Award-Winning Entries, Sixth Annual IFS Student
Writing Contest
In the Shadow of Greatness
—John Braden, First Place
Pink-Collar Ghetto
—Holly Doyle, Second Place
Underground Education: The Lighted Path to Freedom
in the U.S. 1865-1940
—Rees Storm, Third Place
In the Shadow of Greatness
—John Braden, First Place
I know all your ways; you are neither hot nor cold. How I wish
you were either hot or cold. But because you are lukewarm…,
I will spit you out of my mouth.
—Rev. 3:15
It’s not every man that
finds himself sitting on his own porch, with his pretty wife,
admiring a beautiful day. Herman Melville was not one to take such
comforts for granted. Certainly there are many who have had this
pleasure, and for whatever reason many more who never will. The
general perception is that the American Dream can be achieved by any
sensible man with potent pheromones. The sad truth is that reality
has a knack for bringing the boot heel down on the humblest of
ambitions. Only priests and shut-ins possess the paranoia required
to ensure a life free of pain and misery, but Melville never catered
to such caution. He joined those chosen few, who in the vein of
nineteenth century bravado, sailed remote seas to land on savage
islands, and carved their present selves with unique perception and
wild vitality, snubbing prudence the entire way. And what of those
noble derelicts that accompanied Herman on these voyages? He doubted
many of them could now reflect upon their singular achievements in
such a satisfying setting.
Fortunately, his
agile mind was far too sensible than to linger upon these useless
amusements of pride. The Whale loomed in the distance, and there
wasn’t too much that could distract him from the vigilant meditation
it commanded. All he had to do was gaze over at Mt. Greylock, whose
immense bulk reigned over all that surrounded him, and allow Moby
Dick to direct his thoughts. Even now, in the summer of 1851, the
white whale was so close to revealing the Pequod’s terrible fate.
His reverie was cut short by his wife’s playful elbow, and he hoped
that the faint smile he managed showed proof of the affection he had
for her.
“Herman, just once I
wish we could spend five minutes together without you drifting off
and dreaming of half-naked savage girls,” she said with a wry smile.
Despite his wife’s
pleasant mood, Herman was well aware of the potential danger of this
subject. He also knew that it was wishful thinking that she would
ever let the matter die. “Lizzie, you’ve got the wrong book
entirely.”
She moved her hand
over to his leg and began tapping her finger on his knee. “You know,
I was leaving church the other day and overheard one of the elderly
ladies refer to you as a perverted Anti-Christ.”
Herman groaned
inwardly. He envisioned Lizzie’s church ladies as a vicious sewing
circle of righteous vengeance, incessantly plotting his demise. “My
dear, it may be true that you married the Anti-Christ, but rest
assured that his perversions are now fixed firmly upon his heavenly
bride.”
Presently satisfied
she shrugged her shoulders and waved her hand. “I suppose a lady
should be thankful for whatever she gets these days.”
In this, their own
natural way, they carried on for quite some time. Herman took great
delight in allowing her to put on her show of mock indignation. He
learned early in their marriage that if he could keep her in this
mood until the end of the day, any other mood that he wished to put
her in could be easily managed. After a while she walked inside to
check on their infant so, Malcolm, who was obliging them with an
unusually long nap this afternoon.
When she returned,
she stopped short before sitting down. “Herman,” she said, “there is
a very distinguished-looking man of color walking up our path.”
He looked up to see
the determined stride of a black man in a gray suit heading towards
their house. He was still a ways off, but the very presence of
Frederick Douglass was immediately identifiable. Herman recalled the
only time he had ever seen the man.
Douglass was speaking
at the Broadway Tabernacle. It was exceptionally hot for May in New
York City, but the stench of ignorance and hate overpowered the odor
of sweaty unwashed filth that came from all those who sat around
him. Shortly before Douglass gave his speech, a Dr. Furness,
shrewdly combining scientific jargon with backwoods rhetoric,
enlightened everyone about the inferiority of the colored race. Many
who were present were as giddy as foul-tempered school girls to hear
that the convictions they frantically clung to were now officially
confirmed.
