The baby boomers who drove the success of the civil rights movement want to get behind Black Lives Matter, but the group’s confrontational and divisive tactics make it difficult. In the 1960s, activists confronted white mobs and police with dignity and decorum, sometimes dressing in church clothes and kneeling in prayer during protests to make a clear distinction between who was evil and who was good.
But at protests today, it is difficult to distinguish legitimate activists from the mob actors who burn and loot. The demonstrations are peppered with hate speech, profanity, and guys with sagging pants that show their underwear. Even if the BLM activists aren’t the ones participating in the boorish language and dress, neither are they condemning it.
The 1960s movement also had an innate respectability because our leaders often were heads of the black church, as well. Unfortunately, church and spirituality are not high priorities for Black Lives Matter, and the ethics of love, forgiveness and reconciliation that empowered black leaders such as King and Nelson Mandela in their successful quests to win over their oppressors are missing from this movement. The power of the spiritual approach was evident recently in the way relatives of the nine victims in the Charleston church shooting responded at the bond hearing for Dylann Roof, the young white man who reportedly confessed to killing the church members “to start a race war.” One by one, the relatives stood in the courtroom, forgave the accused racist killer and prayed for mercy on his soul. As a result, in the wake of that horrific tragedy, not a single building was burned down. There was no riot or looting.
“Their response was solidly spiritual, one of forgiveness and mercy for the perpetrator,” the Rev. Andrew Young, a top King aide, told me in a recent telephone interview.
“White supremacy is a sickness,” said Young, who also has served as a U.S. congressman, ambassador to the United Nations, and mayor of Atlanta. “You don’t get angry with sick people; you work to heal the system. If you get angry, it is contagious, and you end up acting as bad as the perpetrators.”
The loving, nonviolent approach is what wins allies and mollifies enemies. But what we have seen come out of Black Lives Matter is rage and anger — justifiable emotions, but questionable strategy. For months, it seemed that BLM hadn’t thought beyond that raw emotion, hadn’t questioned where it would all lead. I and other elders openly worried that, without a clear strategy and well-defined goals, BLM could soon crash and burn out. Oprah Winfrey voiced that concern earlier this year, saying, “What I’m looking for is some kind of leadership to come out of this to say, ‘This is what we want. This is what has to change, and these are the steps that we need to take to make these changes, and this is what we’re willing to do to get it.'”
For her wise counsel, Oprah became the target of a deluge of tweets from young activists, who denounced her as elitist and “out of touch,” which caused some well-meaning older sages to grit their teeth in silence. Now, nearly 10 months later, BLM has finally come around, releasing a list of policy demands last week. If this young movement had embraced the well-meaning advice of its elders earlier, instead of responding with disdain, it could have spent recent months making headway with political leaders, instead of battling the disheartening images of violence and destruction that have followed its protests against police brutality in black neighborhoods.
This opportunity for mentorship is fleeting, evidenced by the recent deaths of civil rights movement giants Maya Angelou, Julian Bond and Louis Stokes. Seizing the wisdom of veteran civil rights activists will only help Black Lives Matter achieve its goals. The Revs. Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton would be the most obvious assets to BLM, as civil rights leaders who have run for president and led political campaigns — but BLM has welcomed neither. Long before they targeted Sen. Bernie Sanders, a Democratic presidential candidate, young activists stormed the stage and stole the microphone at Sharpton’s “Justice for All” march against police brutality in Washington in December.
Some have defended the young activists. Speaking at a conference at Boston University’s Social Justice Institute in April, Pamela Lightsey, a noted theologian and lecturer on queer theology at Boston University’s Theological Seminary who chronicled the Ferguson protests, explained the disconnect between Black Lives Matter and the older civil rights cohort: BLM activists “respect the leaders of another day, but they are not going to bow down to them. They can’t come into a protest march and demand a front seat or to jump on the front lines when the cameras are on.”
She added that, while there are clergy participating in the BLM protests, “the movement is not a black church initiative.”
Young doesn’t take BLM’s dismissive attitude toward preachers and the movement’s lack of discipline lightly.
“In our movement, we were not only spiritual, we were thoughtful,” he said. “The reason our campaigns for change were successful in Montgomery and Birmingham was because they were undergirded by boycotts. We didn’t burn any businesses down. I don’t see that discipline here. We also trained people not to get angry because we knew our minds, not our emotions, were our most powerful weapons. We knew — to lose your wits was to lose your life.”
What Young is selling — discipline, respect for elders, restraint — is badly needed in the movement. But right now, BLM isn’t buying.
