One can barely have a discussion about civil rights without discussing the movement of the 1950s and 1960s, the two being virtually synonymous in conversation. In its classical definition, civil rights can be defined as the inalienable rights granted by a nation to its citizens. Rights that are supposedly afforded to everyone, irrespective of race, gender or age, nor to sexual orientation, national origin or physical ability. Duly noted, civil rights should never have to be championed in this, the supposed seat of democracy; they should be administered justly, without discrimination. The very fact that this country was founded on the premise of all men being created equal, while millions of its inhabitants existed as chattel beneath citizenship, speaks to the very inequities of the political and social clime that we as contemporary African Americans emerged from. When one’s citizenship is granted as an afterthought, as an amendment, it’s reasonable to assume that liberty and justice will most certainly not be for all. It also might be safe to postulate that those persons with original privilege, and their descendants, are more likely to be the beneficiaries of the judicious administration of rights.
The need for equal access to employment, quality education, housing, voting rights, and protection under the law is still very much an issue, if not more so, than it was 30 years ago. Racism and discrimination, instead of being administered at the hands of hooded cowards in the dark of night, is now stealth and institutionalized. Yes, we can ride on the front of the bus but African Americans are at risk for being denied loans for housing, being looked over for promotions, unjustly imprisoned and grossly undereducated. But because there are no more marches, no more poignant speeches from eloquent leaders, we have been lulled into a false sense of security that we have our civil rights. Perhaps we think that the struggle is over because there are no more dogs and fire hoses. We ignore modern day church burnings and the lynchings of Black men as insignificant. The fact remains that African Americans are more likely to be pulled over in our cars for perceived and minor infractions, victims of “Driving While Black.” Brown skin will land you in jail for a negligible possession of drugs while the white perpetrator of the same crime will end up in rehabilitation or on probation. Substandard housing has become so acceptable for economically disadvantaged African Americans that no one even raises an eyebrow at their deplorable conditions; there are many of us who have come to view urban decay as a sign of “Blackness.” Now, with the presence of a black middle-class that drives big cars and lives among the oppressor with relative ease, it becomes easier to overlook the social injustices of the masses. Yet the fight for social justice and civil rights is far from over.
Civil rights has in fact become a term that is synonymous with African Americans. Race becomes the pervasive and deciding factor when one is discussing civil rights. Color trumps sexual orientation, age, creed and disability. The white homosexual will always be able to slide under the proverbial discrimination detector when driving in his car. The black homosexual is a Black man first, and is afforded no protection from his own skin. The loan officer sees black skin approaching the desk first, not religious affiliation. Such is the case with the black elderly, the disabled and gender biased offenses. Affirmative action, enacted to Disparity based on race is rampant and the ideals of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness seem to be more and more evasive for people of color in this society.
I’ve noticed from a few of my contemporaries an interesting trend towards disregarding the contributions of the warriors of the civil rights movement by saying that what they did was counterproductive to the betterment of Black people. According to some, the civil rights movement was lead by a middle-class, elitist, bourgeoisie whose only agenda was to fatten their pockets and “Tom” their way to the political forefront. I find this an interesting position in that the real villains of justice to Afro peoples in this country wear white, whether it be skin, collars and/or sheets. Public policy has done more harm to the advancement of African Americans than those foot soldiers that risked their lives so that we might have a better way of life. It smacks of a certain amount of disrespect to belittle the contributions of those that sat-in, those that marched, those that put their lives on the line. Rather than attack racist agendas and GOP politics, they point the finger at those that resisted the status quo with negative critique. It is my contention that the civil rights leaders of the past did the best they possibly could under the extreme circumstances. The civil rights movement didn’t die in the 1960s, it was assassinated. It didn’t end because Negroes had obtained all of their rights and were finally equal; it ended with a bullet on the balcony of the Lorraine Motel. It ended in gunfire at the podium of the Audobon ballroom and in illegal raids in Oakland, CA. The movement ended because its efforts were effectively halted and the forward movement of an oppressed people quelled. The remaining civil rights leaders didn’t pack up their things and move to the suburbs saying, “job well done, I got mine.” Agendas became scattered, organization broke down. Everyone, working and middle-class alike went their separate ways, doing the best they could to carry on in the shadow of injustice.
