Yet the next series of crises would once again see a president—Franklin D. Roosevelt (1933–1945)—confront an issue he would have preferred to keep in the closet. By early 1933, unemployment had grown to 25 percent and more than 4,000 banks had collapsed.10 The Dust Bowl drought destroyed tens of thousands of farms, rendering more than 500,000 people homeless. Roosevelt desperately launched a number of policies to address these emergencies. Blacks would benefit only partially and often indirectly from his economic rescue policies. Indeed, in some arenas, as more whites’ economic and social standing advanced, blacks actually lost ground in one of the most legislatively and policy-generous periods in U.S. history. “The wide array of significant and far-reaching public policies that were shaped and administered during the New Deal and Fair Deal era of the 1930s and 1940s,” Ira Katznelson notes in his history-revising book, When Affirmative Action Was White: An Untold History of Racial Inequality in Twentieth-Century America, “were crafted and administered in a deeply discriminatory manner.”11
An equally critical factor was the qualitative transformation of the framework under which U.S. business and much of global capitalism would operate. Keynesian economics, which called for decisive state intervention in managing and policing big business, would result in the opening of political space for working-class prerogatives to emerge. Given the working-class status of most African Americans at the time, they too made some economic and political gains during the period. Progress was more regional than national, however, as the still white-dominated South dug in and refused to budge on the issue of segregation.
Black resistance would not relent either, and soon ballooned into a full-blown uprising with millions of African Americans driving the civil rights campaigns that began to engulf the entire South. In courtrooms, classrooms, and even restrooms, black activists and ordinary people alike challenged the system of white control. The black freedom movement mushroomed, opening new fronts on various levels with wide-ranging tactics and perspectives. The battle streams of civil rights and urban resistance would soon join a mighty river of national turbulence expressing multiple demands upon the nation in general and the White House in particular. Black struggle, antiwar resistance, and a vibrant youth counterculture drove the crises between 1955 and 1974. As discussed in Chapter 7, the political status quo was further destabilized by one president’s unexpected refusal to run for reelection, the assassination of a presidential candidate, the resignation of a vice president, the resignation to preempt impeachment of a president, and the installation of both a president and a vice president who had not been elected to the office, all within the span of six years.
The late-term Civil Rights Era presidencies of Dwight Eisenhower (1953–1961), John Kennedy (1961–1963), and Lyndon Johnson (1963–1968) were reluctant to assist the cause of black freedom yet began to champion policies and endorse legislation that attacked Jim Crow. During the four-year period from 1964 to 1968, the black view of the White House became more favorable as presidential pressure helped defeat white opposition to bills that finally broke the back of formal segregation in the South.
Through high rhetoric, low legislation, and symbolic appointments, post-Johnson presidents have been treading water on racial issues since 1968. Richard Nixon (1968–1974), Jimmy Carter (1977–1981), Ronald Reagan (1981–1989), and Bill Clinton (1993–2001) all sustained aggressive attacks on civil rights advances, whereas Gerald Ford (1974–1977), George H. W. Bush (1989–1993), and George W. Bush (2001–2009) engaged in egregious neglect. None proposed legislation that would substantially address the economic and social disparities between whites and people of color, despite symbolism and rhetoric aplenty (e.g., a new national holiday honoring Martin Luther King Jr.; Clinton’s Race Initiative; and various cabinet appointments). During this period the White House did not face the type of grand crisis that would have opened the door to major changes advancing equality in politics, education, economics, justice, housing, and labor for people of color in the United States. For most black social justice leaders, activists, and organizers it was a bleak period with little hope on the horizon.
Some pioneering African Americans, rather than looking to the White House for help, decided to run for the White House themselves. These campaigns ran the gamut from the comical to the serious and included women and men, members of major parties and minor parities as well as independent candidates, and ideological tendencies from the far right to the far left and everything in between. As discussed in Chapter 8, each campaign would be a building block for the ones that followed. Then came Obama.
Obama and the Future of Black History
I have never been so naïve as to believe that we can get beyond our racial divisions in a single election cycle, or with a single candidacy—particularly a candidacy as imperfect as my own.12—President Barack Obama, March 18, 2008, Philadelphia
Obama may not have been so naïve about the continuation of racism after his election, but many others were. Naïve in some ways, opportunistic in others. While liberal supporters of Obama wishfully believed that his election signified a radical change in American race relations, the anti-Obama right wing took advantage of his election to bruit its “postracial” mantra. Conservative columnist Laura Hollis, writing for Townhall.com, stated, “Racism is dead.” Writer Shelby Steele, in a post-election Los Angeles Times article, asked, “Doesn’t a black in the Oval Office put the lie to both black inferiority and white racism? Doesn’t it imply a ‘post-racial’ America?” Conservative media and lobbyists rejoiced in Obama’s victory, seeing it as vindication of their decades-old argument that laws passed as a result of the Civil Rights Movement had ended racism in the United States.
