MY INSPIRATION -- THE THREE M'S (MARTIN, MEDGAR AND MYRLIE)


Recently I have decided to stand and fight against the drug dealers who have taken over the corner across the street from me, in front of the Awsan minimart at Union and Weld streets. Many I am sure will think I am insane, because this is dangerous work. After all, I could move to a different neighborhood, though I would not be able to afford an apartment as large as mine is now, with amenities such as a full attic and a shared basement with washer and dryer hookups, not to mention a big back yard and space to garden. But after looking around a bit, I decided I would not desert the wonderful neighbors I have come to know and love over the now almost 7 years I have been living on this corner. So I wrote this essay to explain why.

My role models for this fight against the drug dealers are Martin Luther King, Medgar Evers, and Myrlie Evers-Williams.

This struggle is also a struggle for civil rights -- the right to live in our homes in peace, safety and security. It's a right that belongs to every citizen: rich or poor, black or white, Christian, Muslim, Jew, Buddhist, Hindu, atheist -- whatever color or creed.

When I was 15, Myrlie came to live in the house two doors up the street from my home in Claremont, Calif., a few months after Medgar was assassinated. For several years I was the primary evening and weekend babysitter for Darrell, Reena and Van, the three Evers children.

You can read a Speak Out essay I wrote about (among other things) what I learned from Myrlie, published in the Democrat & Chronicle in September, 1993, here.

Myrlie was in Rochester January 16 to kick off Martin Luther King Week at Nazareth College, and thanks to a Google News alert that informed me of her visit, I managed to get out there to see her. It had been 24 years since we last came together.

As I wrote in my blog post on that earlier, it was a very special moment when I caught her backstage after her talk and said "Myrlie....Myrlie...it's Jo-Jo! It's Jo-Jo!" (My family nickname).

I loved the reaction on her face. She could not believe it was me.

She wanted to catch up with all the news, as did I, but of course there were many other people wanting (and deserving) her attention. We visited very briefly, then I promised I would call her.

I want to do that soon. One of the things I've been thinking about is the possibility of having her speak to our community group through the magic of technology (hey, a speakerphone is good enough for a small indoor group; we could hook it up to a loudspeaker for a larger and/or outdoor venue). I know she would do it. It would just be a matter of when.

I made a digital recording of her talk, which you can find here.

You need QuickTime to hear it. If you're a Windows person and don't have it, you can download it here.

The sound quality is not the best, but I think you can hear most of it.

As I said in my Speak Out essay — from Myrlie, "I learned about enduring enormous terror and pain and grief and loss while at the same time holding onto hope. I learned about standing up for one's convictions no matter how much others may hate you or try to destroy you because what you say and what you stand for frightens them."

I wrote the essay originally in response to students' complaints about my insistence upon mainstreaming the study of racism, sexism and classism into my mass media courses. (For example, one student had written on my teaching evaluations: "If I wanted to learn about black people I would have taken an African-American studies course!") Incidentally, I ultimately lost that job -- and the reason given was my low teaching evaluations.

I do not regret for one second what I did.

Martin Luther King and Medgar Evers died in the struggle for civil rights. They stood bravely in the face of a terror greater than that of the drug dealers across the street from me. They stood up to the Ku Klux Klan and all the other racists, knowing they might die for the cause. And they did.

But Myrlie lived. And for thirty years, she fought for justice for Medgar. In 1994, she finally won when Byron de La Beckwith was convicted of murder.

Some people make look at my fight to take back my little corner on Union Street and think it's not worth that kind of risk. The fact is, I COULD move to a safer neighborhood, though not one where I'd be able to afford as large and pleasant an apartment as I have now. I am sure many people think that having a smaller apartment with fewer amenities is not such a big price to pay for peace of mind.

But this fight isn't just about me and my corner and my apartment. It's a whole lot bigger than that. It's a fight against terror. It's a fight against the injustice inherent in the fact that poor people have to deal with this kind of fear while middle class and wealthy people -- those who have more choices in where to live -- get peace, quiet and security.

And it's no small coincidence that most of the people in this neighborhood who have to live with the terror inflicted by the dealers are also primarily black and Hispanic.

So this fight against the dealers is another face and phase of the civil rights movement.

We have to stand together against them. We have to be willing to take risks. We have to have the courage of our convictions. We have to stand tall and strong in the face of opposition.

On election night in 1965, a lass of 17, I strode arm-in-arm with my fellow Claremont High School "Human Rights Club" student activists through the streets of Claremont, singing and celebrating. My friends and I formed the “Human Rights Club” to respond to the rampant racism in the school that surfaced after the Everses and another black family moved in. Before that, the town was entirely lily white.

Claremont was in an extremely conservative congressional district that voted in exactly the opposite proportion of the rest of the country. We had gone out campaigning anyway, knowing that many doors would be slammed in our faces. So our celebration was especially poignant. Of course, one of the songs we sang, over and over, was “We Shall Overcome.”

Lately I have been imagining a rally with a huge crowd up and down Union Street, singing "We Shall Overcome."

We SHALL overcome. And we shall live in peace...

[UPDATE NOTE: I did eventually call Myrlie, after my eviction (see more recent posts), and talk to her about what i was trying to in the neighborhood, and my reasoning behind my actions. She said she would be happy to do the "talk by speaker phone" I suggested above, depending on scheduling. Then she said "I am so proud of you, Jo-Jo." I felt I had received the highest accolade I could possibly get.]

Posted: Thu - March 16, 2006 at 09:16 AM          

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