictionary defines racism this way:
Racism is a belief or doctrine that inherent differences among the various human racial groups determine cultural or individual achievement, usually involving the idea that one’s own race is superior and has the right to dominate others or that a particular racial group is inferior to the others.
— Dictionary.com
But racism is defined not only by what a person believes about other races, but most importantly, by how he or she puts those beliefs into action. Dr. Nicki Lisa Cole, a sociologist who has taught at the University of California, Santa Barbara, has addressed this dimension of racism:
“Racism exists when ideas and assumptions about racial categories are used to justify and reproduce a racial hierarchy and racially structured society that unjustly limits access to resources, rights, and privileges on the basis of race. Racism also occurs when this kind of unjust social structure is produced by the failure to account for race and its historical and contemporary roles in society.”
Taking these definitions together, for our purposes we can define racism this way:
A person is racist if they not only believe that their race is superior to others, but they seek, by their words, their actions, and their votes, to maintain a state of society in which their racial group always has the upper hand.
The White Supremacist Lincoln
There’s no denying that some of the things Abraham Lincoln said, especially in the heat of a political campaign, come very close to meeting our definition of racism.
Lincoln Spoke Against Blacks Being Equal With Whites
Lincoln made it clear that if there had to be a racial hierarchy in the United States, he wanted whites to always be on top. In a speech he made in Charleston, Illinois during his 1858 campaign for the U. S. Senate, he said this:
“I will say, then, that I am not, nor ever have been, in favor of bringing about in any way the social and political equality of the white and black races — that I am not, nor ever have been, in favor of making voters or jurors of Negroes, nor of qualifying them to hold office, nor to intermarry with white people; and I will say in addition to this, that there is a physical difference between the white and black races which I believe will forever forbid the two races living together on terms of social and political equality. And inasmuch as they cannot so live, while they do remain together there must be the position of superior and inferior, and I, as much as any other man, am in favor of having the superior position assigned to the white race.”
Lincoln Used the N- Word
History records at least two occasions when Lincoln used the worst of racial slurs to describe Black people. One such instance is related by journalist and Abolitionist James Redpath, who met with Lincoln in April of 1862 after returning from a trip to the Black republic of Haiti.
When Redpath informed him that the Haitian president, in deference to American prejudices, was offering to send a White man as Haiti’s envoy to the United States, Lincoln replied, “You can tell the President of Hayti that I shan’t tear my shirt if he sends a n- here!”
Two things stand out about this episode. On the negative side, the n- word, then as now, was considered extremely derogatory and was rarely used in public discourse, even by pro-slavery Southerners. Lincoln must have been well aware of the offensiveness of the term, but used it anyway, at least in private.
On a more positive note, Lincoln was indicating his approval of Haiti sending as their representative in Washington a Black man whom American officials would have to honor as a full member of the diplomatic community.
Lincoln Favored Sending Blacks to Africa
In 1854 Lincoln gave a speech in Peoria, Illinois in which he combined his desire to free the slaves with the hope of removing them from the country. His only hesitation was that the scheme of colonization simply wasn’t practical at the time:
“My first impulse would be to free all the slaves, and send them to Liberia-to their own native land. But a moment’s reflection would convince me, that . . . its sudden execution is impossible.
Even as late as December of 1862, just a month before the Emancipation Proclamation went into effect, Lincoln was still trying to convince Congress to back a plan in which the slaves would be freed and then sent to Africa or the Caribbean.
Lincoln Represented a Slave Owner Trying to Return a Black Family to Slavery
In 1847 a Black woman named Jane Bryant, along with four of her children, ran away from the Illinois farm of Robert Matson, who claimed to own them. When the fugitives were caught and incarcerated in the local jail, Abolitionists hired a lawyer to press the case that when Matson brought them to live in the state of Illinois, where slavery was illegal, they automatically became free. The attorney who represented Matson in his attempt to have the Bryant family returned to slavery was none other than Abraham Lincoln.
Thankfully, this was one case that Lincoln (an otherwise extraordinarily successful lawyer) lost. Despite what were presumably Lincoln’s best efforts in support of his client’s attempt to get his “property” back, the court declared that Jane Bryant and her children were indeed free.
The Egalitarian Lincoln
Notwithstanding incidents such as these that seem to support the idea of Lincoln having racist and White supremacist views, many of his words and actions paint a different picture.
Lincoln Was Sincerely Horrified by Slavery
Lincoln made his feelings about slavery clear in an 1864 letter to Albert G. Hodges, a Kentucky newspaper editor:
“I am naturally anti-slavery. If slavery is not wrong, nothing is wrong. I can not remember when I did not so think, and feel.”
It’s probably literally true that Lincoln could not remember a time in his life when he didn’t hate slavery. He was born in the slave state of Kentucky, where his father and mother were founding members of a Baptist church so opposed to slavery that it split from its parent church and from its denomination over the issue. In fact, as Lincoln later recalled, his father moved the family from Kentucky to the free state of Indiana “partly on account of slavery.”
Lincoln’s personal discomfort with slavery dates at least to 1828 when, at the age of 19, he witnessed a slave auction in New Orleans. As he watched male buyers pinching and prodding an enslaved young woman as if she were a horse, he was horrified. “That’s a disgrace,” he said to a friend. “If I ever get a lick at that thing I’ll hit it hard.”
He had a similar reaction during an 1841 steamboat trip from Louisville to St. Louis. Also on board were about a dozen slaves shackled together with irons. Lincoln was dismayed. “That sight was of continual torment to me,” he would later say.
At various times Lincoln publicly described slavery as a “moral wrong,” a “terrible wrong,” a “gross outrage on the law of nature,” and “the greatest wrong inflicted on any people.” In 1858, during his series of debates with Stephen Douglas, he summed up his feelings about slavery this way:
I hate it because of the monstrous injustice of slavery itself.
Abraham Lincoln in 1858
Lincoln Insisted Blacks Had the Same Human Rights as Whites
Lincoln’s antagonist in the famous Lincoln-Douglas debates of 1858 was Stephen Douglas, a self-proclaimed racist and White supremacist. Douglas believed that Black people were inferior to Whites in every way, and that the statement in the Declaration of Independence that “all men are created equal” was never intended to include the Black race.
In the first debate, held at Ottawa, Illinois on August 21, 1858, Lincoln emphatically refuted Douglas’s argument:
“There is no reason in the world why the Negro is not entitled to all the natural rights enumerated in the Declaration of Independence, the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. I hold that he is as much entitled to these as the white man. I agree with Judge Douglas he is not my equal in many respects-certainly not in color, perhaps not in moral or intellectual endowment. But in the right to eat the bread, without the leave of anybody else, which his own hand earns, he is my equal and the equal of Judge Douglas, and the equal of every living man.”
Lincoln never publicly expressed an opinion about whether Blacks were morally and intellectually equal to Whites (note the “perhaps” in the above statement). But for him that was not the issue. He maintained that Black people deserved equal human rights simply because they were human.
Lincoln Understood That Slavery Itself Made Blacks Seem Inferior
In an age in which most Whites, North and South, considered Blacks to be inferior by nature, Lincoln realized that it was inevitable that enslaved people would appear to be inferior because of the degradation imposed on them by the slave system. In a speech at Edwardsville, Illinois on September 11, 1858, he put the case this way:
“Now, when by all these means you have succeeded in dehumanizing the Negro; when you have put him down, and made it forever impossible for him to be but as the beasts of the field; when you have extinguished his soul, and placed him where the ray of hope is blown out in darkness like that which broods over the spirits of the damned; are you quite sure the demon which you have roused will not turn and rend you?”
Lincoln certainly believed that the oppression suffered by individuals who had been enslaved left them on a lower intellectual level than most Whites. Speaking to a group of Black leaders he invited to the White House in 1862 to seek their help in colonizing freed Blacks to Africa, Lincoln gave his assessment of how the degradation of slavery had affected its victims:
“If we deal with those who are not free at the beginning [that is, newly freed ex-slaves], and whose intellects are clouded by Slavery, we have very poor materials to start with. If intelligent colored men, such as are before me, would move in this matter, much might be accomplished. It is exceedingly important that we have men at the beginning capable of thinking as white men, and not those who have been systematically oppressed.”
Note that in wanting Blacks to rise to the level of “thinking as white men,” Lincoln was not asserting the intellectual superiority of the White race. Rather, he was comparing the capabilities of people whose opportunities for intellectual growth had been intentionally and systematically suppressed (many Southern states had laws making it illegal to teach slaves to read and write) with those of whites who, even if poor (as Lincoln had been), had the opportunity to educate themselves.
