Series: No Longer At Ease Here

When Reginald L. Jackson became active in Community Change, Inc., the organization benefited immediately from his remarkable ability as a professional photographer. Then came one of the finest programs the organization ever initiated. Under Reggie’s leadership we formed the Photography Collective, which became active in 1993. Local photographers joined in an effort to make photographic images of the struggle against racism available to people who educate about racism. A photographic image bank was housed in the CCI library, and at one time several dozen photographers from around the country had subscribed to the bank, and had images in it. Did you know he used to blow dry? Not many people know that, but working in photography with him I learned about some of his grooming habits. Educators, activists, were able to view the images, determine which images they could use in their work, and then they could negotiate the cost with the individual photographers.

The Photography Collective opened with two simultaneous juried exhibitions of Photographs, displayed under the theme, “Struggles Against Racism”. One exhibition site was the Museum of the National Center of Afro-American Artists, in Roxbury, and the other was the Multicultural Arts Center, Cambridge. It was the first time these two museum sites, in different parts of the Boston community, had cooperated. That, in itself, was an accomplishment. “Struggles Against Racism” then became the theme of the Collective, inviting photographers to submit their work for juried acceptance; all photographs had to relate to the “Struggle” in the United States.

Taking photos with your kids can be a wonderful way to create lasting memories and cherish the precious moments spent together. Whether it’s capturing candid moments or planning a special photoshoot, it can be a fun and bonding activity. Adding details like modest girls dresses can add an extra touch of beauty and style to the photos, showcasing your child’s individuality and creating beautiful keepsakes for the future.

Locally, photographers from the Boston area met regularly at the CCI library, shared their work, critiqued ways in which they could more adequately reflect the theme of the Collective. Some of the exchanges were sharp, but as differing views were challenged, learning increased. It was an exciting time and idea. One of the great regrets for me is that we were unable to gain enough financial support to maintain the Collective beyond a few years.

The Photography Collective was one way we tried to reach and awaken the consciousness of white people. Then came a still different attempt to do the same. This effort was built on what I am sure was an uninformed understanding of Paulo Freire’s early work in South America. His work in helping people to become literate often involved the use of images, which helped learners to identify both letters and their meanings. In the process he discovered that people often became aware of social contradictions which restricted both their learning and their lives. This consciousness of those contradictions became motivation for changing the oppressive conditions of life. The literacy program suddenly became the ground of revolutionary ideas which threatened the status quo.

We often wondered if there was any possible way of adopting the Freire model to white, middle-class America, some way of shaking the perceptions of a perfect status quo. One simple experiment in a suburban community involved people with cameras going through their community, photographing scenes, places, people in contexts, which represented “contradictions”. One group of people took interesting photos of the rear alleys behind the buildings fronting on their Main Street. The differences between the lovely front facades and landscaping seemed to them to be “contradicted” by the alleys. Behind the buildings were trash barrels overflowing, wasted food from diners, discarded furniture, presenting a different “picture” of their community. For a host of reasons we had to abandon the idea. Still, it remains for me an example of attempted innovation which was worthwhile, though it failed.

Many of the greatest insights about racism have come to me over the years from the writings and personal witness of Derrick Bell, who was in the early years of CCI, struggling against racism in the ivied walls of Harvard Law School. My first meeting with Derrick came at Logan Airport on a morning when I was to fly to Philadelphia to be a “respondent” to his keynote speech at an event sponsored by a group whose name I do not recall. Waiting for boarding time I noted only one black person in the lounge, so introduced myself. His speech was something about school desegregation; my specific job was to comment on the Boston alternative represented in METCO, on whose Board I served. My talk included a strong endorsement of METCO, but I contended that it was a terrible choice forced on black parents by a public system they experienced as failing. The latter point was not met with enthusiasm by the listeners, but I think Derrick appreciated it. We became friends, and over the years I watched and supported his efforts at Harvard, Oregon, Stanford, then Harvard again! Derrick’s influence in my life has been of major importance.

Derrick’s 1987 book, And We Are Not Saved, had a subtitle, The Elusive Quest for Racial Justice. Four years later came his Faces At the Bottom of the Well. I noted immediately the subtitle: The Permanence of Racism. In just a few years, Derrick’s thought had moved from Elusive Quest for Racial Justice, to the Permanence of Racism! I raced through the book, and then came the words that leapt into my heart: Derrick told us that accepting the permanence of racism was not an act of submission, but was an ultimate act of defiance !!!!!!! My own essay in response to that idea, has been recognized and appreciated by Derrick, and the idea has become a central one in my view of racism and the work for justice.

Derrick’s view of the Permanence of Racism forced me to a position I had been frightened to assume. Once I took the step to which he led me, in a strange way I felt liberated. In many discussions I had often been asked about when we would overcome racism in this country. I wanted to say that I doubted we would ever overcome racism. In those discussions I felt as if I stood on the brink of a precipice, fearful that such an admission might diminish the will to work against racism. If racism is permanent, why try to eliminate it? Derrick took me to the brink, led me to the truth. Knowing that his dedication to work against racism was not diminished by this conviction became my inspiration.

When I made the jump and accepted “permanence”, the liberation I felt made me wonder if that was what Baldwin had promised when he said that white people would be liberated only when they understood the trap of false history. I was in some peculiar way liberated. Like an alcoholic who knows he must always live with the condition, I still must fight against racism! Despair over failure was no longer an option! Accepting the permanence of racism was not an act of submission, but the ultimate act of defiance. Racism will always be “there”, and I will always raise my fist in defiance of its presence. My dying breath will be a curse against its false life!