The racial animosity
of the mob was perpetuated by their leader, Isaiah Rynders. He was a
Tammany Hall politician who fed off the steady undercurrent of hate
that every corner of New York generously provided. Relishing the
modest power handed down to him, he gladly did the bidding of
prominent city officials, who preferred to stay anonymous in such
delicate matters. He led a rabble of nearly two hundred men to the
foot of the stage, and worked them all up into a violent frenzy. The
torrent of hate projected throughout the auditorium made Herman
shake his head in disgust. His sole reason for putting himself among
such an odious crowd was to see the man his wife enjoyed referring
to as the “Colored Moses.” It was now obvious that no one would
confront an audience that so violently opposed him, but to the
astonishment of all, Frederick Douglass calmly took the stage.
He did his best to
deliver his speech and try to ignore Rynders’ men, but their
persistence made that impossible. Instead he began to answer their
insults with confident rebuttals, parrying their belligerent curses
with firm truth. When it was clear that they would not be able to
bring him down to their level, Rynders shouted out, “He’s smart
boys, but he’s only half-nigger”!
Douglass nodded.
“Then I am half-brother to yourself,” he said with a smile.
Herman had always
thought a great deal of Douglass, now he saw him as a man of
biblical stature. After the speech was over, he rushed to meet him
but the crowd had already bottlenecked at the front of the theater
and he could not get through.
Rynders stood, still,
at the front of the stage with his thumbs tucked in his belt loops.
“Any of you boys that listened to that uppity nigger is nothing but
a fool,” he said, looking around with an arrogant smile. “If he
doesn’t learn his place real soon he’ll wind up in the Hudson, and
that goes the same for anyone that follows him.”
“We’re with you,
Isaiah,” shouted several of the men grouped around him.
Now that the rest of
the audience was bunched up around Rynders and his men, they became
more vocal in their support. Several were calling out for Douglass’s
immediate death. Melville wanted to grab Rynders by the shirt collar
and let him know exactly how much he despised him. He wanted to tell
them all that they were nothing but scared fools, but there’s no
arguing with a mob—not unless you wanted to supply them with a
victim. When he noticed that several of the men who were actually
listening to Douglass were now nodding their approval for his
opposition, Melville’s heart sank. His inspired elation was now
replaced with disgusted shame. The futility of the abolitionist
cause was now utterly apparent to him. If the hatred ran this deep
here, how must it be in the South? Trapped in the very center of
man’s most despicable disease, Melville lost all hope.
When he finally got
clear of the Broadway Tabernacle, he had forgotten all about finding
Frederick Douglass. Instead he wanted to immediately begin making
preparations for leaving the city. Moving out to a farm in
Pittsfield was always something he had held in the back of his mind.
It had now become his sole desire. Of course he had no money to do
this, but he was quite sure that Lizzie’s father would help them
out. He had had enough of New York for now. The time for snubbing
prudence was over.
His retrospection was
again disrupted by his wife’s elbow. “Herman, do you think he knows
who my father is?” she whispered fiercely.
Melville shuddered.
It was almost certain that he did. “I doubt it, dear,” he assured
her, “or else he probably wouldn’t be here.”
“You know my father
only did what he had to,” she said reproachfully. “Anyway, I doubt
Mr. Douglass would judge me by his actions. I’ve always wished the
abolitionists well. Slavery is a despicable act, though I don’t
think it’s proper for him to be making a spectacle of himself by
walking around town with white women.”
Herman shook his
head. “Please dear, I implore you not to evince any bigotry in front
of this man.”
His wife’s glare made
him wish he had phrased his reply a little differently.
“Well, I guess a man
who spent a month living in sin with lecherous islanders would see
it that way.”
This was one of those
times when Herman wished that he had kept his adventures abroad all
to himself, but he and Lizzie both managed smiles as their visitor
approached.
“I certainly hope
you’re the Melvilles,” he said with a broad smile. “Otherwise I’ve
got a long walk back.”
“You’ve found us, Mr.
Douglass,” said Herman, walking down his steps to shake his hand.
“I’m Herman and this is my wife Lizzie.”
“Please, call me
Frederick,” he said, giving him a firm handshake. “I don’t think I
could ever get used to being called mister. It just doesn’t fit.”
