I am preparing for my last session of American political thought this semester (!). We will focus this week on the 1960s, examining texts of the New Left, civil rights and women's rights movements. No wonder each week feels like a 2.5-hour whirlwind...
I'm enjoying the opportunity to read again through texts like Martin Luther King, Jr.'s moving "Letter from Birmingham Jail." The power of his prose and the eloquence of his arguments is fresh and invigorating -- and deeply troubling -- every time I read it. When in the course of this response to a plea from fellow clergymen for "moderation" he begins to write of what it's like to see the injustices and pain of segregation mirrored in the faces of your children, the personal torment of racism leaps from the page in a flurry of searing, semi-coloned clauses. I'm sure it's the most masterful piece of prose ever smuggled out of a prison on the margins of old newspapers; I suspect it is one of the more masterful ever written in America on paper of any variety.
Today, though, I was especially intrigued by a sentence from a Commentary journal article written by civil rights leader and King ally Bayard Rustin in 1965. Rustin was speaking to the structural problems remaining in American life even as de jure, or legalized, segregation crumbled to oblivion. In contrast to some in the broader civil rights movement he favored alliances with other progressive groups, arguing that strength and, thus, political power would come only in numbers. He cautioned against equating compromise with disavowal of core values. His words rang true for me in a manner that transcends the context of his movement:
"...the difference between expediency and morality in politics is the difference between selling out a principle and making smaller concessions to win larger ones."*
Our contemporary political leaders would do well to heed Rustin's words.
* Bayard Rustin, "From Protest to Politics: The Future of the Civil Rights Movement," quoted in Isaac Kramnick and Theodore J. Lowi, American Political Thought: A Norton Anthology (New York: W. W. Norton, 2009), p. 1337.
Friday, November 30, 2012
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
on the election
While yesterday's presidential election wasn't the squeaker some predicted, Americans clearly differ in their views regarding the direction our country should head. I realize not all readers of this blog will be pleased with President Obama's reelection, and that's okay. Regardless of one's views on the parties or the candidates, however, I think we can all be very pleased by the reality that prompts my reflection this morning:
Last night I led a bunch of (very squirrelly, excited-about-their-first-presidential-votes) students through a discussion of the political thought of three important African American leaders at the turn of the 20th century: Booker T. Washington, W. E. B. Du Bois and Marcus Garvey. Each of these men grappled deeply with the question of how best to protect and develop the rights and aspirations of their people in a desperately oppressive environment.
Then, I came home (having let the squirrelly enthusiasts go forth and celebrate or mourn as the occasion required) and watched an African American president deliver his reelection speech. These United States have elected a black man to the presidency. Twice.
I suspect that even today, Washington, Du Bois and Garvey would find themselves with different political priorities. But boy, would they be proud... and amazed.
Romney's election would not have meant Americans were opposed to the reelection of an African American president -- not in most cases, although I suspect we can all point toward instances in which race played a role in voting decisions. In this election, of course, we faced the unusual -- and in itself, horizon-broadening -- situation of having a Mormon candidate representing the other party, and it's safe to say the odd individual refused to support Romney for those reasons, too.
That said, the very fact that a black presidential candidate was nominated, and did win, and now has been reelected, speaks volumes for the distance we have traveled.
And I think that's something we all can be proud of.
Last night I led a bunch of (very squirrelly, excited-about-their-first-presidential-votes) students through a discussion of the political thought of three important African American leaders at the turn of the 20th century: Booker T. Washington, W. E. B. Du Bois and Marcus Garvey. Each of these men grappled deeply with the question of how best to protect and develop the rights and aspirations of their people in a desperately oppressive environment.
Then, I came home (having let the squirrelly enthusiasts go forth and celebrate or mourn as the occasion required) and watched an African American president deliver his reelection speech. These United States have elected a black man to the presidency. Twice.
I suspect that even today, Washington, Du Bois and Garvey would find themselves with different political priorities. But boy, would they be proud... and amazed.
Romney's election would not have meant Americans were opposed to the reelection of an African American president -- not in most cases, although I suspect we can all point toward instances in which race played a role in voting decisions. In this election, of course, we faced the unusual -- and in itself, horizon-broadening -- situation of having a Mormon candidate representing the other party, and it's safe to say the odd individual refused to support Romney for those reasons, too.
That said, the very fact that a black presidential candidate was nominated, and did win, and now has been reelected, speaks volumes for the distance we have traveled.
And I think that's something we all can be proud of.
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