Young Frederick Douglass
Commentary by Deoliver47,Black Kos Editor
Childhood is a difficult period for many of us. It is the time we are shaped and molded and pushed and prodded into who we are to become in the future. We discuss our young folks here, their parents, their education (or lack of it) the obstacles they may face in the world we are caretaking for them and we worry about what they may or may not inherit, and whether they will be fit for the tasks that lie ahead.
This week we celebrate the anniversary of the birth of Frederick Douglass, born enslaved in Tuckahoe, MD, in 1817.
We read frequently of the great man he became, his eloquence, his fire, his passion for justice.
But today I want to turn to his childhood. To examine his narrative about his early years. It has been a while since I have visited his book.
If you have never read it, it is available in full online:
The Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass An American Slave
We have no photographs of him as a child. Perhaps he looked like one of these children, who were slaves:
But no matter, we have his words to paint us a picture.
His parentage:
My mother was named Harriet Bailey. She was the daughter of Isaac and Betsey Bailey, both colored, and quite dark. My mother was of a darker complexion than either my grandmother or grandfather.
My father was a white man. He was admitted to be such by all I ever heard speak of my parentage. The opinion was also whispered that my master was my father; but of the correctness of this opinion, I know nothing; the means of knowing was withheld from me.
My mother and I were separated when I was but an infant--before I knew her as my mother. It is a common custom, in the part of Maryland from which I ran away, to part children from their mothers at a very early age. Frequently, before the child has reached its twelfth month, its mother is taken from it, and hired out on some farm a considerable distance off, and the child is placed under the care of an old woman, too old for field labor. For what this separation is done, I do not know, unless it be to hinder the development of the child's affection toward its mother, and to blunt and destroy the natural affection of the mother for the child. This is the inevitable result.
His mother:
I never saw my mother, to know her as such, more than four or five times in my life; and each of these times was very short in duration, and at night. She was hired by a Mr. Stewart, who lived about twelve miles from my home. She made her journeys to see me in the night, travelling the whole distance on foot, after the performance of her day's work. She was a field hand, and a whipping is the penalty of not being in the field at sunrise, unless a slave has special permission from his or her master to the contrary--a permission which they seldom get, and one that gives to him that gives it the proud name of being a kind master.
I do not recollect of ever seeing my mother by the light of day. She was with me in the night. She would lie down with me, and get me to sleep, but long before I waked she was gone. Very little communication ever took place between us. Death soon ended what little we could have while she lived, and with it her hardships and suffering. She died when I was about seven years old, on one of my master's farms, near Lee's Mill. I was not allowed to be present during her illness, at her death, or burial. She was gone long before I knew any thing about it. Never having enjoyed, to any considerable extent, her soothing presence, her tender and watchful care, I received the tidings of her death with much the same emotions I should have probably felt at the death of a stranger.
Douglass was not sure who his father was, except that he was a white man. For those who think that it was better to be the child of a master or a white man Douglass had an answer:
The whisper that my master was my father, may or may not be true; and, true or false, it is of but little consequence to my purpose whilst the fact remains, in all its glaring odiousness, that slaveholders have ordained, and by law established, that the children of slave women shall in all cases follow the condition of their mothers; and this is done too obviously to administer to their own lusts, and make a gratification of their wicked desires profitable as well as pleasurable; for by this cunning arrangement, the slaveholder, in cases not a few, sustains to his slaves the double relation of master and father.
I know of such cases; and it is worthy of remark that such slaves invariably suffer greater hardships, and have more to contend with, than others. They are, in the first place, a constant offense to their mistress. She is ever disposed to find fault with them; they can seldom do any thing to please her; she is never better pleased than when she sees them under the lash, especially when she suspects her husband of showing to his mulatto children favors which he withholds from his black slaves. The master is frequently compelled to sell this class of his slaves, out of deference to the feelings of his white wife; and, cruel as the deed may strike any one to be, for a man to sell his own children to human flesh-mongers, it is often the dictate of humanity for him to do so; for, unless he does this, he must not only whip them himself, but must stand by and see one white son tie up his brother, of but few shades darker complexion than himself, and ply the gory lash to his naked back; and if he lisp one word of disapproval, it is set down to his parental partiality, and only makes a bad matter worse, both for himself and the slave whom he would protect and defend.