“You’re very well
met, Frederick,” said Lizzie coming down to join them. “Herman and
I both admire what you do.”
“I appreciate that I
assure you. I apologize for showing up unannounced like this, but I
never know very far in advance when my schedule will allow me to get
away for a few days.”
Lizzie went in to get
them all drinks, and then they relaxed on the porch for a while
exchanging pleasantries. Herman marveled at this strange turn of
events. Only 15 minutes earlier, he thought the only excitement this
day had in store for him was sneaking out to the barn for a cigar
and a few sips of whiskey. Now he was sitting with the man who had
triggered so much emotion in him that he decided to leave the city
and become a farmer. He wondered if Douglass had this profound
effect on most of his listeners.
“Did you know we have
a lot of the same critics?” Douglass asked him. “It seems that the
only time the pro-slavery newspapers aren’t writing something
terrible about me, is when you’ve come out with a new book. We share
so many enemies, I figured a meeting was in order.”
Herman laughed. “If
we do share the same enemies then I advise you to stay clear of the
ladies from my wife’s church. They have this queer notion that I’m
the Anti-Christ. I wouldn’t be too alarmed, but they do travel in
packs and are rarely seen without their knitting needles.”
This time, Lizzie’s
elbow actually made him wince. He was quite sure he would be bruised
by morning. “Lizzie,” he implored, “I appreciate your passion for
domestic abuse, but could you please wait until our company leaves.”
They were able to
maintain pleasant conversation only for a short time before Lizzie
asked Frederick for news of the abolitionist movement. He told them
there had been great changes of late. He and William Lloyd Garrison,
who had tutored him through the early stages of his political
maturity, had suffered a falling out. They disagreed over the
constitution’s stance on slavery, and Garrison was a stubborn man
who was unwilling to find any common ground in this matter. Douglass
had decided to go off on his own, and with the financial assistance
of his friend Gerrit Smith, started the Frederick Douglass’ Paper
to help promote his views. He also said that he was attempting to
persuade the Supreme Court to recognize that slavery was in direct
opposition to everything the Constitution stood for. He felt that
only then could real progress finally be achieved for the
abolitionists.
“That sounds
reasonable,” said Herman. “But, unfortunately this country doesn’t
respond well to sensible elucidation. Not to mention, even if you
are able to get the Supreme Court to pass laws in your favor, that
doesn’t mean that the South will pay them any mind. Just look at
what happened to the Cherokee Nation. They were actually able to get
Chief Justice John Marshall to declare them a separate state within
the state of Georgia. A delicate situation no doubt given the
temperament of their neighbors, but we’ll never know if it ever
stood a chance of success. President Andrew Jackson told the eager
locals to ignore the Supreme Court, and deal with the problem
however they saw fit. That’s all the encouragement they needed to
begin slaughtering Indians and sending them off on the Trail of
Tears.”
Frederick nodded
solemnly. “And what sort of message does that send to the South
concerning the validity of our government? It’s little wonder they
feel exempt from any law that doesn’t suit them. The only government
they’ll acknowledge is one fashioned of their own accord.”
“War is inevitable,”
said Herman, “and if the North prevails, the southern Negro will
have his freedom.”
“You’re probably
right,” agreed Frederick, “but I’ll continue to strive for a more
civilized solution.”
“Then you have stormy
waters ahead my friend.”
When Lizzie went in
to feed the baby, the two men took a tour of the Melville farm.
Frederick gave Herman some much-needed advice on how to handle his
crops, which probably saved them from eventual ruin. They also spoke
of fishing, whaling, literature, and quite a bit more about
politics. Ever so often, Frederick would give a determined glance
towards the main road. Herman didn’t think much about it; he was
more concerned about discerning the true nature of Douglass’s visit.
“I can’t imagine you
came all this way to pay me a social visit,” he prompted.
“I came to Berkshire
County to visit several people I admire, but I came, mainly, to
speak with you. I find myself in uncertain times. My break with
Garrison was a necessity; he knows that as well as I. But now, I
have to find new allies in the cause. Plainly speaking, I could use
a good first mate.”