Lincoln Treated Black People With Dignity and Respect
Almost without exception, Blacks who knew Lincoln were convinced he was entirely free of race prejudice.
Frederick Douglass was a fiery Abolitionist who initially had nothing but disdain for Lincoln’s seeming lack of anti-slavery fervor. But after the president welcomed him to the White House several times, always treating him with the greatest respect, Douglass gained a new appreciation for Lincoln’s character:
In all my interviews with Mr. Lincoln I was impressed with his entire freedom from popular prejudice against the colored race. He was the first great man that I talked with in the United States freely, who in no single instance reminded me of the difference between himself and myself, of the difference of color.
Sojourner Truth, the former slave who was renowned as an abolition activist and conductor on the underground railroad, had a similar experience. In October of 1864 Lincoln invited her to the White House and showed her a Bible the free Black people of Baltimore had given him as a token of their high regard. Sojourner Truth concurred, telling Lincoln she considered him the best president ever. She later commented, “I never was treated by any one with more kindness and cordiality than was shown me by that great and good man.”
There’s another aspect of this incident that highlights the necessity of judging Lincoln’s actions and words not solely by today’s standards, but also by taking into account the historical context. In writing a note in her autograph book, Lincoln addressed his visitor as “Aunty Sojourner Truth.” That would be seen as intolerably condescending and overtly racist today. But Truth didn’t receive it that way. Aware that Lincoln was following the custom of the time and did not intend any disrespect, she was not offended.
Lincoln Advocated Black Suffrage
Having started by declaring in 1858 that he had never been “in favor of making voters or jurors of Negroes,” by the end of the Civil War Lincoln was publicly advocating permitting at least some African Americans to vote. In the last speech he ever gave, on April 11, 1865, he declared:
“It is unsatisfactory to some that the elective franchise is not given to the colored man. I would myself prefer that it were now conferred on the very intelligent, and on those who serve our cause as soldiers.”
That change of mind may have cost Lincoln his life. In the audience that day was actor and fervent Confederate sympathizer, John Wilkes Booth. When he heard Lincoln advocating that Blacks be allowed to vote, he exclaimed to a companion:
“That means n- citizenship! Now, by God, I’ll put him through. That is the last speech he will ever make.”
John Wilkes Booth
Four days later, on April 15, 1865 Booth carried out his threat. In a very real way, Abraham Lincoln was murdered because his killer believed he was not a White supremacist.
Does the man who once said he did not want Blacks to have social and political equality, who sometimes referred to them using the n- word, and who actively worked to remove them from the country and ship them to Africa deserve his place on the nation’s highest moral pedestal? How can that Lincoln be reconciled with the larger-than-life humanitarian so revered by most Americans today?
One thing that’s clear from the historical record is that the Lincoln of 1865 was not the Lincoln of 1858. Over that span, his attitude toward African Americans and their place in the life of the nation changed significantly. Let’s take a brief look at some of the factors that contributed to that change.
Being President Changed Lincoln’s View of African Americans
As we all do, Abraham Lincoln started life as a person of his time. His early attitudes toward Black people were necessarily shaped in large part by those of the people among whom he lived. Most Whites thought Blacks were inherently inferior. And since most of the Black people Lincoln came in contact with in his youth had been degraded by slavery, he initially had little reason to dispute the common view.
But as President, Lincoln got to know African Americans like Frederick Douglass, Sojourner Truth, his wife’s seamstress and confidant Elizabeth Keckley, and the Black ministers who called on him in the White House. It was clear that these individuals were morally and intellectually inferior to no one, and Lincoln responded by treating them with the dignity and respect they deserved.
Another factor that helped change Lincoln’s thinking about African Americans was the bravery Black soldiers displayed on the battlefield. Most Whites had thought them too cowardly to fight. But when the Emancipation Proclamation finally opened the door for Black men to enlist in the military, the valor of units like the 54th Massachusetts conclusively exploded that myth.
The Lincoln of 1858 Was Constrained By Political Reality
Many of Lincoln’s statements about race that we find most problematic today were made in the heat of his 1858 senatorial campaign against Stephen Douglas. Had he run as the committed crusader for the rights of African Americans many of his critics, then and now, wanted him to be, he almost certainly would never have become president. As Lincoln scholar Phillip Shaw Paludan notes,
“Lincoln had to skirt very carefully accusations that he was an abolitionist. His constituents would punish him for abolition views . . . He had to avoid sounding like an abolitionist.”
Given the deep-seated prejudices of the voters he sought to persuade, Lincoln felt it necessary to deny that he favored full political and social equality for Blacks. But at the same time, he pushed against those prejudices by asserting that Black people had the same rights as whites to “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”
Lincoln Came to Believe Blacks and Whites Could Live Together
The reason Lincoln initially advocated colonizing free Blacks out of the country was his conviction that rabid racial prejudice on the part of Whites would forever preclude the two races living together harmoniously as equals. He explained that belief to a group of Black leaders he invited to the White House in August 1862:
“Your race are suffering, in my judgment, the greatest wrong inflicted on any people. But even when you cease to be slaves, you are yet far removed from being placed on an equality with the white race. You are cut off from many of the advantages which the other race enjoy. The aspiration of men is to enjoy equality with the best when free, but on this broad continent, not a single man of your race is made the equal of a single man of ours.”
But by December of 1863 Lincoln had given up the colonization idea – he would never again publicly endorse it. And when in 1865 he advocated giving some Blacks the right to vote, he was tacitly admitting that African Americans were here to stay, and must be included in the political life of the nation.
Lincoln Came to Respect Black People, But Never Identified With Them
The words Lincoln used in that 1862 meeting with Black leaders show a very revealing aspect of his attitude toward African Americans:
“not a single man of yourrace is made the equal of a single man of ours . . . There is an unwillingness on the part of our people, harsh as it may be, for you free colored people to remain with us.”
Lincoln insisted that in terms of basic human rights, Blacks were people and must be treated as such. But it’s also clear that he didn’t consider them his people. Whenever he spoke about African Americans, however respectful he might be, his words and manner always put emotional distance between himself and them.
Lincoln’s Attitude Toward Blacks Was What It Had to Be
Frederick Douglass recognized Lincoln’s standoffishness toward African Americans as necessary for him to accomplish what he did. After acknowledging Lincoln in 1865 as “the black man’s President” for his pivotal role in the destruction of slavery, Douglass went on to say in an oration he delivered in 1876:
“Abraham Lincoln was not, in the fullest sense of the word, either our man or our model. In his interests, in his associations, in his habits of thought, and in his prejudices, he was a white man. He was preeminently the white man’s President.”
Douglass did not intend this as a criticism. He understood that for Lincoln to be effective at the task of not only preserving the Union, but also of bringing slavery to an end, he had to identify primarily with the White people he sought to lead. Douglass put it this way:
“I have said that President Lincoln was a white man, and shared the prejudices common to his countrymen towards the colored race. Looking back to his times and to the condition of his country, we are compelled to admit that this unfriendly feeling on his part may be safely set down as one element of his wonderful success in organizing the loyal American people for the tremendous conflict before them, and bringing them safely through that conflict.”
Was Abraham Lincoln a Racist? Yes and No
By the standards of the 21st century, any politician who said some of the things Abraham Lincoln said about African Americans would immediately and rightfully be vilified as the worst kind of White supremacist and racist. But is that the standard by which this man of the 19th century should rightfully be judged? Frederick Douglass, the greatest spokesman for African Americans in that time, would say that it is not.
Douglass believed that Lincoln had to be evaluated not just as a man of his time, but as a man who, in his devotion to the cause of freedom for all people, rose high above most people of his time. Here is Douglass’s summary of how African Americans of Lincoln’s time judged him:
“We saw him, measured him, and estimated him; not by stray utterances to injudicious and tedious delegations . . . not by isolated facts torn from their connection; not by any partial and imperfect glimpses, caught at inopportune moments; but by a broad survey, in the light of the stern logic of great events, and in view of that divinity which shapes our ends, rough hew them how we will, we came to the conclusion that the hour and the man of our redemption had somehow met in the person of Abraham Lincoln.
From the moment the Emancipation Proclamation was announced, African Americans almost universally honored Lincoln as God’s appointed instrument for ending slavery and insuring their freedom. They called him Moses and Father Abraham – some even compared him to Christ – and it would have been beyond comprehension to accuse him of being a racist.
