Then I turned my face to the Lord God, seeking God by prayer and supplications with fasting and sackcloth and ashes ... To us, O Lord, belongs confusion of face, to our kings, to our princes, and to our fathers, because we have sinned against thee ... O my God, incline thy ear and hear; open thy eyes and behold our desolations, and the city which is called by thy name; for we do not present our supplications before thee on the ground of our righteousness, but on the ground of thy great mercy. -- Daniel 9:3, 8, 18
Where there is no vision the people perish ... -- Proverbs 29:18
These two passages of Scripture from the Old Testament have repeatedly intruded into my thoughts on what a proper black response should be to the war in the Persian Gulf.
I am not a Middle East expert. Nor am I a longtime civil rights activist who came of age fighting discrimination during the hurly-burly of the 1960s and early 1970s. I have only the vaguest memories of Vietnam POWs returning home at that war's end. A child of integration, I learned at an early age of Martin Luther King Jr.'s dream and came of age during Ronald Reagan's presidency.
Heading into this last turbulent decade of the 20th century, I am beginning to feel some kinship with my elders who, when they were my age, stood on the threshold of history. However, lest we stumble looking back at the past, I humbly urge both current black leaders and members of my generation to reinspect our dream and see it for what it has become.
The war in the Persian Gulf is a major crisis among many crises for black people and must be placed in the wider context of blacks in the United States. Leadership and vision are the common denominators linking the fortunes of blacks fighting in the Persian Gulf and those fighting for social justice here at home.
There is no doubt that the war in the Persian Gulf has revitalized black leadership and huge segments of black America. New national and local organizations have been formed, marches organized, speeches given, and a movement ignited. This is both a pleasing and troubling sign. It is good to see signs of renewed activism among black young people, but it is troubling that they and those who would lead them may not see the forest because of the trees.
What exactly are blacks hoping to achieve? The dream has always been social justice in a democratic society. How are we going to achieve this? Nowhere have I heard or read how our black leaders' vision will accomplish during war what it has generally failed to do in peacetime.
On February 15, 1991, more than 100 black leaders from across the nation attended a National Emergency African-American Leadership Summit on the Gulf War at Abyssinian Baptist Church in Harlem. The summit drafted an open letter to President Bush:
The war in the Gulf is wrong, unnecessary, unprincipled, and dirty ... The United States is spending $1 billion a day to wage war when we should be spending that much and more to wage peace, educate all our youth, cure all our diseases, unshackle all our alcoholics and dope addicts, train all our workers, employ all our people, provide housing and food for all our families and liberate all our oppressed.
It is troubling to realize that the same president who fears the over-representation of blacks and other minorities in American jobs, corporate positions and academic institutions, does not object to over-representation of blacks and other minorities on the front lines of battle. Mr. President, you refused to support any approximation of affirmative action, refused to sign the Civil Rights Bill of 1990, refused to maintain the legality of minority scholarships; but you voice no objection to the fact that blacks and other minorities are over-represented in the military and are dying disproportionately in the present war.
In a Washington Post editorial titled "A Deadline and A Birthday," Coretta Scott King wrote: "Proponents of war excuse the reality that if war erupts it will not be an equal opportunity destroyer ... Is it not the conditions of social and economic injustice that force African-American youths to seek escape in the military?" Rev. Benjamin F. Chavis Jr., executive director of the United Church of Christ Commission for Racial Justice, wrote in Essence magazine: "We must demand a change in national priorities, from huge military expenditures to meaningful programs to eliminate poverty and social injustice."
The cost of one day of fighting in the Gulf could increase by five times the amount spent last year ($200 million) on emergency food and shelter for the homeless; two days of war could pay for the entire annual cost of the Head Start program ($1.9 billion) or the Women, Infants, and Children (WIC) program and spending on maternal infant health care ($1.4 billion); and five days of war could pay for the entire annual cost of our child nutrition program ($4.8 billion).
But these and other major social programs have been under assault since Ronald Reagan assumed the presidency in 1981. What in the last 10 years has the federal government done for blacks that would make us think the absence of this war would somehow favorably affect our standing in the Bush administration's priorities?
Blacks have been wary of fighting in any war in which the United States has been engaged during the 20th century. So, while the low percentage of blacks supporting President Bush's Gulf policy is significant, it is not startling (27 percent compared to white America's 66 percent before the war, and almost 50 percent compared to white America's 80 percent after the war began). The fact remains that blacks, only 12 percent of the population of the United States, comprise 23 percent of the United States armed forces. Why so many?
An important issue that has not been addressed publicly by current black leadership during this crisis, and that cannot be addressed by the mostly non-black peace movement, is this: The level of black involvement in the Persian Gulf war is as much a result of black integrationist political philosophy as it is of domestic social injustice.
It is difficult to ignore the racial and political symbolism of Gen. Colin L. Powell's position as chair of the Joint Chiefs of Staff -- making him the most powerful black in the United States. The son of Jamaican immigrants and a Harlem native who attended City College, Powell casts a long and revealing shadow. He heads the most thoroughly integrated American institution in terms of power as well as racial demographics.
