It was an honor to attend the premier and to have participated in this latest installment of the civil rights documentary, Eyes on the Prize. Eyes on the Prize III came out late last February (2025). The first episode in this six-part series focused on the efforts of residents of Kelly Street, featuring Robert Foster, Carol Waring, Leon Potts, and Allen Pierce, who were among the founding members of Banana Kelly, (not the block, but the organization). Frank Potts, without whom there would have been no Kelly Street, was also featured. I was featured as well. The main point of this latest installment was that the struggle continues and those involved in fighting for civil and human rights do so at considerable risk and personal cost.
At the height of the 1960s civil rights movement, urban issues revolved around decent housing, economic opportunity and community control. By the 1970s, areas like the South Bronx were abandoned by government, while private landlords paid local gang members and others to torch peoples’ homes for insurance money. The issue went well beyond decent housing, as we were losing tens of thousands of units to arson each year. And while the fires raged, instead of the city working to stop them, it closed fire stations. Jobs were scarce, so we had to create our own jobs. Community control was our only recourse, out of necessity. What the early history of Banana Kelly represents is the struggle for survival through the preservation of housing, people, and entire neighborhoods abandoned by the private and public sector alike. Self-help and community control were the only options available to residents who refused to be displaced.
The reviews of the documentary were generally good, although there were negative reviews. On one podcast, the general complaint was that there was not enough emphasis on Black liberation, expressed through movement leaders. This complaint was reinforced with a comment about the very first episode (about Banana Kelly), featuring a “white savior.”
This is not something I found offensive. It is an understandable reaction, but one that should not be surprising. Consider the violence of the prior two decades, when Black citizens were killed for voting or attempting to vote. Mob violence, vigilante murders, government assisted, tolerated, or promulgated assassinations. Many leaders were killed, others were forced into hiding or exile, some abandoned the cause in attempts to have normal lives, and others were effectively enfranchised, assimilated into the dominant culture.
What happens when enough leaders are removed? The movement falters and people struggle to simply get on with their lives. Two concepts come to mind, concepts that not only restrain but also help to explain why it often takes an outsider to challenge people to confront the sources of oppression. That can be someone like me, but it can also be someone from the area who moved out, whether to go to school, the military, even prison, only to come back home to an environment they no longer accept as tolerable.
What does it take to trigger the necessary consciousness to break away from a sense of learned helplessness? An outside perspective can do this, but there are other ways as well. One involves some form of epiphany, which both inspires and liberates the change agent from mental slavery. Malcolm X may be seen in this light, acknowledging that he left prison a different person than he was upon entering. Another is being confronted by a situation that is so emotionally and psychologically offensive, as to move someone to confront the sources of injustice. Mamie Till’s decision of having an open casket for her son’s funeral likely inspired a generation of civil rights activists. Another less earth-shattering but nonetheless effective trigger is exemplified in how Fannie Lou Hamer went from housemaid to civil rights leader. She lived with a White family in Mississippi and, as would be expected, she was not permitted to use the family’s bathrooms. She had her own bathroom. But when that bathroom fell into disrepair, the owner refused to fix it and told her to use the outhouse. This went on for a while. One day she was getting ready to clean one of the bathrooms in the house, and the owner’s daughter told her not to bother, since that bathroom was only for the family’s dog (see The Barn, by Wright Thompson). Imagine the breath of the insult. W.E.B. DuBois once described White characterization of Blacks as a “tertium quid,” or third thing. As he went on to explain, he interpreted the White perception of the status of Blacks as existing somewhere between “men and cattle.” Here, the boss’s conception of Hamer’s status was below that of the family dog. There are probably other explanations and triggers, but all of these, including facilitation of resolve by an outsider, even a White one, are often needed to fight against oppression. Even so, skepticism should accompany any outside involvement and only accept it when the outsider recognizes he or she or they are not vested in the outcome and control needs to remain with those who are.
There are three books I have read during my time working in community development – all three were transformational and guided my work. In many ways, I wish I had learned many of these lessons early in my career, as it would have helped me avoid many unnecessary mistakes. But life should be a lifelong learning project. Personal growth should never end, and can only continue when we accept discomfort and struggle.
The first such book was given to me by a Garifuna friend and colleague as a guide for a planning project in which we were involved. The book was Pedagogy of the Oppressed, by Paulo Freire. Three important lessons I took from that book:
Leadership training…based on the naive assumption that one can promote community by training its leaders – as if it were the parts that promote the whole and not the whole which, in being promoted, promotes the parts.
From this, my approach has been to promote the building of community, with the intention that leaders will develop as a natural outcome of that development. The alternative, as too often occurs, is to simply select potential leaders based upon performative talent. Better that they develop from the ground up.
Our converts…truly desire to transform the unjust order; but because of their background they believe that they must be the executors of the transformation. They talk about the people, but they do not trust them; and trusting the people is the indispensable precondition of revolutionary change.
This lesson is indeed indispensable, especially for those of us who come to this work from a position of privilege.
The third important lesson has to do with whether we treat those we work with as subjects or as objects. Objects, by definition, are subject to manipulation. Subjects, by definition, have agency. Too many of those who come from the outside to lead an effort end up compounding the problem by creating more debilitating dependence.
The second book that was transformational for me was Hannah Arendt’s The Origins of Totalitarianism, along with other of her writings. There are many lessons to learn, especially in our current political environment. But for the purposes of community development, I appreciated her distinguishing between power and authority. Power belongs to no one person. “Power springs up between men when they act together and vanishes the moment they disperse.” In contrast, authority is delegated, and as such can be rescinded. Many local efforts claim to be about empowerment, when they actually foster enhanced domestication. Any who become spokespersons or leaders of a group working for change, regardless of whether they rise from within or without, need to understand they are not vested with power, but only with authority that is, and should be, revocable.