Was Abraham Lincoln a racist? For Frederick Douglass and other African Americans who were Lincoln’s contemporaries and knew him best, that’s the wrong question.
For them the only relevant question is, was Abraham Lincoln the man he had to be to accomplish his God-appointed mission of bringing freedom to millions of oppressed people?
And to that question they would most emphatically answer, “yes, he was that man.”
A Suburban Schoolteacher Tries to Improve Race Relations
It was April of 1968, and the United States was in the grip of racial turmoil such as it had seldom seen before. On April 4, Dr. Martin Luther King was shot as he stood on the balcony of a motel in Memphis, Tennessee. In response, riots had broken out in more than a hundred American cities. The outlook for racial harmony in the country looked bleak.
But some important positive events were taking place that month as well.
On April 11, President Lyndon Johnson signed into law the Civil Rights Act of 1968, which made housing discrimination based on race unlawful. And on April 15, a white Los Angeles schoolteacher, the mother of three, sat down to write a letter to a cartoonist.
That schoolteacher, Harriet Glickman, was disturbed by the racial upheaval that was shaking the country and wanted to do something about “the vast sea of misunderstanding, fear, hate, and violence” that caused it. She believed that at a time when Whites and Blacks looked distrustfully at one another from across a wide racial divide, anything that could help narrow that gap could provide an immensely positive service to the nation.
So she wrote a letter to Charles M. Schulz, author of the Peanuts comic strip. Syndicated in hundreds of newspapers around the country, Peanuts was the most popular and influential newspaper comic strip in history, read by millions of people every day.
The outlook of many of those millions was inevitably influenced by their daily vicarious excursions into the world of Charlie Brown, Snoopy, Lucy, Linus, Peppermint Patty, and the rest of the Peanuts gang. But since the inception of the strip in 1950, that world had been exclusively white.
Harriet Glickman thought that needed to change. She was convinced that with the cultural clout enjoyed by the Peanuts strip if it portrayed White and Black kids interacting amicably together, that would set a positive tone that could help reshape the perceptions of Whites and Blacks toward one another in the real world.
In a letter that is now on display at the Charles Schulz Museum, she said:
“It occurred to me today that the introduction of Negro children into the group of Schulz characters could happen with a minimum of impact. The gentleness of the kids… even Lucy, is a perfect setting…
“I’m sure one doesn’t make radical changes in so important an institution without a lot of shock waves from syndicates, clients, etc. You have, however, a stature and reputation which can withstand a great deal.”
Charles Schulz Responds Sympathetically but Negatively to the Idea of Adding a Black Character to “Peanuts”
Perhaps surprisingly, Charles Schulz replied quickly to Glickman’s request. On April 26, he sent her the following note:
“Dear Mrs. Glickman:
“Thank you very much for your kind letter. I appreciate your suggestion about introducing a Negro child into the comic strip, but I am faced with the same problem that other cartoonists are who wish to comply with your suggestion. We all would like very much to be able to do this, but each of us is afraid that it would look like we were patronizing our Negro friends.
“I don’t know what the solution is.”
Far from being discouraged by Schulz’s negative reply, Harriet Glickman saw in it a ray of hope. She wrote again to Schulz, asking for permission to show his letter to some of her African American friends and get their reaction. “Their response may prove useful to you in your thinking on this subject,” she wrote.
Schulz replied:
“I will be very anxious to hear what your friends think of my reasons for not including a Negro character in the strip. The more I think of the problem, the more I am convinced that it would be wrong for me to do so. I would be very happy to try, but I am sure that I would receive the sort of criticism that would make it appear as if I were doing this in a condescending manner.”
Glickman must have been elated at Schulz’s willingness to at least consider including Black characters in his strip. She had also contacted another nationally syndicated cartoonist, Allen Saunders, who wrote the Mary Worth strip.
Saunders believed that “it is still impossible to put a Negro in a role of high professional importance and have the reader accept it as valid. And the militant Negro will not accept any member of his race now in any of the more humble roles in which we now regularly show whites. He too would be hostile and try to eliminate our product.”
Against that background, Schulz’s openness to at least thinking about inserting a Black character into his strip must have been refreshing.
A Determined Harriet Glickman Overcomes Schulz’s Qualms
Glickman contacted several African American friends, and secured letters that she forwarded to Schulz. One mother of two wrote:
“At this time in history, when Negro youths need a feeling of identity; the inclusion of a Negro character even occasionally in your comics would help these young people to feel it is a natural thing for Caucasian and Negro children to engage in dialogue.”
True to his word, Schulz thought about what the letter writers had to say, and was reassured. On July 1 he wrote to Glickman to inform her that he had taken “the first step,” and that the strips published during the week of July 29 would have something “I think will please you.”
That week the comic strip featured a story line in which Charlie Brown’s sister Sally had thrown his beach ball into the sea. Then something that was, for the time, radical and ground breaking occurred:
His name was Franklin. And he came into the strip without fanfare, and without any notice or comment concerning his race. He and Charlie Brown struck up a friendship just like any two kids who meet on the beach might do.
It turns out that Franklin lives in a different neighborhood on the other side of town. Interestingly, he goes to the same school as Peppermint Patty, and plays center field on her baseball team. So, he and Charlie Brown find that they have a lot in common.
They have such a good time together on the beach that Charlie Brown invites Franklin to come and stay overnight at his house. “We’ll play baseball, and build another sand castle,” Charlie tells him.
Franklin’s Advent Causes a Reaction
Although Schulz did everything he could to keep Franklin’s introduction into the strip as low-key as possible, people definitely took notice. Newspapers and magazines featured articles about the new Peanuts kid. Most reactions were positive, but some were decidedly negative.
November 12, 1969 United Feature Syndicate 220 East 42nd Street New York, N.Y. 10017
Gentlemen:
In today’s “Peanuts” comic strip Negro and white children are portrayed together in school.
School integration is a sensitive subject here, particularly at this time when our city and county schools are under court order for massive compulsory race mixing.
We would appreciate it if future “Peanuts” strips did not have this type of content.
“I finally put Franklin in, and there was one strip where Charlie Brown and Franklin had been playing on the beach, and Franklin said, “Well, it’s been nice being with you, come on over to my house some time.” Again, they didn’t like that. Another editor protested once when Franklin was sitting in the same row of school desks with Peppermint Patty, and said, “We have enough trouble here in the South without you showing the kids together in school.” But I never paid any attention to those things.”
Some southern newspapers refused to run the strips featuring Franklin, and that made the cartoon’s distributor nervous.
Let’s put it this way: Either you print it just the way I draw it or I quit. How’s that?
Charles Schulz
Schulz recalled a conversation he had with Larry Rutman, president of the United Features syndicate:
I remember telling Larry at the time about Franklin—he wanted me to change it, and we talked about it for a long while on the phone, and I finally sighed and said, “Well, Larry, let’s put it this way: Either you print it just the way I draw it or I quit. How’s that?”
The negative reactions to the new Peanuts kid were ironic because Schulz very deliberately did not focus attention on Franklin’s race. Charlie Brown never seemed to notice that Franklin was Black. The only time race was ever mentioned in the strip, as far as I’m aware, was this episode (November 6, 1974) with Peppermint Patty:
Some people took Peppermint Patty’s jibe about the lack of Black players in professional hockey as some kind of racist expression. To me it’s just the opposite. Patty feels comfortable expressing a perceived fact of life that she can use in her dispute with Franklin, but it’s not intended as a putdown toward him as a person.
A Different, Cruder Approach
In his handling of race, Schulz was far more subtle (and a lot more sensitive) than, for example, Hank Ketcham, the writer of the Dennis the Menace strip. Ketcham’s May 13, 1970 cartoon, intended, as he said, “to join the parade led by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.” offered a character deliberately modeled on Little Black Sambo. In that depiction, Ketcham demonstrated an almost unbelievable lack of awareness of how offensive such an image would be to African Americans:
Hank Ketcham’s 1970 depiction of a Black child in Dennis the Menace
Many newspapers refused to run Ketcham’s cartoon, and some of those that did, like the Cleveland Press, were forced to issue an apology the next day.
As He Feared, Schulz Is Criticized As Being Condescending
Though Franklin was in no sense offensive in the way Ketcham’s Sambo image was, Schulz didn’t escape criticism from some African Americans and others. Not because Franklin represented some negative stereotype, but because he was too good.
In contrast with the other characters, Franklin has the fewest anxieties and obsessions.
