Feet on the Sidewalk
Election Reflections #4: 13 Powerful Social Change Lessons Others Have Bequeathed Us
“We who believe in freedom shall not rest until it comes.”
That’s the opening sentiment of Ella’s Song, written in 1988 by Bernice Johnson Reagon, activist, professor and founder of Sweet Honey in the Rock. The song was based on the teachings of civil rights luminary Ella Josephine Baker, arguably the most influential woman in the Civil Rights movement. All of its lyrics, which you’ll find interspersed below, are based on actual quotes from Ella herself.
Contemporaries with W.E.B Du Bois and A. Philip Randolph, co-founder of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC), the organization Martin Luther King led, and mentor to leaders of the Student Nonviolence Coordinating Committee (SNCC), Ella wasn’t afraid to hold power accountable, speaking out against both racism in American culture and sexism in the civil rights movement.
“You didn't see me on television,” she’d say when explaining her involvement in the effort. ”You didn't see news stories about me. The kind of role that I tried to play was to pick up pieces or put together pieces out of which I hoped organization might come. My theory is, strong people don't need strong leaders.”
“We who believe in freedom cannot rest; we who believe in freedom cannot rest until it comes.”
Bernice, one of the many women profoundly influenced by Ella, took her words and put them to song, including ones spoken in 1964, nearly sixty years before George Floyd: “Until the killing of black men, black mothers' sons, becomes as important to the rest of the country as the killing of a white mother's son, we who believe in freedom cannot rest until this happens.” Bernice, who died just a few months ago, was 81 and Ella, 83. They were both activists until their deaths, Ella, passing on her 83rd birthday in 1986.
“That which touches me most is that I had a chance to work with people; passing on to others that which was passed on to me.”
Then, there’s Olden, my grandfather who, alongside Mary, my grandmother, raised me. Olden was many things; a world-class harmonica player and artisan carpenter, a minister and civil rights activist, and a father to seven kids plus me. In This Land Is Your Land, I describe a boyhood experience that left an indelible mark on me. I’d accompanied him downtown for an errand, when all of a sudden, he stopped, then stepped off the sidewalk into Second Avenue’s muddy gutter, lowering his eyes, hat in hand as a white-presenting couple passed by.
I remember questioning him about it, indignant on his behalf. “Look at your shoes!” I exclaimed after we’d walked a ways in silence, me, still fuming. “Shoes can be shined, son,” was all he said, before wrapping his hand around my shoulder and pulling me close to him. He said it as if he’d revealed a great life secret. Over time, I’d realize that in a sense, he had. Because there’s something important about choosing one’s battles.
My grandfather was, by no means, conflict-averse. He went to the Birmingham Jail and demanded that they turn over the body of a young African American man who’d been killed in custody to his grieving father, and he was among the 50+ “Negroes of Birmingham” who drove out to Anniston, AL, about 60 miles away, to rescue the Freedom Riders whose bus had been arsoned and who were being trailed by 500 segregationists.
He was among the men digging through the rubble of 16th Street Baptist Church located a mile from our house, and despite threats from Birmingham leadership, he was among the ministers who appealed to Martin to come to Birmingham in the first place. He, like so many others of his generation, understood the wisdom of Pauli Murray’s words, “Don’t get mad. Get smart.” And that’s exactly what they did.
But him stepping off the sidewalk is only part of the story. Because, instead of pulling me off with him, I remember him gathering me to him, his head bowed, hat in one hand and the other cradling my head against his chest, almost as if to shield me from the bigotry. I’d never seen such behavior before because I’d never been with him in such a situation before.
Even today, I remember all kinds of things from that encounter; the deference forced upon him, the couple who ignored him, his callused hand protectively on my neck and the mud on his meticulously shined shoes. But above all, I remember that he made sure my feet stayed on that sidewalk. He did what he needed to so that I would never have to. All three are examples of the progress made by those who’ve come before us and all they did to pave the way for us. To keep our feet on the sidewalk.
“To me, young people come first, they have the courage where we fail, and if I can but shed some light as they carry us through the gale.”
But they’re far from the only ones. From those who fought for America’s independence, abolished slavery, won women’s right to vote and struck down unjust laws, to those who marched, sat-in, boycotted, protested, and so many others, anyone working today to make society better must recognize that we stand on the shoulders of giants. So many who have gone before us have paved the way and paid dearly to get us to where we are. But they’ve also given us another gift; the wisdom that their lives paid for, and that was bequeathed to us.
