The Black Commentator - Between The Lines: Black Leadership Succession

A recent commentary by a fellow editorialist, querying who speaks for the black community (and in which order), raises a recurring question that has plagued every black community throughout the nation. This twenty-something year old commentator, as bold as she is, works for an 80 year old elected official (who recently announced that he was running for a state legislator seat in two years). Yet, she is also part of a grassroots coalition of young (and middle-aged) activists speaking out on issues that “traditional” civil rights, ecumenical and political activists shy away from. So-called black leaders “pick their fights” now. If you don’t have a video tape and two white witnesses (preferably police officers), you can’t get a so-called black leader to go out front. They opt for the “safe play,” the consensus issue. Well, we know the streets are full of injustices these days, with or without a video, and the people want justice—not placation. And what happens when nobody speaks up on a question that we know is foul? Injustice perpetuates itself. “Who speaks for Black America,” has been a reoccurring question in the past 40 years since Dr. King. Let white folk tell it, it was the last time the black community had a leader. Let black folk tell it, it was only the start of the succession question, who is our next leader? It was a question that was asked in 1968, when the 39 year old King was killed. It was again asked in 1988, when I was a 31 year old civil rights President. I find it curious, almost amusing (if it wasn’t so sad), that another generation of activists would be asking that same question. Black people will discuss leadership, but never who will be the next leaders. Leadership succession is a question rarely raised, and never answered. The same question is now being put to us by a new generation of folk who want change. The question needs to be addressed.

I’m always extremely cautious about who I call “a leader.” Everyone who speaks out is not a leader, and everyone who gets television “face time” or a quote in the propaganda press is not a leader. But in the black community, who sees you is who knows you, so it serves as a starting point to who leads you. Part of the reason for the confusion is because those who should be speaking out aren’t and those that are speaking up aren’t always best suited to do so. But the black community has finally reached the point where somebody has to speak up—so some folk are trying to fill the gap, the huge leadership void that exists in most black communities. This “gap” group recently stood with a black firefighter who had been served dog food as a firehouse prank gone too far, after the Mayor of Los Angeles vetoed the two plus million dollar settlement offer. The Mayor, who was elected by a black voter base alienated by the previous Mayor, finds himself more frequently at odds with the community but finds comfort in having, at least, some of the “old guard” still in his camp. What sparked my colleague’s commentary was that the Mayor was told he didn’t have to worry much because the firefighter was only supported by a bunch of “B-list leaders.” So, she asked the question in her commentary, “Who are the A list leaders?”

Of course, I’ve always maintained that some of those who have thought they were the leaders, actually weren’t—they were just the quickest to the front of the line. Then there are the “assumed” leaders, the politicians, the preachers, the civil rights groups that find themselves in the often curious position of having to speak to what black people want (when many times black people don’t know what they want) and how we bring about change—when the last time some of these political offices, churches and civil rights groups changed leadership (or ideology) was when the King holiday was signed. Literally. Or before…Then there are the self-anointed, self-appointed spokespersons who are where black people are, being all things to all people, speaking on every issue, calling themselves ones who give the poor and disenfranchised “a voice.” These spokespersons don’t do too bad for themselves in the final analysis. Their notoriety always seems to pay economic residuals, which is okay if the community comes up as they come up. Problem is, most times, they “come up” as the community remains the same—and then they want to be the only ones to speak for the community when time, space, and place has dictated an agenda for which they are unacquainted. This is where we have the intra-race, intergenerational conflicts between the new voices, the so-called “Johnnies come lately,” and the old voices, the venerable “Johnnies stayed too long.”

I’m a big critic of the last remnants of the Civil Rights generation who just refuse to sit down. Every generation speaks for itself, except the Civil Rights generation—who want to speak for three generations, themselves and the two that came after them. A. Philip Randolph spoke for his generation in the 1940s. Thurgood Marshall spoke for his in the 1950s. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Malcolm X spoke for theirs in the 1960s. Jesse Jackson, Jr. and Minister Louis Farrakhan spoke for theirs in the 1980s. But since that time, others have been speaking for the last two decades in place of generations that either never found a voice, or couldn’t find a voice (without elbowing a previous generation out of the way). They were never really, somehow, “qualified” to speak for themselves. The same madness is being said today, and you have old folk that still won’t sit down.

This “A-list”/ “B-list” stratification of black leadership is an interesting one, but one that doesn’t hold up. For instance, in the 1950s, King would have been viewed as a “B-list” leader because SCLC was new and the traditional organizations (NAACP, Urban League) didn’t support King’s direct action advocacy. King was put out of the National Baptist Convention for his social change rhetoric, but he emerged as the leader of his generation. In the 1980s, Jesse Jackson would have been considered a “B-list” leader because PUSH (the Rainbow Coalition hadn’t been born yet) and none of the traditional (initially) supported his 1984 run for President. His grassroots church base and his appeal to new generations made that a bus that the “old heads” couldn’t get on and made him the leader of his generation.

In the 2000s, the new advocacy will come from those with new ideas about advocacy and a connection to the people that is generational and non-conventional. That’s the history of social advocacy in this country. It’s great to see Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton talking about “racism today” with Paula Zahn on CNN, but their prism is not what the common man sees today nor do they express the frustrations of a new generation. They can bring attention to an issue, but that’s about it. When the cameras go off and they leave (a common criticism of both), who is left to do the work? Who then speaks for the black community?

Some of these young folk know what they’re doing (and some don’t). They need to be given a chance to speak for themselves and lead themselves. Leadership succession doesn’t have to be a reoccurring question. We just make it one—One that a new generation is not afraid to ask.

Anthony Asadullah Samad is a national columnist, managing director of the Urban Issues Forum and author of 50 Years After Brown: The State of Black Equality In America. His website is AnthonySamad.com. Click here to contact Mr. Samad.