Charles Schulz
Schulz understood the tightrope he had to walk because of earlier offensive portrayals of Blacks in the media. So he made a deliberate choice not to give Franklin any of the negative traits that plagued the other Peanuts characters.
“Franklin is thoughtful and can quote the Old Testament as effectively as Linus. In contrast with the other characters, Franklin has the fewest anxieties and obsessions,” he said.
To some critics, having an African American character who was virtually perfect was patronizing. As Berkeley Professor John H. McWhorter put it, “Schulz meant well. But Franklin was a classic token black.”
But Clarence Page, an African American columnist for the Chicago Tribune, was, in my opinion, more perceptive:
“Let’s face it: His perfection hampered Franklin’s character development…
“But considering the hyper-sensitivities so many people feel about any matters involving race, I did not blame Schulz for treating Franklin with a light and special touch.
“Can you imagine Franklin as, say, a fussbudget like Lucy? Or a thumb-sucking, security-blanket hugger like Linus? Or an idle dancer and dreamer like Snoopy? Or a walking dust storm like Pig Pen? Mercy. Self-declared image police would call for a boycott. If Schulz’s instincts told him his audience was not ready for a black child with the same complications his other characters endured, he probably was right.”
From a character perspective, Franklin is the best of the Peanuts troop. He is the only one who never criticizes or mocks Charlie Brown. And when he finds Peppermint Patty crying because she’s being required to stop wearing her beloved sandals at school, Franklin’s sympathetic reaction is, “All I know is any rule that makes a little girl cry has to be a bad rule.”
As one observer put it, “Franklin proved to be wise and dignified and has never done anything he should have to apologize for.” I think he can be forgiven for those faults.
The Addition of Franklin to the “Peanuts” Family Made a Difference
Franklin was a recurring member of the Peanuts cast of characters for three decades. He would appear in a storyline, then not be seen for a while. His last appearance in the strip was in 1999, the year before Schulz died and the strip ended (it’s still going strong in reruns).
Even though he wasn’t seen every day, Franklin, by his very presence, made, and continues to make, a real difference in the world.
One young man on whom Franklin had a lasting impact was Robb Armstrong, creator of JumpStart, the most widely syndicated daily comic strip by an African American in the world. Franklin’s inclusion among the Peanuts crew inspired Armstrong to himself become a cartoonist. He and Schulz became close friends, and when Schulz, preparing to release a Peanuts video, realized that Franklin needed a last name, he asked Robb Armstrong for permission to use his.
In newspapers, films, and animated specials on television, Franklin made an undeniable mark as a valued and beloved member of the Peanuts family.
And just as Harriet Glickman hoped, by simply being there, one of the gang, no different from the others, he helped Blacks and Whites see one another with different eyes.
In 1950 African Americans were treated, throughout much of the nation, as a despised underclass. They could legally be restricted to working in only the most menial occupations, living in only the most rundown neighborhoods, and sending their children to only the most inadequate schools. In the South, an attempt to sit at the front of a bus, or eat a sandwich at a downtown Woolworth’s lunch counter, would immediately get any Black person thrown in jail.
But in the aftermath of World War II, a time during which Blacks proved themselves just as capable as any other Americans of building tanks and airplanes in war plants, and of effectively using such weapons to defeat the nation’s enemies on the battlefield, African Americans began to reach a consensus that they would no longer allow themselves to be subjected to such unjust and intolerable treatment based on the color of their skin. Across the nation, the determination to fight for equal rights grew until its momentum became unstoppable.
The Battle for Civil Rights
But as determined as African Americans were to gain all the rights that had been so unfairly denied them throughout their history in this country, many whites, especially in the South, were just as determined to keep Blacks in their subservient “place.” And these antagonists would literally stop at nothing to ensure that Black people in America could never gain legal, social, and economic parity with whites. If African Americans wanted their freedom, they would have to fight for it.
And fight for it they did! Their determination to overcome all opposition in the struggle for full equality resulted in the civil rights movement of the 1950s and ’60s, which would eventually revolutionize life in the United States for Blacks and whites alike.
The Music of the Movement
From the early days of the civil rights movement, most of the organizing was done through churches. It’s no accident that the most influential leaders were preachers such as the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.
The Black church provided both an organizing center and, more importantly, a common culture that allowed people from different generations, backgrounds, and parts of the country to come together around a common vision. And a crucial foundation of that shared culture was the music of the church. As Cordell Reagon, a founding member of The Freedom Singers of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC), put it: “Music was what held the movement together.” And Theresa Perry, a professor in the departments of Africana Studies and Education at Simmons College, declared in the book Teaching Malcolm X that the music of the civil rights movement “is some of the most powerful music in the history of humanity.”
“It is some of the most powerful music in the history of humanity.”
Dr. Theresa Perry, professor of Africana Studies and Education
The music that had the greatest reach and impact among participants in civil rights activities arose from three major sources, all intimately connected to the Black church experience.
Type of Song
Description
Example
Slave songs and spirituals
Songs that arose spontaneously out of the slavery experience
Oh Freedom
Aspirational songs
Songs written specifically to encourage the aspirations of African Americans as a race
Lift Every Voice and Sing
Church songs
Songs used in the worship of the church, but with lyrics changed to reflect a civil rights focus
Go Tell It on the Mountain
What follows is my list of the 10 songs (with lyrics) that I believe had the greatest impact on the civil rights movement. Although they are listed from #10 down to #1, they are not really ranked in order of importance (with the exception of #1, which I believe was, and remains, the most significant of all). Each, in its own way, made a critical contribution to the success of the movement.
10. “Lift Every Voice and Sing”
James Weldon Johnson wrote “Lift Every Voice and Sing” as a poem in 1900. It was recited by 500 school children during that year’s Lincoln’s birthday celebration in Jacksonville, Florida. The poem was set to music in 1905 by Johnson’s brother, John Rosamond Johnson, and by 1919 was adopted by the NAACP as its official song. Widely sung in both churches and schools, “Lift Every Voice and Sing” was eventually almost universally acclaimed as “the Negro National Anthem.”
In light of that fact, notice how in the following video, the audience spontaneously rises to their feet when the song begins.
Lyrics: “Lift Every Voice and Sing”
Verse 1
Verse 2
Verse 3
Lift every voice and sing, till earth and Heaven ring, Ring with the harmonies of liberty; Let our rejoicing rise, high as the listening skies, Let it resound loud as the rolling sea.
Stony the road we trod, bitter the chastening rod, Felt in the days when hope unborn had died; Yet with a steady beat, have not our weary feet, Come to the place for which our fathers sighed?
God of our weary years, God of our silent tears, Thou Who hast brought us thus far on the way; Thou Who hast by Thy might, led us into the light, Keep us forever in the path, we pray.
Sing a song full of the faith that the dark past has taught us, Sing a song full of the hope that the present has brought us.
We have come over a way that with tears has been watered, We have come, treading our path through the blood of the slaughtered.
Lest our feet stray from the places, our God, where we met Thee. Lest our hearts, drunk with the wine of the world, we forget Thee.
Facing the rising sun of our new day begun, Let us march on till victory is won.
Out from the gloomy past, till now we stand at last Where the white gleam of our bright star is cast.
Shadowed beneath Thy hand, may we forever stand, True to our God, true to our native land.
The third verse of “Lift Every Voice and Sing” was recited by Rev. Joseph E. Lowery during the benediction at the first inauguration of President Barack Obama in 2009.
9. “Oh Freedom”
“Oh Freedom” is thought to have been written around the time the Emancipation Proclamation was put into effect on January 1, 1863, and is reported to have been sung by Black soldiers during the Civil War. But according to legend, it has an even longer and more poignant history.
The inspiration for the song is said to have been an 1803 incident in which Igbo (or Ibo) tribesmen were captured in Africa and brought to America. When the ship unloaded them at Dunbar Creek on St. Simon’s Island in Georgia, they realized that they were about to be sold into slavery. Instead of accepting that fate, they decided that they would rather be dead than live as slaves, and drowned themselves in the creek.
Essential Lyrics: “Oh Freedom”
Oh, freedom; Oh, freedom; Oh, freedom over me And before I’ll be a slave I’ll be buried in my grave And go home to my Lord and be free
No more weepin’; No more weepin’; No more weepin’ over me…
8. “Eyes on the Prize”
The Montgomery bus boycott was, in a very real sense, the starting point of the civil rights movement. From December 5, 1955, to December 20, 1956, Blacks in Montgomery, Alabama, refused to ride public transportation as a protest against segregation and second-class treatment on city buses. The boycott was sparked by the arrest of Rosa Parks for her refusal to get up out of her seat on a bus so that a white man could sit down in her place.