Herman recalled that
sweltering afternoon at the Broadway Tabernacle. If he had received
this proposal on that day, there was little doubt that he would
still be living in New York as a dedicated abolitionist, despite
whatever political damage it would cause Lizzie’s father. Now, there
was the whale to think of and his family as well. He paused a few
seconds to display consideration, but his decision had been made
before the question was ever asked.
“Please believe me
when I say that I’m certain you fight for this nation’s most
imperative endeavor, but I just can’t join you at this time. I’ve
just had a baby. For God’s sake, I just moved here.”
Frederick nodded his
acceptance, but it was clear that he was merely waiting out a speech
he had heard far too often. “I’m not asking you to give up the
farm,” he said. “All I’m asking is for you to write for my paper,
and to give a speech every few months.”
Herman shook his
head. “One day I would love to help, but I just can’t right now. If
you only knew the scope of what I’m working on, you’d understand.
Your gift lies in showing people how they should be; mine lies in
exposing them for who they are. The variance of our methods does not
alter the unity of our ambitions.”
One thing Frederick
had learned early on in his dealings with intellectuals was that
they’re capable of convincing themselves of anything. If Herman was,
in fact, aiding him in his cause, it was from far too safe a
distance. As far as he was concerned, there was only one way to
confront atrocity and that was head-on. Anything else was neglecting
your responsibility to freedom. He liked his new-found friend a
great deal, but he couldn’t help but feel disappointed in him.
Sadly, he felt this way about a lot of people.
Frederick sighed.
“This doesn’t make what I have to tell you next any easier.”
Herman was
immediately reminded of Frederick’s furtive glances towards the
road.
“I was nearly on your
land when they ran out of the woods asking for help,” Frederick
said. “I would have told you right when I met you, but I had to feel
things out first, for their sakes.”
Unconsciously, Herman
took a step back. “For whose sake?” he demanded. “What are you
talking about?”
Frederick rubbed the
bridge of his nose for a second and then looked him directly in the
eye. “Herman,” he said, “you have fugitive slaves on your property.”
Anxiety slammed into
Herman like an ocean squall. He doubted the shock could have been
any greater if he had just been told he had a Shawnee War Party in
his kitchen.
Struggling to keep
his voice low, he said, “My God, man! Do you realize what you’ve
done? Lizzie’s father is Lemuel Shaw. Chief Justice Lemuel Shaw!
He’s upheld the fugitive slave law!”
“I know,” Frederick
allowed, “but I had no other choice. Like I said, they were
practically on your land when they came to me for help. I didn’t
know where else to take them. All they want is a little food and a
place to rest for a night or two.”
“Frederick, Lemuel
paid for the mortgage on this farm. It’s his property. If anyone
found out about this he’d be ruined.”
“I promise you,
Herman, no one will ever have to know.”
He was about to
respond when Lizzie called over to him from the porch and, in an
alarmed voice, said, “Herman, there’re two Negroes running towards
the house.”
He looked over to see
a man and a teenage girl running through his pasture. They were both
in rags and, even from a fair distance, their emaciated condition
was obvious. Suddenly, the girl fell. The man wheeled around and
flung her over his shoulder.
Frederick dropped his
glass. “Oh, my God,” he said. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“They’ve been found
out haven’t they,” gasped Herman. They’re coming for them.”
Lizzie called over
from the porch, frantically. “Herman, what’s going on?”
“They’re slaves,”
Frederick answered with his hands held up in a calming gesture. “I’m
sorry Mrs. Melville.”
“Lizzie, take Malcolm
upstairs and stay with him,” Herman called over.
Lizzie bolted inside.
The man, obviously
struggling with the weight of the girl over his shoulder, had almost
reached them. “They found us,” he called out. “We could hear their
dogs back in them woods. They still a ways off, but they on our
trail.”
“The man’s name is
Jacob Barnes,” Frederick told Herman. “That’s his daughter, Sarah,
that he’s carrying. They were separated when she was still just a
little girl, but the plantation where they took her wasn’t very far
from his. Jacob snuck out one night to take her some socks. When he
found her, she was being raped by her master. He beat the man to
death. If he’s found, they’ll kill him for sure. Don’t you see,
Herman? I had to help them.”