As we gear up for what will, no doubt, be a tough four years, it’s important that we not delude ourselves into thinking that the worst won’t happen. Because it likely will. We can’t tell ourselves that they won’t really repeal the Affordable Care Act or abolish the US Department of Education, that, surely, they wouldn’t overturn same-sex marriage or go after Social Security, that there’s no way they’ll really build a border wall or bar Muslims from immigrating. But that’s exactly the world Project 2025, self-named, the Presidential Transition Project envisions. Among other things, the plan proposes:
Taking partisan control of the Department of Justice (DOJ), Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), Department of Commerce (DOC), Federal Communications Commission (FCC) and Federal Trade Commission (FTC);
Abolishing the Department of Education;
Stopping the National Institutes of Health (NIH) from operating independently and eliminating stem cell research;
Reducing environmental and climate change regulations in favor of fossil fuels,
Cutting Medicare and Medicaid;
Creating government policy that explicitly rejects abortion as health care, eliminates coverage for emergency contraception and uses the Comstock Act to prosecute those who send or receive contraceptive or abortion pills;
Criminalizing anything they deem to be pornography and imprisoning anyone who produces it;
Removing legal protections against discrimination based on sexuality and gender identity;
Terminating DEI (diversity, equity and inclusion) programs, and instead, tasking the DOJ with prosecuting “anti-white racism”;
Arresting, detaining and deporting all undocumented immigrants living in the United States;
Utilizing the 1800s Insurrection Act to deploy the military for domestic law enforcement;
Increasing both capital punishment sentences and accelerating their “finality”; and, in their words,
Undoing "most everything implemented" by the Biden administration.
We mustn’t delude ourselves into thinking that religious empire isn’t coming because it is. Each of the above and so much more threatens to push our grandchildren off the sidewalk and into the gutter. But that’s only part of it. Because, if the crafters of this plan get their way, if they succeed in creating a society that works for only some of us, what they’ve really done is turn us into one that works for none of us. In their efforts to “save” America, they will have broken it, perhaps even irreparably. That doesn’t mean we can’t stop it. It just means we can’t pretend it’s not real.
“Not needing to clutch for power, not needing the light just to shine on me, I need to be one in the number as we stand against tyranny.”
I think of the Nazis telling Germans of Jewish descent, “Don’t worry, you’ll be going to a labor camp with plenty of food and good shelter. You can write to your family and send them money.” Or, “Don’t worry, it’s just a nice shower.” But that’s not what’s going on here. These agents of empire have laid out in explicit terms what they’d like to see happen, what they mean by “take America back,” and there’s nothing to be gained by hoping that people won’t do what they’ve promised they’d do, by not taking them at their word. Project 2025 was available long before the election, and still, we either voted for it or didn’t get out to vote against it. That’s the part that’s on us.
That said, it’s important to remember that while this particular election is water under the bridge, it’s still just one race. If there’s one thing we can learn from the likes of John Lewis, Freedom Rider-turned-US Congressman, the women who took over Ferguson’s city council and US Senator Diane Feinstein, who started out serving on the SF Board of Supervisors along with Harvey Milk (not to mention Kamala Harris herself, the first female, African American and Asian American Vice President, who started her career working as a city and district attorney in San Francisco), it’s this— every office matters.
So, this is our work — not pinning our hopes on the bad things not happening, but rather, preparing for them now while we still have time. If we want to keep the future’s feet on the sidewalk, we need a plan. Because we who believe in freedom will not rest until it comes. But before we launch into action, it’s important to remember all that we have at our backs.
There are generations upon generations, spanning all the way back to the underpinnings of the Revolution and the dawning of modern democracy itself, who have done what’s needed to set us up for success, people who’ve endured whatever they’ve needed to get us to this point. They made sure our feet stayed on the sidewalk. And in the process, they taught us the lessons needed to do the same for those who’ll come after us.
“The older I get the better I know that the secret of my going on is when the reins are in the hands of the young, who dare to run against the storm.”