The organizer of the boycott was the newly formed Montgomery Improvement Association (MIA) which, by electing a young Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. as its president, catapulted him to the forefront of the national struggle for civil rights.
One of the songs sung over and over during mass meetings to help keep the Black community encouraged as they walked to work on tired feet for over a year was “Keep Your Eyes on the Prize.” It was based on the Gospel hymn “Keep Your Hands on the Plow” with the lyrics modified to make it a civil rights anthem.
The importance of such songs to the success of the boycott cannot be overstated. In fact, according to E. D. Nixon who was one of the leaders of the Montgomery Improvement Association, “A whole lot of people came to the MIA meetings for no other reason than just to hear the music.”
After 381 days of the Black community refusing to ride city buses, Montgomery finally gave in and integrated its bus system.
Essential Lyrics: “Eyes on the Prize”
Paul and Silas bound in jail, Had no money for to go their bail Keep your eyes on the prize, hold on, hold on Hold on, hold on, Keep your eyes on the prize, hold on, hold on
Paul and Silas began to shout, jail door opened and they walked out… I got my hand on the gospel plow, wouldn’t take nothing for my journey now…
The only thing we did wrong, stayed in the wilderness a day too long… The only thing that we did right, was the day we started to fight… We met jail and violence too, but God’s love will see us through… Only chain that we can stand, is the chain from hand to hand…
7. “We Are Soldiers in the Army”
Written in 1956 by a giant of Gospel music, Rev. James Cleveland, “We Are Soldiers In the Army” was another of the songs that were crucial in keeping up spirits during the Montgomery bus boycott. The words were typically changed from the original to replace “bloodstained banner” with “freedom banner” and “Gospel plow” with “freedom plow.”
Essential Lyrics: “We Are Soldiers in the Army”
We are Soldiers in the army, we’ve got to fight, although we have to cry We’ve got to hold up the bloodstained banner, we’ve got to hold it up until we die
My mother was a soldier, she had her hand on the Gospel plow But one day she got old, she couldn’t fight anymore She said “I’ll stand here and fight on anyhow”
My father was a soldier… I’m so glad that I’m a soldier…
6. “Go Tell It on the Mountain”
“Go Tell It on the Mountain” is an African American Christmas song that celebrates the birth of Jesus. It dates back to at least 1865. But when civil rights legend Fannie Lou Hamer began the difficult and extremely dangerous work of registering African Americans to vote in Mississippi in 1962, the song quickly became one of her trademarks. In one characteristic incident, when Ms. Hamer and 17 others boarded a bus to go to the county seat in an attempt to register to vote, she kept the group encouraged by leading them in singing this song.
The dangers Blacks faced if they tried to register to vote (and none of Ms. Hamer’s group succeeded in being registered) is illustrated by the fact that on the way home the bus was stopped and the driver arrested. His crime? The policeman said the bus was the wrong color—it was “too yellow.”
Essential Lyrics: “Go Tell It on the Mountain”
Go tell it on the mountain; Over the hills and everywhere Go tell it on the mountain; To let my people go
Paul and Silas bound in jail… Had nobody for to go their bail…
Paul and Silas began to shout… Jail door opened and they walked out…
Who’s that yonder dressed in red?… Must be the children that Moses led…
Who’s that yonder dressed in black?… Must be the hypocrites turning back…
I had a little book, he gave to me… And every page spelled victory…
It was normal for the lyrics of civil rights songs to be spontaneously adapted to fit the need of the moment. For example, when Alabama governor George Wallace proclaimed “segregation forever” and literally stood in the schoolhouse door to prevent Blacks from attending the University of Alabama, a special verse of “Go Tell It On The Mountain” was sung:
You know I would not be Governor Wallace I’ll tell you the reason why I’d be afraid my Lord might call me And I would not be ready to die.
5. “This Little Light of Mine”
“This Little Light of Mine” is another of the songs Fannie Lou Hamer used to encourage her little group as they rode on their bus to attempt to register to vote.
When their efforts to register were blocked and the group returned home, Ms. Hamer was confronted by the owner of the plantation on which she had lived and worked for 18 years. He told her to either take her name off the registrar’s book, or get out. Her reply showed Fannie Lou Hamer’s determination to let her light shine. She refused to comply with the plantation owner’s ultimatum, telling him, “I didn’t go register for you sir, I did it for myself.”
Essential Lyrics: “This Little Light of Mine”
This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine
Everywhere I go, Lord… I’ve got the light of freedom… Jesus gave to me, now… Oh, shine, shine, shine, shine… All in the jailhouse…
Like “Go Tell It On The Mountain,” this song had its own Governor Wallace verse:
Tell Gov. Wallace, I’m going to let it shine…
4. “Woke Up This Morning With My Mind Stayed on Freedom”
This song is an adaptation of the Gospel song “I Woke Up This Morning With My Mind Stayed on Jesus.” It was introduced by Rev. Osby, a minister from Aurora, Illinois, in the summer of 1961 when more than 250 Freedom Riders spent 40 days in the Hinds County, Mississippi, jail. “Woke Up This Morning” was a favorite that helped keep the group’s spirits high, and it soon became a theme song for voter registration drives in the state.
Essential Lyrics: “Woke Up This Morning With My Mind Stayed on Freedom”
I woke up this morning with my mind stayed on freedom I woke up this morning with my mind stayed on freedom I woke up this morning with my mind stayed on freedom Hallelu, hallelu, Hallelu, Hallelu, hallelujah
3. “Ain’t Gonna Let Nobody Turn Me Around”
Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. called Birmingham, Alabama, “probably the most thoroughly segregated city in the United States.” It was also probably the most hate-filled. Between 1945 and 1962 there were 50 race-related bombings, earning for the city the nickname “Bombingham.” Then on a Sunday morning, September 15, 1963, members of the Ku Klux Klan exploded a bomb at the 16th Street Baptist Church, killing four little girls who were attending Sunday School.
The struggle for civil rights in Birmingham was intense. In the spring of 1963 the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC) organized daily marches to protest segregation. When the marches began to falter because so many protesters had been jailed, the SCLC called out the school children. They, in their turn, were arrested by the hundreds. Eugene “Bull” Connor, the city’s Commissioner of Public Safety, didn’t hesitate to turn fire hoses and police dogs on the children. His tactics backfired, as a worldwide television audience was repulsed by nightly scenes of police viciousness toward children.
As the children gathered at the 16th Street Baptist Church and went out to face the hoses and dogs, a favorite song they sang to keep their courage up was “Ain’t Gonna Let Nobody Turn Me Around.”
Essential Lyrics: “Ain’t Gonna Let Nobody Turn Me Around”
Ain’t gonna let nobody turn me around, turn me around, turn me around Ain’t gonna let nobody turn me around Keep on a-walkin’, keep on a-talkin’, marchin’ up to freedom land
Ain’t gonna let no jailhouse turn me around… Ain’t gonna let segregation turn me around… Ain’t gonna let race hatred turn me around… Ain’t gonna let Mississippi turn me around…
2. “We Shall Not Be Moved”
“We Shall Not Be Moved” is adapted directly from the Gospel song, “I Shall Not Be Moved,” with the lyrics reworked to refer to the struggle for freedom rather than the personal holiness the original song emphasized. It came into the civil rights movement by way of a labor organization, the Southern Tenant Farmers Union (STFU). After Black members of the racially integrated union introduced the song, the STFU changed “I” to “We” and adopted it as the union’s official song.
In this video, the Freedom Singers perform the song at the 1963 March on Washington.
Essential Lyrics: “We Shall Not Be Moved”
We shall not we shall not be moved; We shall not we shall not be moved Just like a tree that’s standing by the water; We shall not be moved
1. “We Shall Overcome”
It’s probably no surprise that my pick as the #1 song of the civil rights movement is “We Shall Overcome.” It’s the song that animated the entire civil rights era, and is still sung by people seeking their freedom around the world. The Library of Congress has called it “the most powerful song of the 20th century.”
The melody of “We Shall Overcome” is based on the slave song, “No More Auction Block for Me.” Like “We Shall Not Be Moved,” it came into the civil rights movement by way of a labor union. It was picked up by folk singer Pete Seeger and soon spread to union gatherings around the nation. In 1960 Black students involved in the sit-in movement started singing it, and it quickly became the theme song of the entire civil rights movement.