The third book is Benedict de Spinoza’s Ethics, which (for me) stands for the proposition that we are all bound together, and as such, what I want for myself, I should want for others. There are other books that have assisted me in learning and perspective, but these three form the underlying basis for my work.
One may ask why we so easily accept and, in the historical case of Whites, fight to maintain, the status quo. One explanation is based upon hierarchical systems where one oppressed group is given preference over another. This is exemplified in the 17th Century fabricated distinction between “White” and “Black.” Many marginalized and exploited Whites accepted being exploited, as long as they were better off than Blacks. This, in part, explains why the reaction was so violent and so laced with depravity whenever any group or community of Blacks became successful, or worse, prosperous. To allow self-generated accomplishment by a group we need to believe is inferior is viewed as existential, and thereby unacceptable.
As for the most oppressed among us, regardless of race, accepting the unacceptable, and adapting to what generally should be seen as unthinkable, is a function of habituation – defensive mechanisms used for physical, emotional and psychological survival. This acquiescence is reinforced by institutional procedures and practices that constantly remind people of the price paid for wanting or expecting more.
An important role in convincing people to live under less than optimal, often deplorable, conditions is played by the gatekeepers, those charged with enforcing this system of subordination. As described by Tressie McMillam Cottom in her book, Thick and Other Essays, “Gatekeeping is a complex job of managing boundaries that do not just define others but also define ourselves.” Some are able to rise above the worst oppressions by becoming part of it. bell hooks (killing rage, ENDING RACISM) explains, “Rather than intervening in the status quo, assimilated educated black folks often become the gatekeepers, mediating between the racist white power structure and the larger mass of black folks who were continually assaulted, exploited, and/or oppressed.”
I was barely in my twenties when I began organizing in the South Bronx. By the mid-1970s, I was leading the effort. It did not start out that way. In the beginning, each of us was a leader. But once we identified as a group and began collective activities (like block cleanups, backyard gardens, and more), it was time to represent ourselves to those on the outside who might be helpful to our efforts to save our homes and neighborhood. Countless times in those early days of our work, we would have an evening meeting. We would all agree to meet the next morning at the Intervale Avenue train station at some certain time to travel downtown to the offices of some government or elected official. Without fail, I would show up, wait until I could wait no longer, and ultimately travel to, and attend, the meeting on my own. It was not until decades later that I understood the role that gatekeepers played in the lives of marginalized and struggling people. Carol Waring, in the Eyes on the Prize III, documentary said it best. To paraphrase, “those people hate us. They put their feet on our necks and we don’t have a chance.” That is why I became the face of the organization to funders, elected and government officials — people just did not want to put themselves unnecessarily through what had been for them a lifetime of being disrespected and humiliated. Back then, this was something I could not understand. And, given the extreme violence (fires) and rapid destruction of everything around us, there just was not the time to develop sufficiently to overcome that infused and normalized sense of being unworthy. Consciously or unconsciously, I was charged with, and accepted the role of, dealing with the gatekeepers.
Much effort and money is expended to maintain the status quo. Why? Because once it is effectively threatened, even by what seems an insignificant thread, the entire fabric of a society comes unraveled. We saw this happen with the end of Jim Crow. Having the right to vote and be seen as an equal and legitimate citizen, led to questioning of other arrangements: Why can’t I marry the person I love? Why can’t I play on the same sports team as others? Why can’t I play chess in a public park with whomever I want? Why can’t I use that pool, that bathroom, that water fountain? Why do I have to step off the sidewalk when a White person is walking towards me? Why do I have to wait until all the White customers are served before I am, even if I was the first ready to check out? Why do I have to refer to children as Mister” this, or Miss that, while White children can refer to me as “boy.” Why, why why? An avalanche of questions that amount to a threat to the cultural hegemony of the elite. And if such a cultural change occurs, there is a resurgence of the fear, similar to the reaction to 17th Century rebellions like the Bacon Rebellion, that maybe, all marginalized and exploited people may find common cause against those who benefit from an undemocratic and oligarchic system.
You might ask, since so many of those Jim Crow conventions were abandoned, why racism and segregation did not unravel along with them. And if White racism was based upon the privileges defined by Jim Crow, why haven’t Whites and Blacks found common cause once those exclusive privileges were removed?
The simple answer is that racism continued to function, but in different forms, consistent with the history of racism in this country. Slavery was ended in 1865, but slavery continued in the form of convict leasing, lasting well into the 20th Century. Convict leasing may have ended before the Second World War, but discrimination continued, well into the 1960s when official government policy excluded Blacks from the benefits of homeownership, union membership, education, and voting rights. Segregation may have ended with the 1964 and 1968 civil rights acts, but school desegregation led to segregated private Christian schools, employment integration led to the destruction of private sector unions, fair housing led to the destruction of public housing and exclusionary zoning, integration of parks led to private clubs and the draining of public pools, affirmative action led to claims of reverse discrimination. All of this was also made possible by accepting enough minorities into the mainstream to defuse charges of continued structural racism. And besides, this also provides the opportunity to just point over there and say – “See it is those unqualified and undeserving minorities and ‘others’ who are taking your jobs!”
So the struggle for justice continues. In some ways, I imagine that Eyes on the Prize III may, unfortunately, represent the capstone on an era, one that ultimately failed to secure justice. If that is the case, and each day it seems more likely, then we can only hope for, and work to enable, the next generations of change agents. And if successful, the role of the capstone may be transformed into the cornerstone upon which a better, more just, and inclusive future is secured.