“You brought a
murderer to my house,” Herman said with a dazed look in his eye.
“My God, man, what
would you have done? She’s only fifteen. Who do you think bears the
guilt of this crime?”
Jacob walked up to
them and set his daughter down. She latched on to him, immediately,
and buried her face in his shirt. “They’re coming Mr. Douglass,” he
said, running his hands through his daughter’s hair, trying to
comfort her. “I won’t let them take her. You know that, don’t you?
They ain’t taking my Sarah.”
“Do you know who’s
leading them?” asked Frederick.
“Well, I killed a
man. I reckon it’ll be Fowler.”
The name brought
Herman out of his daze. “Fowler,” he exclaimed. “Do you have any
idea how many men that beast has killed?”
Leviticus Fowler was
a wealthy plantation owner, who gained his initial fame as an Indian
fighter. He served under Jackson during the campaign with the
Seminoles in Spanish Florida. His heroic deeds in battle were
well-documented; what few people knew, however, was that he started
his first business with money he had made by selling scalps, the
bulk of which he had taken from women and children. His passion for
tracking down runaway slaves was similar to that of an English
Lord’s love of fox hunting. He gained the admiration of his southern
clients by retrieving slaves who had eluded initial pursuits. His
extensive influence throughout the north, and vast network of
informers in the south, allowed him the benefit of never having to
leave his house until he knew exactly where a slave was or where he
was heading. Still, Fowler was rarely called upon unless the runaway
was guilty of committing a capital offense because his posse rarely
brought anyone back alive.
“I didn’t mean for
any of this to happen,” said Douglass in a placating voice. “You
said that one day you would like to help me in my cause. Well, I
need that help today, Herman. Just let them hide in your barn, if
they’re found you could say that you had no idea they were there.”
“Please mister,”
pleaded Jacob. “I didn’t mean to hurt anybody, but I couldn’t help
myself. When I pulled him off my Sarah, I just couldn’t think
anymore.”
Herman thought of
that day at the Broadway Tabernacle. When he realized that he was
surrounded by hate, he was overcome by a suffocating nausea. And,
there was something else there; an apparition so fleeting that,
later, he easily attributed it to an overactive imagination. Now,
Herman was certain of his vision. It wasn’t Rynders and his men that
frightened him out of the city. Rather, it was that shadowy presence
of malice that had pulled their strings and, now, had chased him to
his very doorstep.
He was about to give
Douglass his answer when he heard the click of a shotgun being
loaded and slammed shut behind him. He turned around to see his wife
standing on the porch, her hair and skirt flapping in the wind. She
had tears streaming down her cheeks and a double barreled-shotgun
pointed in their vicinity.
“Mr. Douglass,” she
said through clenched teeth, “You’ve put my family in danger. I
don’t care if you got your reasons or not, I want you off my land.”
She picked a sack up from beside her and threw it at Jacob’s feet.
“There’s food in there and a dress for the girl,” she said. That’s
all we can do for you. I wish I could do more, but the people you’ve
brought can’t find you here.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs.
Melville, we’ll leave,” said Frederick, walking over to pick up the
sack. “But you should know that your father has more guilt in this
matter than either of us.”
Ignoring the comment,
Lizzie continued, “If you head towards the mountain you’ll run into
a creek. They can lose their scent there. After that, there are
plenty of places to hide in those hills. Now I have to ask you to
leave.”
Jacob picked up his
daughter and nodded to Frederick. As they all started off towards
the mountain, Frederick turned around and, as he back-pedaled,
called out: “A man free of fear and ignorance will always do the
right thing, Herman. Which one is holding you back?”
Frederick spun around
to rejoin his companions. The sun was beginning to set, and Mt.
Greylock shimmered majestically in front of the brilliant horizon.
Even Frederick Douglass was made to seem insignificant as he ran
towards the mountain that towered ominously above him. Herman took a
handkerchief out and wiped the sweat from his brow. This was only
the second time he had seen Douglass, and yet again he was about to
find himself in the company of men he despised.
“I’m taking Malcolm
upstairs and locking all the doors,” Lizzie said from the porch.