Recall that in January Powell was scheduled to be the grand marshal of the Martin Luther King Jr. parade in Atlanta. Had there not been a crisis in the Persian Gulf, Powell's presence would not have been considered a political problem but a point of pride -- the greatest success to date of integrationist civil rights policy.
So far, no black politician or religious leader has dared to challenge Powell's politics or question his role as chief military architect of the war in the Persian Gulf and the invasion of Panama. And they won't, because they live in glass houses.
Powell can level the same charge and claim greater success in providing an alternative for minorities to the realities of the inner city or the glass ceiling of the corporate world. And even though racism is most certainly influential in determining blacks' participation in the military and obviously exists there, any claim of righteous indignation by civilian black leadership rings hollow because of its inability programmatically to counter the social pathologies affecting blacks at home.
Powell's presence will blunt any significant protest that civilian black leadership might voice to President Bush. The moral imperative for blacks right now is to ask ourselves how we can challenge an unjust war in the Persian Gulf when so many of us are dependent upon its success militarily, politically, and economically.
What purpose does it serve for our churches to offer sanctuary to black conscientious objectors when our black colleges are prime recruiting areas for ROTC? If the United States' foreign policy is immoral, and if our armed forces are instrumental in carrying out that foreign policy, shouldn't we counsel blacks not to enter the military? What alternative can black leadership offer in 1991? And what do we say to black soldiers who survive this war, who reject being labeled as "cannon fodder," and who can look black leadership and the peace movement in the eye and ask, What have you done for me lately?
In an article in the National Urban League publication The State of Black America 1991, Dr. Dianne M. Pinderhughes writes:
Because of racial discrimination in the private economy and because of the shift to the all volunteer force (AVF), it is important to note that blacks are drawn into the military from all economic sectors. With the changed use of the reserves as part of the overall fighting force, significant numbers of older, well-educated, working and middle-class African Americans have already been, are being, or will be called to active duty during this Persian Gulf Crisis.
Pinderhughes' article exposes a grave threat to black America. Not only are families broken up by homicide, drugs, poverty, incarceration, and illness, but deployment of reserve forces to the Persian Gulf is taking black men and women of all age groups, with needed talents, out of leadership positions in the home, church, schools and colleges, and community. The economic strains on two-income families and the psychological strains on children and other relatives of those in the Persian Gulf will only add to the stoic paralysis already inhibiting creative action. Unjust societal circumstances surrounding the sheer volume of black enlistment in the armed forces are no different from those surrounding the high rates of homicide and incarceration of black males in our cities. The war in the Persian Gulf will potentially make death and disaster the great equalizer between the black under and middle classes.
If the reaction of the black poor to racism and poverty is drugs and crime -- which are illegal -- and the black working- and middle-class response to these same forces is the military -- which is legal -- then the acculturation of violence in black America is not simply a hallmark of the poor. It is a demonstration of integration's inability as a worldview to withstand changing societal pressures without causing harmful disruptions within black America.
A new vision is necessary. The dilemma for black people, for those who lead us, and for those who join forces with us is choosing between strategies of integration and nationalism. I submit that integration and nationalism are more than just political slogans. They reflect spiritual sensibilities that influence any theoretical (intellectual) or programmatic (political) development aimed at securing, maintaining, and perpetuating group autonomy (interests) in the United States.
Integration as a vision and modus operandi will not deliver on what it has promised because blacks are in no position in any area of society, and do not make up a large enough percentage of the population, to exercise sufficient pressure on the federal government to keep its promises. Much has been made of the fact that President Bush's veto of the 1990 Civil Rights Act is evidence of America's non-commitment to blacks (see "The Shifting Racial Paradigm," January 1991).
Why are we surprised at a veto in 1990 when in the 1978 Bakke case the Supreme Court reneged on Brown vs. Board of Education by saying affirmative action is reverse discrimination? A blue-eyed, blond-haired, middle-class white man who had never experienced racism's trauma and tenacity used the same argument against blacks that we had used as moral leverage not 20 years earlier.
Blacks as a group have no independent political leverage. When the courts, the Congress, or the president has a change of heart on what is a fair remedy, we have no choice but to take a defensive posture. And that posture is easily recognized, expected, and planned for by the dominant political-social structure, making all black protests negligible -- even when vocal and fierce.
The shift to emphasizing electoral solutions inside the already existing political structure has cost us the moral high ground. It has resulted in blacks' freedom struggle having experienced several crippling blows.
First, what was potentially transformative (revolutionary) about our struggle has become reactionary. The society we were trying to transform has retained strategic superiority despite any national effort by blacks. By joining a process not yet transformed, our best efforts are akin to constantly dousing brush fires against a strong wind.
Second, the tenor of our struggle has been hindered by our often strained relationships with other white-led social movements. Most pieces of legislation dealing with discrimination are tailored to or indirectly stem from the specific experience of blacks in the United States. The 1964 Civil Rights Bill, the 1965 Voting Rights Act, and even the 13th, 14th, and 15th Amendments are examples. Unlike other non-white groups, we did not arrive in the United States with our culture intact. And unlike white ethnic groups, we do not have the benefit of race to hide our ethnicity.
