Freedom Riders: An Appreciation

President John Kennedy, and his brother Robert, the Attorney General, needed to be prodded into action, just as President Barack Obama needs political pressure applied to continue on the right path.

While praising New York state lawmakers as they debated legalizing gay marriage, President Barack Obama stopped short of embracing it. Instead, he asked gay and lesbian donors for patience. “I believe that gay couples deserve the same legal rights as every other couple in this country,” the president said at a Manhattan fundraiser [last Thursday], his first geared specifically to the gay community.

Last week, my Internet buddy Arthur posited the question: Has President Obama done enough for gay rights? He included a news video. “Let me be clear: President Obama is dead wrong on marriage equality: Civil unions are not a substitute for real marriage. It’s time for the president to stop “evolving” and get there and support full equality for GLBT people.

“However, Dan Choi is also wrong, possibly because he doesn’t know history. As Brian Ellner of the Human Rights Campaign says, this president has done more than any other president for GLBT equality than any other president in history.”

And this reminded me of a program I watched on PBS last month called Freedom Riders.

FREEDOM RIDERS is the powerful harrowing and ultimately inspirational story of six months in 1961 that changed America forever. Harrowing is right; it took me at least four sittings to get through the whole thing, not because it was boring, but because it was so intense. Just watch the two-minute Freedom Riders trailer.

From May until November 1961, more than 400 black and white Americans risked their lives—and many endured savage beatings and imprisonment—for simply traveling together on buses and trains as they journeyed through the Deep South. Deliberately violating Jim Crow laws, the Freedom Riders met with bitter racism and mob violence along the way, sorely testing their belief in nonviolent activism.

From award-winning filmmaker Stanley Nelson (Wounded Knee, Jonestown: The Life and Death of Peoples Temple, The Murder of Emmett Till) FREEDOM RIDERS features testimony from a fascinating cast of central characters: the Riders themselves, state and federal government officials, and journalists who witnessed the Rides firsthand. The two-hour documentary is based on Raymond Arsenault’s book Freedom Riders: 1961 and the Struggle for Racial Justice…

Despite two earlier Supreme Court decisions that mandated the desegregation of interstate travel facilities, black Americans in 1961 continued to endure hostility and racism while traveling through the South. The newly inaugurated Kennedy administration, embroiled in the Cold War and worried about the nuclear threat, did little to address domestic civil rights.

“It became clear that the civil rights leaders had to do something desperate, something dramatic to get Kennedy’s attention. That was the idea behind the Freedom Rides—to dare the federal government to do what it was supposed to do, and see if their constitutional rights would be protected by the Kennedy administration,” explains Arsenault.

Organized by the Congress of Racial Equality (CORE), the self-proclaimed “Freedom Riders” came from all strata of American society—black and white, young and old, male and female, Northern and Southern. They embarked on the Rides knowing the danger but firmly committed to the ideals of non-violent protest, aware that their actions could provoke a savage response but willing to put their lives on the line for the cause of justice.

President John Kennedy, and his brother Robert, the Attorney General, needed to be prodded into action, just as President Barack Obama needs political pressure applied to continue on the right path.

Watch the Freedom Riders film, and/or read the transcript, and/or buy the video from PBS.

Ordinary People Making Great Changes: An Interview With “Freedom Riders” Director Stanley Nelson.

 

Black History Month

As an introit, they did a staggeringly magnificent staggering arrangement of Don McLean’s Babylon.

Back in December (or maybe mid-November), I had called a meeting for people at my church interested in working on Black History Month to come to a meeting; no one came. So decided just to do it (largely) myself.

One of the pastors had recommended this series A History of Racism in the United States from an entity called the Thoughtful Christian way back in May of last year, and it looked OK to jumpstart a discussion.

The Adult Education Committee, which I’m on, decided to try an experiment with two different offerings in January. On January 30, it would be my BHM part 1 v. the last piece of a study of the gospel of Mark. People wanted to do both, but ultimately, Mark won out and I had three or four people. My ego wasn’t affected, of course. Of course, it wasn’t. My ego wasn’t affected. Yeah, right. Still, it was an interesting discussion.

It was fortunate that February 6 would be a joint FOCUS service, albeit at our church, so there would be no adult ed programming. So, since I knew I’d be going down to Charlotte, I asked someone, Annette from the choir by name, to get some folks to bring in some artifacts for a display, and she/they did.

February 13, I was scheduled to lead class #2 about racism. I had come back from Charlotte only a couple of days before and the wife, the daughter, and I were still all EXHAUSTED. Somehow, did adult ed while Lydia did Sunday school, then we all went out to eat.

I had secured the speaker for February 20, who sent me an URGENT message that I needed to meet with him the Thursday before that Sunday at 6 pm. So I did, and he decided he wanted me to “interview” him for the Adult Ed class he was leading.

The drag was that, since I was with him on Thursday evening, I couldn’t be at choir that night. Thursday evening has a particular ritual that I’ve been enjoying of late. I take the bus from work to downtown, buy and eat a gyro, go to the library and look at the books for sale, then go on one of the computers and work on my blog for an hour, the only practically guaranteed blogging window I have each week. Then I go to choir. Interrupting the ritual, while ultimately useful, and arguably necessary – face-to-face DOES work better than e-mail – it really, as they used to say “harshed my mellow.”

The morning of the 20th, the speaker, Donald Hyman, was great in the sermon at the 8:30 service, the 9:30 bit on Fredrick Douglass, and again at the 10:45 service’s sermon, which was somewhat different.

There is this presentation of something called the kente cloth each year, and there had been folks lobbying me that a certain older member of the congregation gets one as well. I don’t generally pick the person, but I might have forwarded these e-mails to the folks who do, had I not been…distracted by the month’s events. The cloths were presented to Donald and to the choir director, Michael Lister.

Now, because I missed both Thursday night rehearsal AND Sunday morning rehearsal, I couldn’t sing in the choir; just didn’t know the music. It’s always strange for me to be in the congregation when the choir is singing. As an introit, they did a staggeringly magnificent arrangement of Don McLean’s Babylon, which I had talked about with Michael before I went to Charlotte. It’s based on Psalm 137, one of Donald’s suggested texts; the music was one of the most beautiful things I had ever heard in my life. Later, the choir did a version of Wade in the Water, with a guest soloist from the College of Saint Rose; Donald said the group compared favorably with the Fisk Jubilee Singers; I had the strong sense that most of the congregation didn’t know who the Fisk Jubilee Singers are. The offertory was some song I did not know. But it had lyrics about “my mother going home to glory” and I sobbed.

February 25, I had ordered a cake, and folks, including my wife, cooked. Again I led Adult Education. I also sang, and I was fine until the recessional, which was Lift Every Voice and Sing. It must be that I associate it with my home church, or maybe it’s the part about ancestors, and I have no direct living forebearers. In any case, my voice cracked. Afterward, I just wept uncontrollably.

Since Lent is so late this year, on March 6, I led the fourth segment of the workshop.

This particular BHM was PARTICULARLY draining. And I’m not going even get into the conversations about race and racism, except to say this: I’m now convinced more than ever that the discussion about race in America is NOT finished.

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