“You call up when you’ve gotten rid of them.”
Herman didn’t have to
wait long on his guests. Nearly a dozen men and a few dogs emerged
from the woods shortly after Lizzie disappeared inside. They cast
long sideways shadows as they swaggered up to him. His thoughts were
consumed by all of the terrible things they were capable of doing to
him. In perilous situations a gifted imagination isn’t always a good
thing.
He tried his best to
sound relaxed. “Hello, gentlemen. A fine evening to be out walking
the dogs, isn’t it?”
No one answered. They
all just looked over expectantly towards the elderly man in the
middle. It had to be Fowler. He was certainly getting on in years,
but there was a vicious spark in his eye that refused to dim with
age. Slowly, he walked over to Melville.
“You’re Herman
Melville,” he said.
Herman nodded.
“I’m Levi Fowler. You
know why I’m here. Where are they?”
“I thought I saw
someone running through the woods,” said Herman, shrugging his
shoulders. “But that was a while ago.”
“Well, that’s not at
all how things look to me, but we won’t worry about that. My dogs
tell me they’re not here now. Just do me a favor, give your pretty
wife a message for me. You tell her to tell her father that Levi
Fowler thanks him for doing his part, and that he can be damn sure
that we’re doing ours.”
He then leaned
towards Herman and, with his face resting only an inch away, added,
“and if my dogs ever bring me through here again I’ll burn your damn
house down.”
One of his men, who
was crouched down in the grass, called over. “Looks like there’s
three of them now, Levi.”
“Good eye, Darrel,”
Fowler squealed. “Come on let’s get those dogs moving.”
Herman had to steady
himself on his railing as he watched them walk away. He had started
out the day admiring his unique station in life, certain of himself,
and the permanence of everything he held dear. Now he felt as if his
own life was as fragile as those he had just turned from his door.
* * *
It was nearly three
weeks later when Douglass was finally able to return to his home in
Rochester, New York. His wife Anna was sitting on the porch reading
and watching their four children play hopscotch. She was always out
on the porch when he came home from a long trip, as if somehow she
knew ahead of time when he would arrive. His son, Frederick Jr., who
was attempting to balance himself on one foot and pick a rock up off
the ground, was the first to see him. He nearly fell in his
excitement, but he managed to right himself and ran a bee-line
towards his father, shouting “Daddy’s home!” the entire way. The
other three children took up the chorus and it was only a matter of
seconds before they all smothered him. If the town of Rochester had
had a parade for him, he couldn’t have been more satisfied with his
reception.
From the corner of
his eye, he noticed Anna wiping away tears. She was always a bit
overcome when he came home and, considering the nature of his work,
she had good reason. Encumbered by the weight of his children,
Frederick made his way over to her.
She gasped when she
got a close look at him. “You’re covered in scratches!”
“Yeah, I was out in
the woods for a bit,” he explained. “Got caught in some brambles.”
She paused to wipe
away tears. “I thought you were just gonna be speaking?”
“Me too, but I had to
do a bit of the other.”
“Did everyone make it
all right?”
“Everyone’s fine,” he
said, moving towards her.
They embraced and
their children danced around them. Frederick felt the tension
subside. It was an amazing gift his wife provided for him that he
doubted she was even aware of: only with her could he shed himself
of all that anger, before it had a chance to become hate. It was his
grandmother that taught him never to give in to hate and that, no
matter how it might seem, everyone had some good in them. These two
simple truisms served him better than all the rest of the education
he had picked up since. His true strength came with the knowledge
that even the worst of men weren’t necessarily what they’d allowed
themselves to become.
Back to the Top
Pink-Collar Ghetto
—Holly Doyle, Second Place
“Who ain’t a slave? Tell me that?”
A job
is a job.
It
ain’t no big thing, honey.
Put on
a short skirt,
a
low-cut top, and heels,
Don’t
forget the bedroom eyes
And the
melt-in-your-mouth-smile.
Mama
needs to sell some advertising.
I’m
sorry that I look like a harlot
When I
drop you off at daycare.
Don’t
worry, I’m not.
This is
just the uniform--
To
convince men to hand over their money.
Now you
go have a good day, honey.