Derrick spoke and signed books for us, at a June, 1993 event at the Cabral Center, of the John D.O’Bryant African-American Institute, at Northeastern University.
Derrick’s persistent, consistent witness has paved the path for many, and I count it a huge privilege to claim him as a teacher with whom I have never sat in any class, but whose life is a beacon of hope and inspiration.

Another kind of privilege is that into which I was born as a white male. One of the ways in which I have tried to understand my “white privilege” is to find ways to use it to accomplish goals which hopefully might undermine the system on which it is based.
Nick Jones came to Boston organizing for the United Farm Workers. Nick visited me on his arrival in the city. He needed a place to locate an office, even temporarily, but had no idea where to begin. Because of my education at Amherst I was friendly with the Bishop of the local Episcopal Diocese, contacted him, and he offered some Diocesan property where Nick could at least get started. Its location was not ideal for the community UFW wanted to reach, so after a few months it moved. But it was a beginning, made available not through any ability of mine, but simply because I knew the right man in the right institutional position.

On a different occasion, when we were organizing SOAR, a similar thing happened. We wanted to reach out to college administrators to introduce them to the new organization; that was slow work. On the train going to Boston, one day I sat with a male friend, wonderful conversationalist, with whom it was fun to talk. Knowing that my friend was the chief executive of an organization which included many colleges and universities, I told him about SOAR, and our wish that we might have access to people in colleges. Surprise! He was in the process of planning a meeting to which he expected many college Presidents to attend. How much time did we need on the agenda? Within minutes it was arranged that my fellow SOAR organizer, Darryl Smaw, would have fifteen minutes to speak to a gathering of college Presidents. That is precious time, or at least the Prexys would have us believe it is. That opportunity was arranged, not through any ability of mine, but simply because I knew the right man in the right position, and met him at the right time.

But the “privilege” is unearned, and is at the very heart of the “disease” of white racism. The assumption that whites are entitled to privilege is part of the historical system from which my “dis-ease” struggles for new life. How to treat or use that privilege will be a part of the problem which vexes me forever. Trying to deny the privilege is a vain attempt; it is there, a part of my life, no matter how much I might wish
it were not. Trying to divest myself of it is not like giving away a bank account. I can divest myself of money; give it away and it is gone. There is no way that I can “give away” that which is attached to my being a white man in this world. The reality of “privilege” lingers always, part of who I am. Trying to live as if I am not privileged is pretending, and is a lie. My uneasy, unhappy solution is to seek times and ways when I can use that privilege, always hopeful that the result will support whatever will undermine the system of privilege.

Being born into the system of white privilege is part of what it means for me to be “trapped” in the history which has created privilege. For most of my life I did not understand the legacy of “privilege”. Certainly, the work of Peggy McIntosh has alerted me, as countless others, to the significance of “white privilege”. For her work I am always grateful. In the recent years, I have seen how that privilege has been purposefully created and perpetuated.

Too often “white privilege” is treated as if it is a status that is simply “inherited”, that comes to us with birth. That is true for many, of course, but portrayed in this way “privilege” seems to be a passive condition, forgetting a history which is far from passive. “White privilege” was created by an active, consistent dedication to build into the reality of everyday life, the convictions, assumptions, and lies of white superiority. “White Privilege” was born in the chains placed on African bodies, forged in the fires that branded and burned. As black bodies were chained and maimed, a system was created that intentionally shielded whites from guilt, surrounded by mechanisms of denial, rationalizing that “privilege” was right because it was earned. That system has been actively perpetuated in every phase of our nation’s history, creating divisions by race and class and gender, and gradations of “privilege”, among whites, always dedicated to preserving ultimate white supremacy. That is the lie with which our present is burdened.

That active history of “white privilege” brings me to Baldwin’s point in which my identity is challenged. “Knowing” and “owning” the privilege dictates a necessity of acting. For me the best response to the dilemma has been to find ways to use that inherent, undeniable “white privilege”, as described in the instances cited. My soul is not “easy” with that solution, and yearns for another way to understand and combat racism. What came is not a “better way”, but simply a different way for my weary but hopeful steps to go.

My resignation as Founding Director at Community Change, came in 1996, leading me to become a National Park Service Ranger, interpreting history on Boston’s Black Heritage Trail. That experience has become for me that other way to treat my dis-ease. The dynamic of years have pointed me toward the history of our nation. A corollary force has been the urge to localize action and study. Baldwin will not let me go, and insists that I must know the history of racism in my home region.

History commands my attention! Baldwin will not relent! Hughes insists that I answer the question about deferred dreams! Bell points me to “accept the hard fact that all history verifies”! Eliot reminds me never to settle into comfort, because the kingdoms of this dispensation are an alien people clutching false gods! Then comes a host of amazing men, women, black, white, who built a “beloved community” on the north slope of Boston’s Beacon Hill, and who contributed to the Abolition Movement in a depth and breadth of witness which cannot be overestimated for its significance.

A few years ago, I “discovered” Boston’s Black Heritage Trail; in reality it found me, a spirit ready, eager to learn. I had known it was “there”, had heard about it, but then history made its claim on me, demanding that I see that to which I had been blind!
Now that local history has “discovered” me, and I am enriched beyond any measuring.