On learning to read and the value of education (my bold):
Very soon after I went to live with Mr. and Mrs. Auld, she very kindly commenced to teach me the A, B, C. After I had learned this, she assisted me in learning to spell words of three or four letters. Just at this point of my progress, Mr. Auld found out what was going on, and at once forbade Mrs. Auld to instruct me further, telling her, among other things, that it was unlawful, as well as unsafe, to teach a slave to read. To use his own words, further, he said, "If you give a nigger an inch, he will take an ell. A nigger should know nothing but to obey his master--to do as he is told to do. Learning would ~spoil~ the best nigger in the world. Now," said he, "if you teach that nigger (speaking of myself) how to read, there would be no keeping him. It would for ever unfit him to be a slave. He would at once be come unmanageable, and of no value to his master. As to himself, it could do him no good, but a great deal of harm. It would make him discontented and unhappy." These words sank deep into my heart, stirred up sentiments within that lay slumbering, and called into existence an entirely new train of thought. It was a new and special revelation, explaining dark and mysterious things, with which my youthful understanding had struggled, but struggled in vain. I now understood what had been to me a most perplexing difficulty--to wit, the white man's power to enslave the black man. It was a grand achievement, and I prized it highly. From that moment, I understood the pathway from slavery to freedom. It was just what I wanted, and I got it at a time when I the least expected it. Whilst I was saddened by the thought of losing the aid of my kind mistress, I was gladdened by the invaluable instruction which, by the merest accident, I had gained from my master.
He continues:
Though conscious of the difficulty of learning without a teacher, I set out with high hope, and a fixed purpose, at whatever cost of trouble, to learn how to read. The very decided manner with which he spoke, and strove to impress his wife with the evil consequences of giving me instruction, served to convince me that he was deeply sensible of the truths he was uttering. It gave me the best assurance that I might rely with the utmost confidence on the results which, he said, would flow from teaching me to read. What he most dreaded, that I most desired. What he most loved, that I most hated. That which to him was a great evil, to be carefully shunned, was to me a great good, to be diligently sought; and the argument which he so warmly urged, against my learning to read, only served to inspire me with a desire and determination to learn. In learning to read, I owe almost as much to the bitter opposition of my master, as to the kindly aid of my mistress. I acknowledge the benefit of both.
Douglass not only learned to read, but to taught himself to write with the help of "white street urchins". Later, he taught other slaves to read and write in secret.
It has been many years since I read Douglass’ narrative. I had forgotten the power of his words, and of the inspiration he gave to me as a young person. No matter the obstacle, no matter the hardships, no matter facing even death one must persevere in seeking education, freedom and justice.
Books freed my mind as a child. In books I learned of new worlds, of other ways of being. I was not the child of a slave, though I am the great granddaughter of one. My mother told me over and over the tale of her grandmother Millie whose greatest desire was for her children to be able to read and write. Millie lived to see that dream come true – fresh out of slavery, and illiterate, she raised 7 children; all whom went on to college. Douglass’ narrative confirms this tale. The power of education.
At a time when racists like Tancredo raise the specter of "literacy tests" for voting, we must remember that most black people were prevented from learning to read at all. Education became a goal sought by many. At first, it was segregated and unequal. But we persevered and developed Negro institutions of higher learning. Then came the battles for integration. We fought, and we won that skirmish.
But today public education is still segregated "de facto" in many urban areas, and still unequal in many respects.
I hope that we can pass on his words – to motivate our own young people to take up the challenge and utilize that which is available, no matter how unfair or unjust our system seems.
We need to help our children reclaim the passion to read, and guide them in the choices of what to read as well.
We need more of us who have achieved that precious ability, to mentor those who have not as yet grasped what Douglass understood so clearly, and pursued with a unmitigated passion.
Happy birthday Fredrick Douglass. May your words be a birthday gift to us all.
Quotes from Frederick Douglass:
"A little learning, indeed, may be a dangerous thing,but the want of learning is a calamity to any people."
"The mind does not take its complexion from the skin...."
"We are one, our cause is one, and we must help each other;
if we are to succeed."
"Where justice is denied, where poverty is enforced, where ignorance prevails, and where any one class is made to feel that society is an organized conspiracy to oppress, rob and degrade them, neither persons nor property will be safe."
"Without a struggle, there can be no progress."