Mama
needs to sell her soul
In the
pink-collar ghetto.
If I
work real hard--and you know I will,
Someday
I just might be able to say farewell
To the
pink-collar ghetto.
Back to the Top
Underground Education:
The Lighted Path to Freedom
in the U.S. 1865-1940
—Rees Storm, Third Place
In the
United States, education is supposed to be the ‘Great Equalizer.’
The mid-19th century establishment of compulsory
education reflected the American values of equal opportunity and
democracy. The public expected schools to instill the next
generation of citizens with the values of citizenship and industry
and to “Americanize” Native Americans and immigrants. Unfortunately,
educational opportunities were not offered to America’s African
descendents.
Yet,
freedmen and slaves did pursue education. Immediately after the
Civil War, new hopes about the benefits of education motivated
increasing numbers of people to seek it for themselves and their
communities. When denied access to established institutions, African
Americans founded their own schools and quietly transformed
vocational schools into institutions of higher learning. By
preparing generations of students to believe in their own humanity,
these underground educators helped force the larger society to
recognize full rights for all, as guaranteed by the U.S.
Constitution.
During
the latter half of the nineteenth century, the U.S. was seeking to
redefine itself. The Civil War had devastated people’s faith in
America’s democratic experiment. On the one hand, the republic had
survived; on the other, the price had been very high and
antithetical to democratic ideals (Menand x). Growing social
problems caused by industrialization, urbanization, immigration and
labor conflicts were easily blamed on the “other.” Few white people
believed in the redemption of African Americans, and they doubtful
that education was up to the task of ‘Americanizing’ Indians or
immigrants (Pike 178). Many felt that the American way of life would
be threatened by further attempts to include them. Social Darwinism
explained and justified why only people whose ancestors came from
Europe were in power: ‘They were meant to succeed. Anglo-Saxons were
shown, through science, to be at the top of the evolutionary ladder.
Attempting to bring former slaves up in society went against recent
scientific work. They were, as a people, physically and mentally,
incapable of adapting to the rights and responsibilities of
civilization. The wrenching civil war had created only a new class
of inferior people to control. With mounting labor unrest,
disruption from huge influxes of immigrants, ongoing Indian
skirmishes and now barbarous former slaves on the loose, whites were
under siege.’
In the
mean time, booms in industry and intellectual life were transforming
the U.S. from a faith-based to a science-based society. Science was
proving itself to the public through rigorous investigation. As some
intellectuals, like social Darwinists, sought to use science to
perpetuate the status quo, others questioned it. Such intellectuals
sought deeper and more global meanings of freedom. They advocated
transformation through reflection and critical thinking.
John
Dewey was one such person. His influence on American educational
practices has great, although his ideas have yet to be fully
realized. He envisioned a fluid system, not one rigidified by race,
class or gender, in which the needs of society were merged with
individuals’ capacity for self-actualization. He saw education as
the pathway to prepare and engage free citizens to live and work
democratically. In Dewey’s ideal, a democratic
education was one in which everyone would have the opportunity for a
fully realized life. Rather than a means to perpetuate a form of
government, Dewey’s democratic education has a higher aim: to bring
individuals into engaged action in response to others’ actions and
to have others’ thoughtful actions be in response to the
individual’s (Dewey 87).
Dewey
recognized that in complex societies a division of labor was an
economic necessity. For that reason, he believed that equal access
to a quality education must be offered to everyone. A democratic
education means that all members are offered the chance to develop
abilities in “personal initiatives and adaptability” in order to
prevent the ossification of occupation into class, and further still
into birthright (Dewey 88). Division of labor may be a given in a
complex, organized society, but Dewey did not agree that it must
lead to class stratification or that class should dictate prescribed
levels of education. Equally important is that all members of
society must be kept in intimate contact with each other. Together,
equal access and ongoing contact amongst groups encourages class
mobility and freedom for all to engage in their work, civic
participation, and personal development.
