RIP Dr. Dorothy Height: The Torch is Passed

Dr. Dorothy Height was laid to rest today in a manner befitting a hero. The Celebration of her life, a life that did so much to “make more perfect the union”, in the words of the President, took place at the National Cathedral. All over America, by order of the President, flags flew at half staff. A soldier in the struggle for the full inclusion of all Americans, Dorothy Height’s departure from our midst was marked by an appropriate level of ceremony, gravity and communal recognition for her lifelong contributions to the betterment of the United States. With all due respect, Dr. Height’s timing could not have been more ideal.

In 2008, I travelled to Memphis, Tennessee to participate in the 40th Anniversary memorial of the martyrdom of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. The media descended on the city in great numbers. In the midst of the Presidential primaries, Hilary Clinton and John McCain were in attendance, while the future President was not. John McCain chose this solemn occasion to apologize for not having supported the institution of Martin Luther King Jr. day. He was booed by most, but vociferously forgiven by at least one woman. He left the stage to chants of “No justice, no peace”. Most of the people assembled for the day knew exactly where John McCain stood, in reality; apology or no apology. The truth is that he later voted not to fund the holiday, which says more about how sorry he was about his original opposition to it than any words that came out of his mouth on April 04, 2008. In a majority Black city, on such a day as that, it is a wonder he even felt worthy to show his face to its citizens, much less attempt to mouth mea culpas in confrontation of his voting record, in the midst of the Primaries.

Most striking about that rainy day in April, was the attendance. A morning march through intemperate spring weather was understandably small. The evening rally and march were materially larger, yet still not to the point I was moved by the sheer numbers. I had expected many, many thousands of people. I had expected people of all ethnicities. Even though the rains of the morning abated long enough for the march to make its way to the Lorraine Hotel in relative dryness and comfort, I remained unimpressed by the turnout. Forty years on from one of the darkest days in American history, it seemed there were very few people marching by my side that were not identifiably Black. Those that were of other ethnicities were, overwhelmingly and strikingly, not white. All the Tavis Smileys, Jesse Jacksons, Al Sharptons and King progeny in the world could not shake loose in me the sinking feeling that America (including Black America) had somehow consigned the Civil Rights Era to the distant past; a relic of history. On reflection, it would seem America believed these struggles to have concluded long ago, Barack Obama’s post-racial America a shining reality redressing the old pain; the dogs set on children, the people falling in heaps as they marched across bridges, the bodies dug out of swamps, the noose and the hood.

But we know so much better than that.

We know that in the wake of the Fair Housing Act, myriad ways were found to circumvent it. We know about the block busting, the redlining, the mortgage scams, the blood relative ordinances. We know that in the wake of the Civil Rights Act, the same is true: that wherever a racist can stand in the way of those he wishes really were less than himself, he will do so and we know that he did just that in voting precincts across the United States in the 2000 election (most notably, in Florida). We know that the racist will find language to cloak his intent. He will say “communist, nazi, socialist, arrogant” instead of “that old favourite”. We know he will celebrate the Confederacy, regardless of the fact it was a seditious force that almost ruined the nascent United States for the sake of maintaining the most evil estate of slavery. We know he will stop you in Arizona (and possibly seven other states, following on from that misguided piece of politicking) for your papers if your skin is brown. We know he will never be satisfied until he is dead. He will peck at those he wishes to oppress for the sake of his own pretension to some kind of superiority. We know, but we forget. Maybe we just get so used to his noise; accustomed to his chicanery, that we shrug our shoulders in resignation.

The problem with resignation is simply that the societal cancer of racism will continue to eat away at the fabric of American society until there is nothing left. It will set America’s cities ablaze, or drown them. It will eat America’s young. It will take lives, dignity, self-respect and potential and trample it with wilful violence, until it is legislated into submission. That lesson has already been lived and learned, for we saw it unfold in the 1960s. I still remember the faces of the people screaming at youths sitting at lunch counters, the snarling dogs, with their teeth bared at vulnerable flesh. I can superimpose them, in my mind, on the faces of those who have taken up the building drumbeat of hate enveloping the United States today, on the day Dorothy Height was laid to rest.

On this day, President Obama has most pointedly drawn America into a renewed discussion of the era Dr. Height represents, as more than some distant time. He has made it real to millions of young people, who may never have heard of Dr. Height. He has reignited the flame of heroism in the service of one’s nation (true patriotism), which is rooted in the deepest love of one’s fellow citizens and in the thirst for a justice which encompasses them all. President Obama has lifted up a servant of the people who did not rest until it she could physically do no more than just that, by placing her at the centre of the national discourse at a time in which it has grown as bitter as wormwood.

This message is one that will resonate in the coming days, months and years, as America faces itself on the battle field, once again. Once again, the old demons come for the nation’s soul, waving placards and uttering speech that has not been heard in the public square for decades. President Obama has taken the occasion of the passing of a soldier to show forth the power of her struggles and the efficacy of service. In addition, he has made it clear to those who seek to dredge up the evils of the past as the potential virtues of the present that this will not stand, on his watch. Flags fly at half staff for heroes. Lives of heroes are celebrated in Cathedrals, where Presidents eulogize them. Today, the past has broken into the life of an America that has sought to bury it without much of a headstone. It is as stalwart and poignant a battle cry as I have ever heard.

Rest In Peace, blessed sister. Your torch is still lit and it has been passed.