Such was the power of this song that it eventually reached the White House itself. When President Lyndon Johnson addressed the nation on television on March 15, 1965, to urge passage of the voting rights act, he included this powerful statement:
It is the effort of American Negroes to secure for themselves the full blessings of American life. Their cause must be our cause too. Because it’s not just Negroes, but really it’s all of us, who must overcome the crippling legacy of bigotry and injustice.
And we shall overcome.
President Lyndon Johnson, March 15, 1965
In the first video below, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. speaks of the significance of “We Shall Overcome” to the struggle for freedom and dignity.
Essential Lyrics: “We Shall Overcome”
We shall overcome, we shall overcome, we shall overcome some day Oh, deep in my heart, I do believe, we shall overcome some day
We’ll walk hand in hand, we’ll walk hand in hand, we’ll walk hand in hand some dayOh, deep in my heart, I do believe, that we shall overcome some day
We are not afraid, we are not afraid, we are not afraid today Oh, deep in my heart, I do believe, that we shall overcome some day
10 Greatest Hits Motown Initially Rejected Motown became a hit-making machine by refusing to put out songs that didn’t meet the highest standards of excellence. But sometimes it almost rejected songs that later became huge hits.
Anita Florence Hemmings graduated from Vassar in 1897. But though she was an excellent student, she came close to not getting her degree. That was because Anita’s roommate uncovered her deepest secret just days before graduation.
In a school that would never have considered admitting a black student, Anita Hemmings had covered up the fact that she was of African-American ancestry for four years.
In other words, Anita Hemmings was a black woman who was passing for white, and it almost got her kicked out of Vassar on the very eve of her graduation.
Anita’s Family: Up From Slavery
Anita Hemmings was born on June 8, 1872. Her parents were Robert Williamson Hemmings and Dora Logan Hemmings, both of whom had been born in Virginia, apparently to slave parents. Robert worked as a janitor, while Dora was listed in census records as a homemaker.
Robert and Dora both identified themselves as “mulattoes,” people of mixed black and white heritage.
The Hemmings family lived at 9 Sussex Street in Boston, which is in the historically black Roxbury section of the city. Though they might be living in humble circumstances, Robert and Dora were very ambitious for their four children. Not only would they send Anita to Vassar, but her brother would graduate from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Frederick Hemmings made no effort to hide his race at MIT, where his student records identify him as “colored.”
But the option of openly identifying herself as black was not open to Anita, not if she wanted to fulfill her lifelong dream of going to Vassar.
The Hemmings Family Decides to Have Anita Pose as White
Established in 1861 in Poughkeepsie, NY, Vassar was one of the most prestigious colleges for women in the nation.
According to Olivia Mancini, writing in the Vassar Alumnae/i Quarterly, the school “catered almost exclusively to the daughters of the nation’s elite.” One newspaper account of Anita’s story noted, “Vassar is noted for its exclusiveness.” When Anita was ready to apply to college in 1893, the chances that Vassar would knowingly admit a black student were effectively zero.
So, Anita and her parents decided to do what it would take to get Anita into the school. They simply failed to note on her application that she had African American ancestry. Instead, she was listed as being of French and English background.
Anita was well qualified to become a student at Vassar. Later newspaper accounts, published after her secret was revealed, say that as a child, she had come to the attention of a wealthy white woman who financed her early education. Well prepared, Anita easily passed the Vassar entrance examination and was an excellent student there.
A Beautiful and Accomplished Young Woman
In addition to her academic achievements, Anita had another qualification that was even more necessary to her career at Vassar. She looked unquestionably white, and she was unquestionably beautiful.
“She has a clear olive complexion, heavy black hair and eyebrows and coal black eyes,” said a Boston newspaper in reporting the story of her graduation from Vassar. According to the New York World:
[She was] one of the most beautiful young women who ever attended the great institution of learning. Her manners were those of a person of gentle birth, and her intelligence and ability were recognized alike by her classmates and professors.
Another newspaper, with an eye for a sensational headline, trumpeted that she was:
The Handsomest Girl There-Yale and Harvard Men Among Those Who Sought Favor With the “Brunette Beauty.”
While on campus, Anita participated fully in the college’s academic and social life. She was proficient in seven languages, including Latin, French, and ancient Greek, and was active in the college choir, the Debate Society, and the Contemporary Club Literary Organization. A gifted soprano, she was invited to give recitals at local churches. The New York World noted in its story that the upper-class women of Poughkeepsie had “receive[d] her in their homes as their equal.”
But eventually questions began to arise about the beautiful young woman with olive skin.
Anita’s Roommate Grows Suspicious
By her third year at the school, rumors about Anita’s ancestry started circulating. Probably one reason for this was the visit she received at Vassar from her brother Frederick, the MIT student of whom she was very proud. Frederick’s MIT class photo shows him to be a shade darker than his classmates (he was the only African American in his class and one of the first to graduate from MIT). Some of Anita’s fellow students began whispering that she might have some Indian blood in her veins.
But it was her own roommate who finally blew Anita’s cover. This young woman voiced her growing suspicions to her father. The father, horrified at the possibility that his blue blood daughter might be living in the same room as someone whose blood was not quite as blue as her own, hired a private detective to track down Anita’s antecedents. That wasn’t hard since, on their home turf in the Roxbury section of Boston, the Hemmings family made no effort to hide their racial identity.
Anita Is Threatened With Expulsion Before Graduation
Confronted, just a few days before graduation, with the bombshell revelation that her secret had been exposed, Anita went tearfully to a sympathetic faculty member and confessed her plight. She was terrified that after four years of hard work and academic achievement, she would be denied her diploma because of her race.
The professor was moved by Anita’s story, and decided to do all she could to insure that the school would not perpetrate the injustice of refusing to allow an excellent student to graduate simply because she was black. As one newspaper account put it:
The kindhearted professor, a woman, wiped away the girl’s tears and spoke words of encouragement. Then she went to President Taylor with the story and pleaded with him not to deprive the girl of commencement honors and a diploma.
Vassar’s president, James Monroe Taylor, immediately called a secret meeting of the faculty to discuss this unprecedented situation. Here’s the New York World’s account of that meeting:
The faculty considered the matter gravely. Never had a colored girl been a student at aristocratic Vassar, and the professors were at a loss to foresee the effect upon the future if this one were allowed to be graduated. Yet there is nothing in the college rules that prohibits a colored woman from entering Vassar.
Commencement was but a few days off and the girl would soon be gone and forgotten. So it was decided to conceal the facts and to allow her to be graduated with her classmates. On class day and commencement the young woman took a prominent part in the exercises, and of all the hundred or more girls in the class of ’97 none looked more attractive or acted more becomingly than this girl of negro birth.
Interestingly, once she was allowed to graduate with her class, Anita was mentioned in college alumni publications just like any of her classmates. No mention was made of her race.
We know our daughter went to Vassar as a white girl and stayed there as such. As long as she conducted herself as a lady she never thought it necessary to proclaim the fact that her parents were mulattoes— Robert Williamson Hemmings
Anita’s Life After Graduating From Vassar
Safely graduated from what was perhaps the most prestigious women’s college in the nation, Anita went on to join the staff of the Boston Public Library as their foreign cataloguer, doing translations and bibliographies.
By 1914 she was listed in Woman’s Who’s who of America: A Biographical Dictionary of Contemporary Women of the United States and Canada. That listing noted that she “favors woman suffrage.” She also became a friend of African American civil rights activist W. E. B. Dubois.
When she returned to her hometown of Boston after college, Anita never made any attempt to hide her African American ancestry. But her days of passing for white were not over, not by a long shot.
A New Chapter in a Life of Passing as White
In 1903 Anita married Dr. Andrew Jackson Love, whom she met through her work at the library. Dr. Love would go on to have a prestigious medical practice among the rich on Madison Avenue in New York City.
Anita and her husband, each well educated and comfortable among people at the highest levels of society, had a lot in common. In fact, they had more in common than Dr. Love’s patients, and Anita’s new friends, would ever know.
Although Dr. Love claimed to have graduated from Harvard Medical School, the institution listed on his diploma was actually Meharry Medical College in Nashville, Tennessee. Founded in 1876, Meharry was the first medical school in the South devoted to educating black physicians. In other words, Anita’s husband was also an African American who was passing for white. The two would spend the rest of their lives living as white people.