I cut my teeth on the civil rights movement, learned to walk with freedom and equality as my goals. I am the offspring of a civil rights leader and it was towards the end of the volatile era of the civil rights movement that I garnered my agenda for affecting social change through civic-minded responsibility. Through the eyes of a child, I saw the remnants of a dream that had been killed, and I struggle to resuscitate it daily.
In 1968, Operation Draw Fire was an initiative in coordination with Lincoln University and the Maryland NAACP to desegregate local eating establishments in response to the arrest of three South African students trying to get served at a local pub. In the plan, a colored operative would go in and order food, and if he was denied service, he would then signal for the second team of whites to come in and request service. This lone individual went into these establishments unarmed, without backup in the territory that was the headquarters for the Klan in the violent 1960s. Tensions were high and tempers easily flared at the thought of a Negro trying to take away white privilege. On many occasions, guns were pulled and life and limb threatened. There is very valid reason that none of this information is footnoted and documented. This story is a part of my legacy, tradition I can call upon at any time. That solitary colored operative was my grandfather. It is the blood of a hero that courses through my veins, and it is his name that I carry.
On July 25, 1968, Ku Klux Klan members threw 15 sticks of dynamite into the home of the first Black man to run for political office in Cecil County Maryland. Fortunately, the dynamite rolled down a bank and no lives were lost. If the perpetrators of that deed had accomplished their mission, I would not be alive today. I was in that home along with my uncle and my grandparents. It was my grandfather’s dedication to paving the way for all Black people that motivated him to continue to struggle past the death threats and attempts on his life. Not greed or power, it was his passion to fight for our rights as human beings.
My mother desegregated her high school in 1960 and was the only Black student in North East High School for three years. She went on to be arrested four times in 1964 attempting to integrate a movie theater as a student at Morgan State College. She was sprayed with insecticide, fed moldy food, and housed in the general population of the jail with murderers and violent criminals. As you can see, my heritage is rich with the tradition of the civil rights movement. Today, I head a non-profit organization created to battle the injustices of inequality in this society. It is my mission to create social change and to make level the playing field that keeps my people disadvantaged.
In conclusion, I might suggest that one’s civil rights in the new millennium are just as elusive as they were for the freedmen during reconstruction. The culprits are not as blatant, but they are equally as oppressive nonetheless. I will leave you with the words of my grandfather and his admonition to my generation in the pursuit of civil rights for us all: “As you travel along life’s highway, keep a sharp eye on that door that leads to equality, don’t let it close behind you because your brother or sister may be trying to get in.”
Copyright 2001 Scottie Lowe
The need for equal access to employment, quality education, housing, voting rights, and protection under the law is still very much an issue, if not more so, than it was 30 years ago. Racism and discrimination, instead of being administered at the hands of hooded cowards in the dark of night, is now stealth and institutionalized. Yes, we can ride on the front of the bus but African Americans are at risk for being denied loans for housing, being looked over for promotions, unjustly imprisoned and grossly undereducated. But because there are no more marches, no more poignant speeches from eloquent leaders, we have been lulled into a false sense of security that we have our civil rights. Perhaps we think that the struggle is over because there are no more dogs and fire hoses. We ignore modern day church burnings and the lynchings of Black men as insignificant. The fact remains that African Americans are more likely to be pulled over in our cars for perceived and minor infractions, victims of “Driving While Black.” Brown skin will land you in jail for a negligible possession of drugs while the white perpetrator of the same crime will end up in rehabilitation or on probation. Substandard housing has become so acceptable for economically disadvantaged African Americans that no one even raises an eyebrow at their deplorable conditions; there are many of us who have come to view urban decay as a sign of “Blackness.” Now, with the presence of a black middle-class that drives big cars and lives among the oppressor with relative ease, it becomes easier to overlook the social injustices of the masses. Yet the fight for social justice and civil rights is far from over.
Civil rights has in fact become a term that is synonymous with African Americans. Race becomes the pervasive and deciding factor when one is discussing civil rights. Color trumps sexual orientation, age, creed and disability. The white homosexual will always be able to slide under the proverbial discrimination detector when driving in his car. The black homosexual is a Black man first, and is afforded no protection from his own skin. The loan officer sees black skin approaching the desk first, not religious affiliation. Such is the case with the black elderly, the disabled and gender biased offenses. Affirmative action, enacted to Disparity based on race is rampant and the ideals of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness seem to be more and more evasive for people of color in this society.