Those who make this argument are wrong on many accounts. On the immediate level, they ignore the significance of racial incidents that occurred during the campaigns and the fact that racist incidents actually appeared to escalate after Obama’s election. On a deeper level, they fail to acknowledge the perpetuation of institutional racism as it manifests through measurable disparities in job opportunities, career advancement, real estate and housing, education and academic performance, health and access to health care, criminal justice and susceptibility to incarceration, the absence of black history in public education, and lack of black representation in popular media. Despite the victory Obama’s election represents, this country is still a long way from realizing the essence and spirit of its founding principles, and thus still a long way from being a genuinely egalitarian and democratic “postracial” society.
President-elect Barack Obama was about to walk out to take the oath of office. Backstage at the U.S. Capitol, he took one last look at his appearance in the mirror.
Until it is, there’s work to do. This book was written in honor of those who have come before, that their stories and efforts may inform and inspire future generations of leaders, organizers, and ordinary people to carry the torch and spread the flame. To that end, this book is narrative driven: more than anything, it is the stories of real people who have challenged the racist dimensions of U.S. power and privilege that convey the history and experience of African Americans and their shifting relationship to the White House. For too many years, their experiences have been ignored, their voices silenced, their history absent from the public classroom. Yet they are an indelible, inextricable part of this country. Their story is our story, and their determined struggle, over generations, to share in the founding promises of equality, life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness is as much a part of White House history as the stories of the presidents and their families. From the courageous black woman Oney Judge, who escaped enslavement from the first U.S. president, to the regal Michelle LaVaughn Robinson Obama, there has been a black presence in the White House reflecting in one form or another the ongoing struggle for equality and freedom.
In the book’s final chapter I attempt to discuss the significance of the Obama White House in the context of black history, and how the crises his presidency f
aced coming into power may be quite different from the ones he is likely to leave behind. Issues of racial controversy are already manifesting in the first years of his presidency and are likely to escalate as Republican Party strategists attempt to exploit a politics of resentment and fear for electoral gain. This strategy has already unleashed a barrage of racial incidents and a jittery, less than stellar response from the Obama administration. However, it goes without saying that at the time of this writing in 2010, the story of the first black White House is still a work in progress, and what the Obama presidency will do to further extend the nation’s founding promises to people of color and others outside the sphere of traditional privilege is still unfolding on a daily basis. Despite the powerful concrete and symbolic victory that the Obama White House represents, one race’s privilege, preference, and politics continue to exert undue influence over national civic and private culture. What the first black White House does to level the racial playing field will forever be part of both black history and the nation’s history. How far it goes and to what degree it succeeds is still very much up to the actions of ordinary people like you and me.
CHAPTER I
A Declaration of Independence and Racism: Founding Documents, Founding Fathers, and the Preservation of Slavery
Prelude: Oney’s White House Story
Oney never knew the year of her birth. Nor did she know what year she successfully escaped to freedom. Befreckled and nearly white in skin color, she was as close to the nation’s first genuine national hero as a person could be. During her enslavement she had been a seamstress and waiting maid and had worked indoors rather than out in the field. Although she stated that she never suffered any severe hardships while a slave, the hope of freedom burned incessantly within her. Like tens of thousands of other enslaved people, by seizing her opportunity for freedom she risked living out her life as a permanent fugitive or, if caught, being condemned to brutal physical punishment, execution, or perhaps a life of hard labor as a field slave. But escape she did, and with a determination never to be caught and enslaved again. Ona “Oney” Maria Judge’s tremendous courage is perhaps all the more remarkable in that she escaped from the presidential residence of the United States’ first president, George Washington, a slave owner.
The building where the first president of the United States lived with his family and the blacks they enslaved, High Street, Philadelphia.
The Revolutionary War general, founding father, and first president of the United States grew up in a slave-owning family, and by the time he was 11 years old he owned his first ten slaves. That number would continue to grow throughout his life as a farmer and planter. He purchased and enslaved more black people and acquired twenty more as a result of his marriage to Martha Custis in 1759. At his death in 1799, he held in slavery more than 300 black men, women, and children. Although he would state in later years that he opposed slavery and wrote in his will that he would free his enslaved upon his and Martha’s death, he never took a public stand against the system or, as the nation’s leader, called for its abolition.1
During the final days of his presidency in 1796, Washington lived with his wife and a group of their slaves in Philadelphia while the White House was being constructed, along with the rest of the capital, on land acquired from Maryland and Virginia near the Potomac River. Washington’s second term in office was to end in 1797, and he had no plans to run for another term. Oney, who served as Martha Washington’s personal maid, was rightfully worried that once the Washingtons went back South to Mount Vernon, Virginia, her chances of escaping to freedom would be much slimmer.