Why Did Anita and Her Husband Choose to Deny Their Racial Heritage?
From the late 19th century through the 1950s, it was not at all unusual for upwardly mobile African Americans to attempt to pass as white if they thought they could get away with it. The reason is simple. During those times racial prejudice and discrimination were pervasive and debilitating facts of life for black people in America. If you were known to have any black blood in your veins, almost every avenue of advancement would be closed to you. Many (though not all) African Americans whose appearance allowed them to do so made the excruciatingly painful decision to pass as white because there was no other way to escape the heavy burden of racial discrimination.
There Was a Heavy Price to Pay for Passing as White
If you were going to pass for white, you had to essentially cut yourself off from your family and community of origin. As Anita found out the hard way at Vassar, something as simple as having a darker skinned relative come to visit could tear down everything you had built up in a lifetime of living as a white person.
Those who pass have a severe dilemma before they decide to do so, since a person must give up all family ties and loyalties to the black community in order to gain economic and other opportunities.— Dr. F. James Davis
In fact, Anita soon faced exactly that dilemma with her own mother. According to Anita’s great granddaughter, Jillian Sim, Dora Logan Hemmings came to visit the Loves in their New York home only once. And when she did, she had to use the servants’ entrance.
The Loves raised their children as whites. It was not until she met her grandmother Dora for the first time in 1923 that Anita’s daughter Ellen, born in 1905, learned that her family was black.
A Second Generation Passes for White at Vasser
When Ellen was ready for college in the early 1920s, Anita, like many parents, wanted her daughter to attend her alma mater. But Vassar would not knowingly admit an African American until Beatrix McCleary and June Jackson were enrolled in 1940. Ellen went to Vassar anyway, and she did it, like her mother, passing as white.
The Roommate Strikes Again!
Unbelievably, after 25 years Anita’s former roommate had not gotten over the trauma of having roomed with an African American. At a class reunion she learned that Anita’s daughter was now enrolled in Vassar, and was, like her mother before her, passing for white.
The roommate, still stung by her “own painful experience with a roommate who was supposed to be a white girl, but who proved to be a negress,” sent a letter of complaint to the college’s president, Henry Noble McCracken. Dr. McCracken’s response indicates that the school had at least progressed beyond outright panic at the prospect of having an African American student. “We are aware,” he replied, “and we’ve made sure she’s in a room by herself. We don’t even know if she is aware that she’s black.”
Ellen would become Vassar’s second black graduate in 1927. There would not be another until 1944.
A Secret Kept Through Generations
Jill Sim, Anita’s great granddaughter, didn’t discover her black ancestry until after her grandmother Ellen passed away in 1994. Although the two were very close, Ellen would never talk about that aspect of the family history. When Jill, having lived all her life as a white person, discovered that she had African American ancestors, she had an interesting take on her racial identity.
I have reddish brown hair, and it is very fine. I have blue eyes, and you can easily see the blue veins under my yellow-pale skin. I was ignorant enough to think of blackness in the arbitrary way most of white society does: One must have a darker hue to one’s skin to be black. I look about as black as Heidi.
And yet, by the rules of racial identity that, to this day, we adhere to in this country, Jill Sim is black.
The “One Drop” Rule
In the age of Barack Obama, universally spoken of as the first black President of the United States, although he is actually half white, it might be fairly asked why someone like Jill Sim, who obviously has more European ancestry than African, should still be considered black.
It’s because the “one drop” rule is still in effect in this country. F. James Davis, Professor Emeritus of sociology at Illinois State University addresses the issue in his book Who is Black? One Nation’s Definition.
According to Professor Davis, the “one drop” rule is the product of slavery in the American South, and the Jim Crow system of segregation that followed it. The rule says that a person with any known black ancestry, down to a “single drop” of African blood, is automatically defined as black. That definition is still generally accepted by whites and blacks alike. Even our court system often abides by it.
Not only does the one-drop rule apply to no other group than American blacks, but apparently the rule is unique in that it is found only in the United States and not in any other nation in the world.— Dr. F. James Davis
That’s why Anita Hemmings, and her children, and her children’s children, could be visually indistinguishable from whites, yet be considered black down to the farthest generation.
And that’s why Anita, her husband, and many thousands of others like them, were willing to pay the price of being entirely alienated from their heritage in order to gain for themselves and their children the privileges other Americans take for granted.
When Clark Gable arrived on the set of “Gone With The Wind” in 1938, he was already one of the biggest stars in Hollywood. Lennie Bluett was an 18-year-old extra who wouldn’t even receive screen credit. But the megastar and the unknown fledgling actor were able to work together to defeat segregation on the lot of the biggest film of that era.
This little-known incident reveals how segregation extended even to Hollywood in the 1930s—and how a determined young Black man put his career on the line to force change.
W. E. B. Du Bois (left) and Booker T. Washington. Source: Public Domain via Wikimedia
Revisiting Booker T. Washington’s Legacy
When I was growing up in Tennessee in the 1950s, my family and I often visited the Booker T. Washington State Park just north of Chattanooga. But we never went to the W. E. B. Du Bois State Park, or the W. E. B. Du Bois anything else. I’m pretty sure no Southern state of that era ever named anything for Du Bois.
That’s because Washington espoused a vision of race relations with which whites could be comfortable, counseling Blacks to accept, for a time at least, their second-class status in society. Du Bois, on the other hand, was a fiercely militant agitator for full and immediate equal rights for African Americans.
Because of that contrast in approach, many today laud Du Bois as a prophet of racial equality while dismissing Washington as something of an “Uncle Tom.” To my mind, however, such critics do Washington a grave injustice. They, like Du Bois, fail to understand that what seemed to be Washington’s craven capitulation to racial injustice was, in reality, a necessary strategy in its time.
Booker T. Washington Becomes an Acclaimed Spokesman for Black America
Booker T. Washington (1856-1915) was born into slavery in Virginia. But through hard work, dedication, and education he pulled himself out of poverty to become the most widely admired Black American of his time.
As he recounts in his autobiography, Up From Slavery, Washington grew up in circumstances where, both before and after Emancipation, there was not a single Black person around him who knew how to read or write. But from his earliest days, he displayed an intense desire for education. That desire led him as a child to take night classes after getting up at 4 in the morning to work long hours in a salt furnace, and later, a coal mine. Eventually, he would work his way through Hampton Institute. As both a student and then an instructor at Hampton, Washington so impressed the school’s founder, former Civil War General Samuel C. Armstrong, that when the Alabama legislature appropriated $2,000 for a “colored” school and asked Armstrong to suggest a white educator to run it, he recommended Washington instead.
Starting essentially from scratch, Washington built the Tuskegee Normal and Industrial Institute (now Tuskegee University) into one of the premier institutions of higher education in the nation.
So impressive were Washington’s accomplishments as an educator that in 1895 he was invited to speak at the Cotton States and International Exposition in Atlanta, Georgia to an audience that included some of the most influential members of the South’s white power structure. That speech gained Booker T. Washington national, and indeed international, recognition as the acknowledged spokesman for the Black race in America. In 1901, he was invited to dine with President Theodore Roosevelt.
The Atlanta Compromise
In his speech, Washington offered what came to be known as the “Atlanta Compromise.” He suggested that Blacks should forego immediate agitation for political and social equality with Whites and work first to lay a firm foundation of vocational education and economic strength within the Black community. In return for that self-imposed restraint, Whites would support Blacks in their efforts to lift themselves up.
Washington explained his approach to race relations and Black advancement this way:
“The wisest among my race understand that the agitation of questions of social equality is the extremist folly, and that progress in the enjoyment of all the privileges that will come to us must be the result of severe and constant struggle rather than of artificial forcing. No race that has anything to contribute to the markets of the world is long in any degree ostracized. It is important and right that all privileges of the law be ours, but it is vastly more important that we be prepared for the exercise of these privileges. The opportunity to earn a dollar in a factory just now is worth infinitely more than the opportunity to spend a dollar in an opera-house.”
With this declaration Washington was urging African Americans to accept, for now, their second class status in society, and the strict racial segregation that came with it. It was more important, he said, for Blacks to focus first on becoming so skilled in the industrial and agricultural arts that they would eventually be indispensable to the economic well-being of the South. Then, as the Black community proved its value to Whites, and earned their respect by advancing toward parity with them in terms of practical skills and accumulated wealth, the shackles of prejudice, discrimination, and segregation would fall away naturally over time.