So, while all oppression is evil, racial oppression creates an added set of particulars that need to be addressed separate from those associated with oppression based on gender, sexual orientation, or class. In the United States, wholesale application of a set of measures designed to address the injustices against one bloc of oppressed people is not necessarily going to be wholly adequate for another, especially not for its non-white members.
Third, while seeking social and political integration, blacks are still by and large religious nationalists. The separation of religion from politics, while a virtue in American society in general, is a relatively new phenomenon for black America and is causing our leadership to doublespeak.
During the latter half of the 1960s, when Vietnam was just beginning to burst upon the nation's conscience, civil rights laws were beginning to be enacted for the express purpose of ensuring blacks' security. Many of the controversies indicating that the concept of integration was vulnerable -- forced busing, Bakke, the Reagan revolution, and changing racial-ethnic demographics -- had not happened yet, although urban riots provided the early warning signs. The black political class did not exist as there were only a few hundred black elected officials and the black middle class had not yet experienced any significant growth.
Today, in contrast, black males are officially an endangered species. So says the United States government via a study done by the federal Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta.
"In some areas of the country it is now more likely for a black male between his 15th and 25th birthday to die from homicide than it was for a United States soldier to be killed on a tour of duty in Vietnam" (emphasis added), according to Dr. Robert Froehlke, principal author of the report. This is a statement made by a representative of the U.S. government, not a civil rights organization crying the blues.
The report also says that among this age group it is adolescents between the ages of 15 and 19 who are most vulnerable to death by homicide. The report lists "immediate access to firearms, alcohol and substance abuse, drug trafficking, poverty, racial discrimination and cultural acceptance of violent behavior" as primary reasons for the surge in homicides among young blacks. I have heard these and other reasons for the deplorable state of black America. And like Marvin Gaye sang in his classic "Inner City Blues," it "make me wanna holler, and throw up both my hands."
At root, though, lies a restlessness and a hopelessness that transcends politics. Time magazine ran a cover story not long ago on the "twentysomething" generation. It talked of the problems of young elites and how they are trying to cope with disillusionment and fear in the 1990s. Nowhere in this article were the roles of religion and faith addressed. For blacks, no analysis of the sociology of destruction in the present generation is serious, and no political resolution permanent, until the consequences of our spiritual retreat are acknowledged and grappled with. Black America in 1991 is in chaos and our leadership under siege.
In every area of life, except for death and incarceration, blacks are lagging behind: Questions have been raised about whether separate schools are better for black boys. The 1990-91 school year has witnessed the entrance of prenatally cocaine- and crack-addicted children into public school systems, and already teachers are forecasting burgeoning special education classes.
The ranks of black women ages 15 to 44 are being decimated by AIDS. The number of babies born to single teen mothers is on the rise and so are absent fathers. Alcohol and tobacco companies sponsor cultural and educational events to lift kids out of the ghetto, and yet contribute to their staying and dying there.
Housing discrimination and urban decay continue despite the presence of black mayors. Protest elites who thrive on the unchanneled anger of the black masses define who blacks are and get prominent media coverage. And despite the number of blacks fighting in the Persian Gulf, a recent University of Chicago study indicates that a great percentage of whites still hold stereotypical attitudes about blacks.
Noted civil rights chronicler Vincent Harding once remarked to me, "Black folk have to accept the fact that the Lord has laid his hand upon us." The most important question before black America today must be how to respond to the call of God in these troubling times. Before we act as intercessors for the rest of America we must save ourselves. To do this we must separate ourselves philosophically from the varying ideologies in vogue long enough to ascertain what is right, wrong, still useful, no longer useful, and what new needs to be done. Succinctly, what is best for group survival in the 1990s and the 21st century?
Could not such a discussion of these questions take place in a series of caucuses formed around areas of leadership rather than issues? Leadership categories could include: black call of pastors and lay leaders; the black media; cultural intellectuals; educators, students, and professional staff of education; criminal justice workers; elected political officials; health professionals; business leaders; and entertainers.
Each caucus could assess its needs and develop recommendations to be presented for full debate and ratification at an organized gathering similar but not identical to the three national black political conventions held in the 1970s. Such an assembly could be held every four years corresponding with the presidential election.
I am not advocating a black political party with an eye toward electing a black president. Instead I envision a black cultural union rooted in an explicitly Christian philosophy, which is created independently from existing civil rights organizations and think tanks, or else is a combination of elements from all of them. Such an organization's specific task would be to function as a power base for blacks in the United States. It would be an entity with direct access to the lifeblood of black America from the streets to the boardroom, and in a position to exert influence.
Blacks need new ideas or the resurrection of some old ones. We are not where we should be and presently we have no means of getting there. I and a hundred other blacks could think of a hundred different ideas. But until we admit that we have a crisis of vision and leadership, nothing can be accomplished.
What are blacks prepared to do? How we fare in the "new world order" will be greatly affected by how we answer that question.
Anthony A. Parker was assistant editor of Sojourners when this article appeared.
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