For further reading on Douglass:
A Timeline
A collection of his papers at the Library of Congress
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Today's news by Amazinggrace and dopper0189, Black Kos Editor and Managing Editor
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NPR: Doctor Works To Get Young Men Out Of 'Wrong Place'
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In the 1990s, Dr. John Rich worked at Boston City Hospital. It was a violent time in the city's history, and Rich started noticing a steady stream of young black men who turned up at the emergency room. He also started wondering why, exactly, all these young men were ending up in the hospital.
Most of them were believed to be thugs or drug dealers, Rich says. Even among doctors and nurses, the assumption was that these young black men weren't true victims; that they had done something to get themselves shot.
So Rich began taking the time to interview the knife and gunshot victims who came to the hospital. He learned that many of them weren't, in fact, responsible for their own injuries — some had been robbed, others had talked to the wrong girl at a party or been caught in the line of fire while walking home.
Rich eventually compiled the men's stories in his book, Wrong Place, Wrong Time. Among those he interviewed was Boston native Roy Martin. The two met through a mentoring program when Martin was in a prerelease program from prison.
Martin proved to be an invaluable resource for Rich, giving him insight into the lives of many of these young men.
"While I'm an African-American man, my life was different," Rich tells NPR's Steve Inskeep. "My dad was a dentist, my mom was a teacher. My experience was just different from theirs. And that's why Roy was so important."
With Martin's help, Rich came to realize that many of the men who had been injured also suffered emotional wounds, similar to those of combat veterans. Symptoms like nightmares and flashbacks contributed to a feeling of jumpiness and unease — and often put these young men at risk for even more violence.
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Historically significant home is part of the city's Black Renaissance Literary Movement of the 1930s through 1950s. Chicago Tribune:City Council weighs landmark status for Lorraine Hansberry House.
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Mamie Hansberry was a teenager when a chunk of cement shattered the glass window of the family's new home. It smashed into the wall, just a foot from where her little sister, Lorraine, was sitting on the loveseat.
The act of violence seven decades ago was a message from white neighbors that the black family wasn't welcome in the three-flat at 6140 S. Rhodes Ave. in Woodlawn.
"That was a grotesque sight to see that (chunk of cement) lodged in the wall," said Mamie Hansberry, now 86 and living in Los Angeles. "You know that somebody doesn't like you, doesn't want you there."
But her father, Carl Hansberry, waged a three-year legal battle for the right to live there, culminating in 1940 with a U.S. Supreme Court decision that ended racially discriminatory housing covenants in Chicago. The experience inspired her sister, the late Lorraine Hansberry, to write "A Raisin in the Sun," the first drama by an African-American woman to be produced on Broadway.
The City Council is scheduled on Wednesday to vote on designating the home, now known as the Lorraine Hansberry House, an official landmark, along with the George Cleveland Hall Branch Library, Richard Wright House and Gwendolyn Brooks House.
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RACE WIRE: Moving On Up and Hitting a Wall: Social Mobility in the U.S. and Europe.
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America: land of opportunity... if you’re lucky enough to be born into one. The crumbling of the American Dream is in plain view across the country, especially in the urban centers and desolate ghost towns that have long been hollowed of their economic promise. A new comparative study shows just how far America’s mythology has slipped on a global scale.
According a report on social mobility published by the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development [OECD], the United States ranks pretty poorly among industrialized nations on intergenerational advancement—that is, the ability to transcend the socioeconomic class, income level, and educational attainment of your family. So that whole bootstraps thing? It looks like that quintessential self-made man is more at home in Norway than Our Town.
In patterns of socioeconomic gains across generations, the United States ranked on par with France, Italy and the United Kingdom on some measures. Some trends were generally constant throughout the countries studied, such as the correlation between educational attainment and fathers’ and sons’ wages. And some socioeconomic barriers that are uniquely, and shamefully, American:
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The History of Black Women in Flight. Suite 101: Air Goddesses.
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Aviation enthusiasts and professionals are likely to know about the Tuskegee Airman, a 450 all-Black male fighter pilot group, who in 1941 joined Europe’s Allied forces and became a strong weapon against the Nazi’s. To add, they are also likely to be aware of other predominately male organizations, such as the Black Pilots of America, the Organization of Black Airline Pilots, or the National Black Coalition of Federal Aviation Employees.
But What do we Know About African-American Women with Wings?
Make no mistake African-American women do fly planes, and in growing numbers greater than one might think! Surprising to many, black women have been earning their wings since 1921 when Bessie Coleman was licensed in Paris from the Federation Aeronautique Internationale (F.A.I.), and subsequently received an international pilot’s license to became the first African-American to do so. That includes women and men.