To achieve those goals, said Washington, Black education should be oriented around industrial and agricultural training rather than the liberal arts.
Washington’s Speech Is Acclaimed by Blacks and Whites Alike
When Washington finished speaking, the audience erupted into a standing ovation. To Whites who heard the speech, or read about it in the newspaper accounts that were immediately published throughout the nation, Washington’s approach to race relations was everything they could wish for. What they heard him say was that there would be no push for social, economic, and political equality from African Americans. Blacks would willingly “stay in their place” for the foreseeable future.
The speech was, at first, enthusiastically embraced by most African Americans, especially those of the middle and working classes. But soon some Black intellectuals began to see it in a different and far more negative light. The most prominent and outspoken of these was W. E. B. Du Bois.
W. E. B. Du Bois Becomes a Crusader For Racial Justice
In contrast to Washington, W. E. B. Du Bois (1868-1963) was born into relatively comfortable circumstances in the fully integrated town of Great Barrington, Massachusetts. While growing up he experienced little in the way of racial prejudice or discrimination. Du Bois was the valedictorian of his high school class, and when it came time for him to go to college, the First Congregational Church of Great Barrington donated the funds needed for him to attend Fisk University in Nashville, Tennessee. After graduating from Fisk, Du Bois went on to become the first African American to receive a Ph.D. from Harvard.
While at Fisk, in a South where oppression and discrimination were facts of everyday life for African Americans, Du Bois was exposed to a level of race-based humiliation far beyond anything he had experienced growing up in Massachusetts. Combating such prejudice and discrimination became the focus of his life. He later became one of the founders of the NAACP, and his written and spoken protests against injustice and oppression helped create the intellectual and moral climate that eventually led to the successes of the Civil Rights movement.
Du Bois’s Critique of Washington
Although he had initially approved of the Atlanta Compromise, Du Bois soon came to view it as nothing less than gutless accommodation with racial injustice and second-class citizenship. In harshly critical public attacks against Washington and everything he stood for, Du Bois advocated for a strategy of political and social activism to immediately secure full civil and political rights for African Americans. He asserted that in his Atlanta Exposition speech, Washington had “implicitly abandoned all political and social rights.” He went on to declare, “Washington bartered away much that was not his to barter.”
Rejecting what he considered to be Washington’s acceptance of the racial status quo, Du Bois insisted:
“that the way for a people to gain their reasonable rights is not by voluntarily throwing them away and insisting that they do not want them; that the way for a people to gain respect is not by continually belittling and ridiculing themselves; that, on the contrary, Negroes must insist continually, in season and out of season, that voting is necessary to modern manhood, that color discrimination is barbarism, and that black boys need education as well as white boys.”
The Talented Tenth
In contrast to Washington’s belief that the predominant focus of Black education should on be on practical vocational training, Du Bois advocated the nurturing of a “talented tenth” of highly educated Black intellectuals who would provide leadership for the race. In an article he published in The Atlantic in 1902, Du Bois explained his complaint against Washington’s approach:
“[W]e daily hear that an education that encourages aspiration, that sets the loftiest of ideals and seeks as an end culture and character rather than bread-winning, is the privilege of white men and the danger and delusion of black.”
Then in an essay published in 1903, Du Bois laid out his own prescription for the uplift of the Black race:
“The Negro Race, like all races, is going to be saved by its exceptional men. The problem of education then, among Negroes, must first of all deal with the ‘Talented Tenth.’ It is the problem of developing the best of this race that they may guide the Mass away from the contamination and death of the Worst, in their own and other races.”
In essence, while Washington believed that the advancement of the Black race must be from the bottom up, Du Bois was adamant that it could only be accomplished from the top down.
Du Bois and Washington Differed on Strategy and Timing, Not Ultimate Goals
Washington and Du Bois were both fully committed to the ultimate aim of gaining full political, social, and economic equality for African Americans. Their differences related more to the when and how than to the what.
“I would not have the Negro deprived of any privilege guaranteed to him by the Constitution of the United States. It is not best for the Negro that he relinquish any of his constitutional rights.”
Washington also responded to Du Bois’s critique of the idea that Black education should, for the time at least, emphasize practical training:
“I may be asked, Would you confine the Negro to agriculture, mechanics, the domestic arts. etc.? Not at all; but just now and for a number of years the stress should be laid along the lines that I have mentioned. We shall need and must have many teachers and ministers, some doctors and lawyers and statesmen, but these professional men will have a constituency or a foundation from which to draw support just in proportion as the race prospers along the economic lines that I have pointed out.”
Even as he publicly accepted segregation, and counseled Blacks toward working cooperatively with Whites while being patient with regard to their civil rights, Washington was quietly aiding efforts to push back against racial oppression. In 1900 he founded the National Negro Business League to help the Black community develop its own independent financial resources. He privately contributed large amounts to fund legal challenges to segregation and, as even Du Bois acknowledged, spoke out forcefully against injustices such as lynching.
Yet Washington differed sharply with Du Bois on both the immediacy and the forcefulness with which Blacks should press their demands for equality.
Washington Understood the Danger of Blacks Pushing Too Hard, Too Soon
While Washington believed that achieving full equality would take time, and should not be agitated for until Blacks had become economically and educationally self-sufficient, Du Bois was not willing to wait. He believed that justice required that Blacks demand their rights forcefully and without delay. In his seminal 1903 book The Souls of Black Folk he wrote:
“The South ought to be led, by candid and honest criticism, to assert her better self and do her full duty to the race she has cruelly wronged and is still wronging. The North—her co-partner in guilt—cannot salve her conscience by plastering it with gold. We cannot settle this problem by diplomacy and suaveness, by ‘policy’ alone.”
Washington, on the other hand, was very aware of what a backlash from Whites would mean to Blacks in the South:
“There is danger that a certain class of impatient extremists among the Negroes in the North, who have little knowledge of the actual conditions in the South, may do the entire race injury by attempting to advise their brethren in the South to resort to armed resistance or the use of the torch, in order to secure justice.”
When Washington suggested his Atlanta Compromise in 1895, 90 percent of African Americans were concentrated in the South—a South that was adamantly opposed to any kind of equality between Blacks and Whites. Blacks, lacking the economic power and financial institutions Washington thought it essential for them to build, were dependent on the goodwill of the Whites among whom they lived. Loss of that goodwill could result in economic devastation, since the White power structure had the ability to deny to any Black of whom it disapproved the opportunity to make a living.
More importantly, whenever Whites felt threatened by Black demands for greater equality, they could with impunity unloose a vicious reign of violence upon the Black community. Terrorist organizations like the Ku Klux Klan could, and did, burn out or lynch any Blacks they thought were getting out of line, with no fear of judicial consequences.
These were realities with which intellectuals like Du Bois did not have to live. Although he taught for many years at historically Black Atlanta University, Du Bois was never economically dependent on Whites in the way a tenant farmer or domestic servant was. And as a Harvard-educated scholar of international renown, he was far less vulnerable than local Blacks to the threat of racial violence.
The Atlanta Compromise Was a Wise Strategy for Its Time
Booker T. Washington, having lived in the South all his life, understood that full-on agitation for equal rights at that time would doom many thousands of Black men, women, and children to economic ruin or violent death. For that reason, his Atlanta Compromise was the wisest course available to African Americans at the turn of the 20th century in their efforts to make progress out of the dire circumstances the White South had imposed upon them.
Du Bois and Washington: Two Equally Necessary Links in the Civil Rights Chain
The insistent demand for full equality that Du Bois advocated would, in time, take its rightful place at the forefront of African Americans’ fight for civil rights. The result would be landmark accomplishments, such as the integration of the U. S. military in 1948, desegregation in schools and public accommodations in the ’50s and ’60s, the Voting Rights Act of 1963, and ultimately, the election of Barack Obama as a two-term President of the United States. These advancements almost certainly would not have taken place without the aggressive assertion of rights and refusal to accept the status quo that Du Bois had insisted on decades before.
But it was Washington’s strategy that provided the foundation on which Du Bois’s successes were built. Du Bois had advocated the nurturing of a “talented tenth” of highly educated Black intellectuals who would provide leadership for the race. Influential leaders such as Dr. Martin Luther King proved the wisdom of that approach. But it was only after African Americans began to amass a measure of wealth and develop their own independent institutions, as Washington had urged, that such a leadership elite could be supported.
The degree of racial equality that exists today required the efforts of Booker T. Washington and of W. E. B. Du Bois, each in his turn. The nation owes a debt of gratitude to them both.
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