Lesson 1. The NAACP helped reformers identify grandfathered statues and long-ago embedded processes, rather than the people enacting and enforcing them, as the true opponents. They grasped how society’s systems were built, and how that knowledge could be leveraged to rebuild them.
Lesson 2. The abolitionists taught us the power of spiritual consciousness, and how if we stay in the fight, the arc really does bend toward justice. They show us how no single victory, even a civil war, will necessarily vanquish advantagism, and that if we push against the established structure, it will push back; that it will resist and counter, in every way possible, any moves to break it down. But if we stay in the fight, justice will win and freedom will come.
Lesson 3. Everything from the attacks during the 1968 Poor People’s Campaign to the antics of the Proud Boys taught us to avoid falling into the trap of thinking this is about ideology instead of money, power and people who think they know best. Getting distracted by their baiting diverts the actions of those championing reform towards the wrong problem, which then leads to the wrong solutions. The entire drive behind the Poor People’s Campaign was to draw attention to economic impairment for everyone in need, not just African Americans. But they found themselves facing off against the same bombastic tactics of dissuasion, intimidation and misdirection, whether Klan hoods or police batons.
Lesson 4. Because the people of India didn’t seek to lay exclusive claim to Gandhian principles, nor label the adoption of its practices “appropriation”, those principles and practices would emerge as the beating heart of movements around the world, and here, they’d inspire everything from sit-ins and marches to bus and grape boycotts.
“Struggling myself don’t mean a whole lot, I’ve come to realize; that teaching others to stand up and fight is the only way my struggle survives.”
Lesson 5. Everything from the Indian Removal Act to the gutting of the 1964 Civil Rights Act speaks to why would-be autocrats go to such lengths to control societal institutions; from law enforcement and government entities to corporations and faith groups. Once control is established, they can be mobilized against anyone deemed to be a threat to their agenda. But the way forward is by leaning in, not stepping back; becoming more, rather than less involved in the workings of our society and making sure that diversity is always in the room and at the table.
Lesson 6. The Women’s Suffrage movement taught us to resist attempts to disparage us and invalidate our claims to equality by implying that we are weaker, less worthy or, in some other way inferior. They understood the importance of reframing the arguments in ways that were fair to them. Suffragists saw up close, how even family members could be complicit in doing them harm; simply by the acceptance of social structures established by the in-group; whether paradigms, constructs, institutions, history-telling, terminology, narratives or norms. The movement challenged men to face the myriad ways we were violating our sacred principles, to see how these laws were harming them, and to recognize that no one could sit this one out.
Lesson 7. The Civil Rights movement itself, made necessary by the failure of Reconstruction and actions like those of Democrat Andrew Johnson, Abraham Lincoln’s Vice President who vetoed the Civil Rights Act of 1866 not once but two times, is a testament to the power of resilience and a roadmap for surviving setbacks. It’s why We Shall Overcome resonated so deeply and how it became the movement’s anthem. “Oh, deep in my heart, I do believe that we shall overcome someday.” It was a statement of resolute hope, that no matter what was done, there would be a point in the future – someday – when things are different.
Lesson 8. Everyone from Shirley Chisholm to Harvey Milk taught us the power of leaning into democracy, becoming a government of the people, by the people, for the people, and maximizing the power of the vote to make life better for all of us.
Lesson 9. Harriet Tubman showed how effective being relegated invisible could be. She built spy networks right on the plantations. Though the marginalized “all look alike” to those in power, servants had long learned to see the served as individuals, to understand their priorities and speak their cultural language. Masters might believe they’ve got the upper hand, but while they know virtually nothing about their servants, those same servants know pretty much everything about them.
“I’m a woman who speaks in a voice and I must be heard. At times I can be quite difficult, I’ll bow to no man’s word.”
Lesson 10. The labor movement taught us that wealth doesn’t necessarily equal power and that no power is absolute. They showed us how people with neither representation nor economic resources, with laws against them and both police and the military enforcing those laws, their numbers give them immense leverage. All they need do is organize.
Lesson 11. People like Medgar Evers and William Moore (both veterans) taught us, in their deaths, that even murder couldn’t quench the fires of justice. William, an Anglo mail carrier and CORE (Congress of Racial Equality) member from Baltimore was shot and killed in Attalla, Alabama, during a one-man march against segregation from Chattanooga to Jackson; six weeks prior to Medgar’s assassination. In both cases, thousands of people showed up to finish what they’d started.