As a “dower” slave, Oney was essentially on loan from the estate of Martha’s first husband, Daniel Parke Custis, who died in 1757. Dowers were slaves who actually belonged to an estate and could be made available to whomever the estate prescribed for a period of time, usually until the designee’s death, and then were passed on to the inheritors of the next generation. In other words, Martha never really owned the slaves, who were legally the property of her deceased husband’s descendants. Upon her death, ownership of the dower slaves reverted back to the Custis estate. Since the status of children born into slavery was determined by the status of their mother, Oney’s children would also be dower slaves and might never achieve freedom.
Technically, the Washingtons could have granted Oney her freedom, but they would have owed the Custis estate whatever it determined was her monetary value, something George did not want—and perhaps could not afford—to do. Instead, in March 1796, while living at the president’s residence in Philadelphia, Martha Washington informed Oney that she was going to be given to Martha’s granddaughter as a wedding gift. Oney must have understood that such a transfer would diminish her chances for freedom, and that that her life as a slave would never end unless she took bold action.2
Oney bided her time and waited until the summer. As she later told a reporter, “Whilst they were packing up to go to Virginia, I was packing to go,” demonstrating the kind of forethought, daring, and planning most slaveholders believed to be beyond their slaves’ capacities. Oney went on to say, “I didn’t know where; for I knew that if I went back to Virginia, I should never get my liberty. I had friends among the colored people of Philadelphia, had my things carried there beforehand, and left Washington’s house while they were eating dinner.”3 One can imagine Martha or George calling for Oney to come and clear the table of dishes, a call that was never to be answered.
Oney was born to an enslaved black mother, Betty, and a white father who had been an indentured servant but eventually won his freedom. Oney’s birth likely took place sometime in 1772 or 1773. Like her mother, Oney developed needlework and sewing skills and became very close to Martha, who brought Oney along on shopping trips and other outings.4 Oney was 17 or 18 when the Washingtons moved to New York in early 1789, bringing her and six other slaves with them. Almost two years later, Washington moved to Philadelphia, the temporary center of government power while the District of Columbia was being constructed. It was from President Washington’s Philadelphia residence that Oney made her escape.
It would be logical to surmise that the public attention, honor, and respect that came with being the first president of the United States and leader of the victorious American revolutionary forces would have disposed Washington not to pursue Oney after she escaped. Given that President Washington had both spoken against the evil of slavery and owned hundreds of slaves, one would expect that he would accept the fact that Oney was gone and direct his time and attention to national matters. However, President Washington, like most other white enslavers, considered Oney to be his property, hence he bade others to help him pursue and recapture her.
Like his wife, Martha, President Washington could not understand why Oney would want to run away from them, especially considering how “humanely” they thought they had treated her. According to historian Helen Bryan, the president was reportedly hesitant at first and refused Martha’s urging that he advertise for her capture and return.5 Martha felt that Oney’s escape demonstrated an unacceptable unfaithfulness and disloyalty and that slave catchers should be hired to pursue her.6 Washington felt that publicly pursuing Oney would be unbecoming and settled on having her recaptured in a more surreptitious manner. As the acting president of the United States, George Washington was the most powerful person in the country at the time, and he used his considerable reach in the attempt to capture Oney numerous times.
Oney prepared for her freedom in steps. Before escaping, she first hid clothes and belongings with some of her free black friends in Philadelphia, and when the moment arrived she went to them. Oney left Philadelphia for Portsmouth, New Hampshire, on a ship named Nancy captained by John Bolles. Portsmouth was a coastal city and a former center for the importation of slaves. Over time, however, slavery in Portsmouth diminished almost to nonexistence as the Atlantic slave trade vanished, slaves were freed or sold South, and abolitionism grew.
Although New Hamp
shire did not officially abolish slavery until 1857, by the time Oney arrived, its end was clearly at hand.7 The 1800 census listed only eight enslaved individuals living in the state. Portsmouth had also become an active area for abolitionism.8 While Oney found herself protected by blacks and others in the local community there, she was still very much in danger, because her escape to freedom violated national law and the Constitution itself. Under Article 4, Section 2 of the then less than 10-year-old U.S. Constitution,
No Person held to Service or Labour in one State, under the Laws thereof, escaping into another, shall, in Consequence of any Law or Regulation therein, be discharged from such Service or Labour, But shall be delivered up on Claim of the Party to whom such Service or Labour may be due.
The U.S. Constitution’s concession to slaveholders, South and North, enforced slavery nationally irrespective of objections to the institution at the state level. For Oney this meant that she could be pursued and captured even in “free” states where slavery had been abolished. White enslavers were further bolstered by the Fugitive Slave Act of 1793, which Washington signed into law—perhaps as Oney and others who were enslaved worked nearby. That law stated:
any person who shall knowingly and willingly obstruct or hinder such claimant, his agent or attorney in so seizing or arresting such fugitive from labour, or shall rescue such fugitive from such claimant, his agent or attorney when so arrested pursuant to the authority herein given or declared; or shall harbor or conceal such person after notice that he or she was a fugitive from labour, as aforesaid, shall for either of the said offences, forfeit and pay the sum of five hundred dollars.9
The Black History of the White House Page 3