"There are about 86,000 commercial pilots in this country today," explains Lt. Col., Beverly Armstrong, a black female pilot, and president and founder of The Bessie Coleman Foundation. "Of those 86,000, approximately 1200 are African-Americans, and about 100 of those are female."
Read more at Suite101: Air Goddesses: The History of Black Women in Flight http://historicalbiographies.suite10...
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BLOOMGERG: UN Says 8,000 Rapes Reported in East Congo Last Year.
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More than 8,000 cases of rape were reported last year in the Democratic Republic of Congo’s eastern Kivu provinces, where government forces are battling rebel fighters, the United Nations humanitarian agency said.
Of the rapes, "a vast majority were committed by armed groups, including the national army," the UN’s Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs said in an e-mailed report today.
More than 1 million people were displaced by fighting in the Kivu provinces last year amid clashes between the UN-backed Congolese army and a Rwandan ethnic Hutu rebel group, the Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Rwanda, or FDLR, OCHA said. Some FDLR leaders fled to Congo after allegedly participating in the 1994 Rwandan genocide, which killed an estimated 800,000 ethnic Tutsis and politically moderate Hutus.
Congo began military operations against the FDLR in January 2009 as part of a deal with neighboring Rwanda in which a Rwandan-backed rebel group led by Congolese Tutsis agreed to integrate into the Congolese army. Both the FDLR and the newly integrated units have been accused by the UN and humanitarian groups of deliberately targeting civilians.
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Beware of the link between money and politics, it can pull anyone in. New York Times: In Black Caucus, a Fund-Raising Powerhouse.
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When the Congressional Black Caucus wanted to pay off the mortgage on its foundation’s stately 1930s redbrick headquarters on Embassy Row, it turned to a familiar roster of friends: corporate backers like Wal-Mart, AT&T, General Motors, Coca-Cola and Altria, the nation’s largest tobacco company.
Soon enough, in 2008, a jazz band was playing at what amounted to a mortgage-burning party for the $4 million town house.
Most political groups in Washington would have been barred by law from accepting that kind of direct aid from corporations. But by taking advantage of political finance laws, the caucus has built a fund-raising juggernaut unlike anything else in town.
It has a traditional political fund-raising arm subject to federal rules. But it also has a network of nonprofit groups and charities that allow it to collect unlimited amounts of money from corporations and labor unions.
From 2004 to 2008, the Congressional Black Caucus’s political and charitable wings took in at least $55 million in corporate and union contributions, according to an analysis by The New York Times, an impressive amount even by the standards of a Washington awash in cash. Only $1 million of that went to the caucus’s political action committee; the rest poured into the largely unregulated nonprofit network. (Data for 2009 is not available.)
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Voices and Soul by Justice Putnam, Black Kos Tuesday's Chile, Poetry Contributor
Though we know Life is precious, its colors and smells, the flutter
of a lover's eyelash on the cheek, sometimes are taken for granted.
But when time and existence are telescoped into minutes left; nothing
is unexamined. Audre Lorde has chronicled her fight with cancer, not
as a survivor, or of the defeated; but with the sweet embrace of
Dream. Life is not limited to what we can touch and kiss; it also
includes all that we can imagine. It is the poignant tragedy of losing
that imagination that makes Life so precious. It is the knowing that
these silken threads that tie us fast to life are so fragile. It is
the knowing that when we close our eyes for the last time, we are...
Never To Dream Of Spiders
Time collapses between the lips of strangers
my days collapse into a hollow tube
soon implodes against now
like an iron wall
my eyes are blocked with rubble
a smear of perspectives
blurring each horizon
in the breathless precision of silence
One word is made.
Once the renegade flesh was gone
fall air lay against my face
sharp and blue as a needle
but the rain fell through October
and death lay a condemnation
within my blood.
The smell of your neck in August
a fine gold wire bejeweling war
all the rest lies
illusive as a farmhouse
on the other side of a valley
vanishing in the afternoon.
Day three day four day ten
the seventh step
a veiled door leading to my golden
anniversary
flameproofed free-paper shredded
in the teeth of a pillaging dog
never to dream of spiders
and when they turned the hoses upon me
a burst of light.
-- Audre Lorde
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The Front Porch is now open. If you are new to Black Kos and have never posted here before, Welcome! Pull up a chair and introduce yourself to the community.
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This Friday's Black Kos will bring a special project please be on the look out for it!
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