I’ve noticed from a few of my contemporaries an interesting trend towards disregarding the contributions of the warriors of the civil rights movement by saying that what they did was counterproductive to the betterment of Black people. According to some, the civil rights movement was lead by a middle-class, elitist, bourgeoisie whose only agenda was to fatten their pockets and “Tom” their way to the political forefront. I find this an interesting position in that the real villains of justice to Afro peoples in this country wear white, whether it be skin, collars and/or sheets. Public policy has done more harm to the advancement of African Americans than those foot soldiers that risked their lives so that we might have a better way of life. It smacks of a certain amount of disrespect to belittle the contributions of those that sat-in, those that marched, those that put their lives on the line. Rather than attack racist agendas and GOP politics, they point the finger at those that resisted the status quo with negative critique. It is my contention that the civil rights leaders of the past did the best they possibly could under the extreme circumstances. The civil rights movement didn’t die in the 1960s, it was assassinated. It didn’t end because Negroes had obtained all of their rights and were finally equal; it ended with a bullet on the balcony of the Lorraine Motel. It ended in gunfire at the podium of the Audobon ballroom and in illegal raids in Oakland, CA. The movement ended because its efforts were effectively halted and the forward movement of an oppressed people quelled. The remaining civil rights leaders didn’t pack up their things and move to the suburbs saying, “job well done, I got mine.” Agendas became scattered, organization broke down. Everyone, working and middle-class alike went their separate ways, doing the best they could to carry on in the shadow of injustice.
I cut my teeth on the civil rights movement, learned to walk with freedom and equality as my goals. I am the offspring of a civil rights leader and it was towards the end of the volatile era of the civil rights movement that I garnered my agenda for affecting social change through civic-minded responsibility. Through the eyes of a child, I saw the remnants of a dream that had been killed, and I struggle to resuscitate it daily.
In 1968, Operation Draw Fire was an initiative in coordination with Lincoln University and the Maryland NAACP to desegregate local eating establishments in response to the arrest of three South African students trying to get served at a local pub. In the plan, a colored operative would go in and order food, and if he was denied service, he would then signal for the second team of whites to come in and request service. This lone individual went into these establishments unarmed, without backup in the territory that was the headquarters for the Klan in the violent 1960s. Tensions were high and tempers easily flared at the thought of a Negro trying to take away white privilege. On many occasions, guns were pulled and life and limb threatened. There is very valid reason that none of this information is footnoted and documented. This story is a part of my legacy, tradition I can call upon at any time. That solitary colored operative was my grandfather. It is the blood of a hero that courses through my veins, and it is his name that I carry.
On July 25, 1968, Ku Klux Klan members threw 15 sticks of dynamite into the home of the first Black man to run for political office in Cecil County Maryland. Fortunately, the dynamite rolled down a bank and no lives were lost. If the perpetrators of that deed had accomplished their mission, I would not be alive today. I was in that home along with my uncle and my grandparents. It was my grandfather’s dedication to paving the way for all Black people that motivated him to continue to struggle past the death threats and attempts on his life. Not greed or power, it was his passion to fight for our rights as human beings.
My mother desegregated her high school in 1960 and was the only Black student in North East High School for three years. She went on to be arrested four times in 1964 attempting to integrate a movie theater as a student at Morgan State College. She was sprayed with insecticide, fed moldy food, and housed in the general population of the jail with murderers and violent criminals. As you can see, my heritage is rich with the tradition of the civil rights movement. Today, I head a non-profit organization created to battle the injustices of inequality in this society. It is my mission to create social change and to make level the playing field that keeps my people disadvantaged.
In conclusion, I might suggest that one’s civil rights in the new millennium are just as elusive as they were for the freedmen during reconstruction. The culprits are not as blatant, but they are equally as oppressive nonetheless. I will leave you with the words of my grandfather and his admonition to my generation in the pursuit of civil rights for us all: “As you travel along life’s highway, keep a sharp eye on that door that leads to equality, don’t let it close behind you because your brother or sister may be trying to get in.”
Copyright 2001 Scottie Lowe
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