Lesson 12. Both the Movement for Black Lives and the Love is Love campaign taught us that the heart of a nation can change.
Lesson 13. If there’s one thing, above all, that can be learned from the early fight for LGBTQ rights, it is this: Stand. Stand strong. Refuse to be cowed or stigmatized. Embrace your beauty and uniqueness, and bloom into the full expression of who you are. Draw your line in the sand and vow that, come hell or high water, retreat is not an option. Even in the face of the devastation that was AIDS, they refused to be shamed or go back to slinking in the shadows. Many died, but when they did, they died fighting; without apology. And in the end, they won. And so can we.
“We who believe in freedom cannot rest; we who believe in freedom cannot rest until it comes.”
Ella Baker’s core statement is both an exhortation, imploring us to not rest until freedom comes, and a simple statement of fact – that society itself is stuck in a perpetual state of unrest until freedom has been made real. It’s what Martin was asserting in Why We Can’t Wait and what Malcolm, in his Ballot or the Bullet speech, meant when he said, regarding civil rights, "Give it to us now. Don't wait for next year. Give it to us yesterday, and that's not fast enough."
It’s what Frederick Douglass meant when he said, “This struggle may be a moral one, or it may be a physical one, and it may be both moral and physical, but it must be a struggle.” And it’s what Hillel the Elder meant when he said, “If I am not for myself, who shall be for me? If I am only for myself, who am I? If not now, when?
In Me and Mary, I tell a story about one of my daily calls to my grandmother after I, as a preteen, had gone to live with my mother’s family. On this call, I’d just regaled her with a story about my spontaneous dance in a parking lot in the pouring rain; the kind of thing a buttoned-up kid like me never did.
“You did what??” I asked Mary, stupefied when after, in response, she’d casually mentioned something about her I’d never heard before. “Every now and then, a body needs to do something just for itself,” was her reply. “That’s how we know we’s still alive.” She then told me, in detail, how, in 1944, she’d walked into Parisian, a department store chain that competed with Nordstrom and Neiman Marcus, and that was founded and headquartered in Birmingham.
She, in her early twenties, had been shopping, and I’m guessing, was dressed impeccably; the way she always did when she went downtown – even if just to pay the electric bill. The store had a little café, and my grandmother, before Willie James and Bernice were born, before Brown v. Board, before the Freedom Riders and Rosa Parks, had walked over, ordered a tea and a cookie, sat down at a bistro table in downtown Birmingham, quietly drank it, then got up, cleared her table, and simply walked away, purse on arm and shopping bags in hand.
I could not believe this; my dear Mary was a lawbreaker! “What did the people do?” I asked, both shocked and afraid for her. “The woman who served me looked at me funny, but then she must’ve decided that I was somebody important; so she got my order and I went on my way. Nobody else paid me no mind.”
This isn’t surprising; Mary was always a striking woman—a coffee-dark complexion, delicate features, and eyes typical of Native Americans. According to her, our ancestry on her side traces back to that group of Africans who, almost a century before the Pilgrims, staged a revolt, melted into the forest, and took up new lives, intermarrying with the natives already living here. “But WHY did you do it?” I finally asked. She chuckled and said, “Why were you out there dancing in the rain? Some things we do just for ourselves.”
Bayard said, “When an individual is protesting society’s refusal to acknowledge his dignity as a human being, his very act of protest confers dignity on him.” When I heard these words, it was Mary I thought of.
That’s the work before us – to take the creators of things like Project 2025 at their word, to recognize that we’re not starting from scratch, but that we have 250 years’ worth of activism at our backs, people who have already done what it took to make sure our feet stayed on the sidewalk, and always remembering to honor our own dignity, doing something just for ourselves, things that remind us we’re alive.
That’s more than enough to see us through.
Not unlike Woke Up This Mornin’ With My Mind Stayed On Freedom, Ella’s Song has been recorded by both Sweet Honey in the Rock and by the next generation’s Resistance Revival Chorus. You got to hear the former’s version up above. Let’s end with the latter’s version, recorded amid the 2020 protests. They’ll make you want to say, like my late sister Josie used to, “Get it, girls!”
Until freedom comes.
You are just where you need to
Be. Keep showing up💕