“BLM rejects the usual hierarchical style of leadership, with the straight black male at the top giving orders,” Lightsey said. The BLM also gives special “attention to the needs of black queers, the black transgendered, the black undocumented, black incarcerated and others who are hardly a speck on today’s political agenda.”
In this way, BLM has improved on the previous generation. The new movement has embraced black women as leaders and was, in fact, founded by three black women. King’s model, by contrast, was sexist to the core, imitating the tone of the country at that time. Civil rights heroines such as Fannie Lou Hamer, Ella Baker and even Rosa Parks — whose refusal to move to the back of the bus in Montgomery launched the 1960s movement — were not allowed to speak or march with the male leaders at the 1963 March on Washington.
In social movements of the past, “black” meant male and “women” meant white, but BLM is unapologetically refusing to let the plight of black women go unnoticed. Black women are incarcerated at three times the rate of white women. Recent deaths of black women in police custody generally haven’t received the widespread news coverage that black men killed by officers have. The names of these black women are hardly known: Raynette Turner; Joyce Curnell; Ralkina Jones and Kindra Chapman. But with the backing of BLM, the case of Sandra Bland, a black woman who died in a Texas jail cell after she was aggressively arrested in a minor traffic violation, was given nationwide coverage last month.
Still, the movement has remained too narrow in its focus. I understand why, as a new movement, BLM has focused on black pain and suffering. But to win broader appeal, it must work harder to acknowledge the humanity in the lives of others. The movement loses sympathy when it shouts down those who dare to utter “all lives matter.” Activists insist that this slogan diverts attention from their cause of racial justice, saying it puts the spotlight on people whose lives have always mattered.
But we should remember the words of King: “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” The civil rights movement was not exclusively a black movement for black people. It valued all human lives, even those of people who worked against us. I can’t believe that the life of a murdered white police officer, or an Asian child sold into sex slavery, or a hungry family in Appalachia are lives that don’t matter. In a sense, even the slogan “Black Lives Matter” is too broad because the movement overlooks black-on-black homicides, the leading cause of death for black males between the ages of 15 and 34. That horrific fact remains off the movement’s radar, for fear that it puts black men in a negative light. So which black lives really matter?
In an attempt to unify the different groups, some organizations are hosting interracial and intergenerational events. Black Women for Positive Change has established Oct. 17- 25 as the Week of Non-Violence in 10 cities, where officials, faith institutions and youth groups will come together. Keith Magee, director of Boston’s Social Justice Institute, is organizing a rally and all-day talk-a-thon on Oct. 10 with similar goals.
“The older generation can no more retire to the sidelines than the BLM can isolate itself just focusing on black lives mattering,” Magee said. “We must create a space for people to come together and listen to each other.”
Admittedly, baby boomers like myself can be too judgmental, expecting a certain reverence for our past journey. But it is critical that these two generations find a middle ground. Among Americans killed by police, blacks are more than twice as likely to be unarmed than whites. To reach their common goal of ending this unequal treatment, baby boomers and millennials must overcome their differences and pair the experience of the old with the energy of the young to change a criminal justice system that has historically abused both.
Xavier Johnson, a 32-year-old pastor in Dayton who monitors the movement for his doctoral dissertation, argues that boomers should do more to fix the generational misunderstanding. “When you look at this group [BLM] from the bottom up, you see young people who are grieving from the pain inflicted on black bodies,” he told me. “They saw Michael Brown, someone their age, uncovered in the street for four hours baking in the hot sun. There were unarmed Eric Garner in New York, and Tamir Rice, a little kid police killed who was playing with a toy gun. They see churches on mostly every corner, but not where they are. They see a black president who they feel ignores them. They are showing righteous indignation for a system that does not value their humanity.”
Johnson encouraged me, and others in my cohort, to spend more time trying to understand BLM activists, instead of judging them. To help me gain insight, he referred me to a popular song. “Every movement has its own soundtrack,” he told me. “One of ours is by rapper Kendrick Lamar, who sings ‘Alright.’”
So I listened to the song, expecting it would be as uplifting as “We Shall Overcome.” I was terribly disappointed. The beat was too harsh; the lyrics were nasty and misogynistic.
“Let me tell you about my life / Painkillers only put me in the twilight / Where pretty pussy and Benjamin is the highlight.”
Instead of imparting understanding, the song was a staunch reminder of the generation gap that afflicts civil rights activism, and the struggle it is going to take to overcome it.
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