Hopes
for equality among African Americans surged after the end of the
Civil War. Education became a passionate pursuit for blacks. Before
the legal walls of Jim Crow went up, pent-up desires for education
quickly spilled over into such actions as creating schools and
soliciting money from white benefactors and missionary groups. Help
flowed generously (Fairclough 4). With so many professions closed to
African Americans the vast majority of those pursuing an education
became teachers (Fairclough 5). The connection between education and
politics was directly made by black teachers who became political
leaders and community organizers (Fairclough 5). In turn, African
American communities preferred black teachers over white
missionaries, as African American teachers sought in their classroom
to reflect not just society as it was, but as it could and it should
be(Fairclough 7).
Unfortunately, the heady days of Reconstruction ended quickly and
American society hardened further into a stratified society based on
race. White America closed ranks and white opinions about race,
reinforced by the growing science of social Darwinism, rigidified.
As a result the re-institutionalization of racism through Jim Crow
and segregation laws mocked the old institution of slavery. Hopes
for equal access diminished. However belief in equality did not.
Educators continued the work of educating black students to expect
democracy and self-fulfillment.
To a
degree, there continued to be money available for the “industrial”
education of blacks. It was in the best interests of white
capitalists to create productive workers, after all. Virginia’s
Hampton Institute is a prime example of the growing predominance of
vocational training for blacks.. A collection of photographs made
for the Paris Exposition of 1900 compiled into a book called, The
Hampton Album, depicts many scenes of busy students making
useful items, like shoes and butter, and learning farming
techniques. Yet among these photographs, are others of students
learning geography, literature, and mathematics. In fact, many such
schools, which were initially funded principally for vocational
training, began to include increasing numbers of academic classes.
Robert Russa Moton who became the second President of the Tuskegee
Institute after its founder, Booker T. Washington, received his
education from Hampton Institute. During his tenure he, like many
other black college presidents, quietly expanded Tuskegee into an
institution for rigorous higher learning (Fairclough 33).
Yet the
complaint is often waged that education failed blacks and that black
educators were part of the oppressive system. However, what is
overlooked by these critics is the delicate position such educators
were in. They needed to negotiate an unfriendly, oppressive system.
They had to advocate for the practical needs of their students
without provoking the white power elite, who could terminate
finances and close down schools at any hint of radicalism.
Maintaining a front of compliance, educators could, in closed
classrooms, continue to train the next generation to expect and
demand fuller participation in society. Many educators, “shrewdly
calculated that deemphasizing the literary content of black
education mitigated white opposition to black schools” (Fairclough
18). Yet because these same educators did not “internalize racist
values…teachers kept hope alive; however much it appeared otherwise,
they were educating for democracy” (Fairclough 19).
Ironically, because African American schools were so marginalized
they were often ignored by whites, giving black teachers great
autonomy to teach as they liked. Academics could be hidden under
industrial education and standards could be raised (Fairclough 35).
Likewise, methods for gaining financial support and resources were
often “roundabout,” like trading labor for books and goodwill (Fairclough
34). Most importantly, schools gave African Americans “intellectual
space to develop a critique of white supremacy” (Fairclough 36).
Students were exposed to contemporary ideas and philosophers,
including John Dewey, which only helped increase their commitment
and striving (Fairclough 36). While opportunities may have been
limited, minds were not. For educators, the high costs to their
personal dignity were paid off, ultimately, by students who learned
what freedom could offer them and how they might work to achieve it.
French
author, Antoine de St. Exupery, said “If you want to build a ship,
don’t drum up the [people] to gather wood, divide the work, and give
orders. Instead, teach them to yearn for the vast and endless sea.”
Despite the criticism they received from the Civil Rights
Movement-era generation that came after them, black educators were
teaching their students to yearn for the ‘vast and endless’
opportunities democracy promises. Although the ship they were
building often had to remain cloaked and appear non-threatening, it
became ready to launch under their tutelage. Educators may have
seemed weak or obsequious to the students they empowered, but their
efforts were no less vital. They held and nurtured consciousness of
the inherent rights of humans, despite extreme racism and
oppression. Like the illicit literacy and ciphering skills acquired
by enslaved peoples before them, black educators in the years
between the Civil War and the Civil Rights Movement worked hard, and
often invisibly, to nurture the minds of future generations. Without
their beckoning lights of inspiration, the pathway to freedom and
equality would have certainly been more mired and murky.
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