CHAPTER XXIII
WHERE THE NEGRO FAILS
Long before I came west and during the years I had spent on thehomestead, my closest companion was the magazines. From the time ThomasW. Lawson's "Frenzied Finance" had run as a serial article in a leadingperiodical, to Ida M. Tarbell's "The History of the Standard OilCompany," I fairly devoured special articles on subjects of timelyinterest. I enjoyed reading anything that would give me a more completeknowledge of what made up this great country in which we live and whichall Americans are given to boasting of as the "greatest country in theworld."
And this brings to my mind certain conditions which exist concerning theten odd millions of the black race in America; and more, this, in itselfhad a tendency to open wider the gap between a certain class of the raceand myself.
There are two very distinct types or classes, among the Americannegroes. I am inclined to feel that this is more prominent than mostpeople are aware. I have met and known those who are quick to think,practical, conservative as well as progressive, while there are thosewho are narrow in their sympathies and short-sighted in their views. Nowas a matter of argument, my experience has taught me there are more ofthis class than most colored people have any idea.
The worst feature of this situation, however, is that a large number ofthe latter class have commingled with the former in such a way as toeasily assume all the worthy proportions. They are a sort of dog in themanger, and are not in accord with any principle that is practical andessential to the elimination of friction and strife between the races.
Among the many faults of this class is, that they do not realize what ittakes to succeed, nor do they care, but spend their efforts loudlyclaiming credit for the success of those who are honest in theirconvictions and try to prove themselves indispensable citizens. Nothingis more obvious and proves this more conclusively than to take notice,as I have, of their own selection of reading matter.
Now, for instance, a few years ago a series of articles under the titleof "Following the Color Line" appeared in a certain periodical, the workof a very well known writer whose specialty is writing on socialconditions, strikes, etc.
In justice to all concerned, the writer described the conditions whichhis articles covered, just as he found them and in this, in my opinion,he differed largely from many of the southern authors whose articles arestill inclined to treat the Ethiopians as a whole, as the old "timeworn" aunt and uncle. Not intending to digress, I want to put down here,that negroes as a whole are changing to some extent, the same as thewhites and no liberty-loving colored man appreciates being regarded as"aunt," or "uncle" even though some of these people were as honorable ascould be. This is a modern age.
Now getting back to the discussion that I seem to have for the momentforgotten and as regards the article, while worthy in every respect, itwas no different in its way from any number of other articles publishedat that time, as well as now, that deal on great and complex questionsof the day. Yet, this article caused thousands of colored people, whonever before bought a magazine or book, to subscribe for that magazine.It was later published in book form and is conspicuous in the librariesof many thousands of colored families.
What I have intended to put down in this lengthy discourse regarding myrace is, if they see or hear of an article concerning the race, theywill buy that magazine, to read the article spoken of and nothing more.
Since living in the state, as a recreation I was in the habit of takingtrips to Chicago once or twice a year, and as might be expected I wouldtalk of South Dakota. In the course of a conversation I have related astory of some one's success there and would be listened to with unusualattention. As I had found in them many who were poor listeners, at thesetimes when I found myself the object of so much undivided attention Iwould warm up to the subject until it had evolved into a sort oflecture, and remarks of, "my," "you don't say so," and "just think ofit" would interrupt me--"and a colored man." No, I would correct, theleast bit hesitant, a white man. Then, just like the sun disappearingbehind a cloud, all interest would vanish, furthermore, I have onoccasions of this kind had attention of a few minutes before turned toremarks of criticism for taking up the time relating the success of awhite man. The idea is prevalent among this class that all whitepeople should be rich, and regardless of how ideal the success has been,I learned that no white person could be accepted as an example for thisclass to follow.
The real farmer was fast replacing the homesteader. (Page130.)]
By reading nothing but discussions concerning the race, by all butrefusing to accept the success of the white race as an example and bywelcoming any racial disturbance as a conclusion that the entire whiterace is bent in one great effort to hold him--the negro, down, he cannot very well feel the thrill of modern progress and is ignorant as topublic opinion. Therefore he is unable to cope with the trend ofconditions and has become so condensed in the idea that he has noopportunity, that he is disinteresting to the public. One of thegreatest tasks of my life has been to convince a certain class of myracial acquaintances that a colored man can be anything.
Now on the entire Little Crow reservation, less than eight hundred milesfrom Chicago, I was the only colored man engaged in agriculture, andmoreover, from Megory to Omaha, a distance of three hundred miles. Therewas only one other negro family engaged in the same industry.
Having lived in the cities, I therefore, was not a greenhorn, as some ofthem would try to have me feel, when they referred to their clubs andsocial affairs.
Among the many facts that confronted me as I meditated the situation,one dated back to the time I had run on the road. The trains I ran oncarried thousands monthly into the interior of the northwest. Amongthese were a great number of emigrants fresh from the old countries, butthere was seldom a colored person among them, and those few that I hadseen, with few exceptions, went on through to the Pacific coast citiesand engaged in the same occupation they had followed in the east.
During these trips I learned the greatest of all the failings were notonly among the ignorant class, but among the educated as well. Althoughmore agreeable to talk to, they lacked that great and mighty principlewhich characterizes Americans, called "the initiative." Colored peopleare possible in every way that is akin to becoming good citizens, whichhas been thoroughly proven and is an existing fact. Yet they seem tolack the "guts" to get into the northwest and "do things." In seven oreight of the great agricultural states there were not enough coloredfarmers to fill a township of thirty-six sections.
Another predominating inconsistency is that there is that "love ofluxury." They want street cars, cement walks, and electric lights togreet them when they arrive. I well remember it was something near twoyears before I saw a colored man on the reservation, until the road hadbeen extended. They had never come west of Oristown, but as the time forthe opening arrived, the kitchens and hotel dining-rooms of Megory andCalias were filled with waiters and cooks.
During the preparation for the opening the commercial club of Megory hadlengthy circulars printed, with photographs of the surrounding country,farms, homes, and the like, to accompany. These circulars describedbriefly the progress the country had made in the four years it had beenopened to settlement, and the opportunities waiting. By giving the nameand address the club would send these to any address or person, with thestatement, "by the request" of whoever gave the name.
I gave the name of not less than one hundred persons, and sent thempersonally to many as well. I wrote articles and sent them to differentnewspapers edited by colored people, in the east and other places. I wassuccessful in getting one colored person to come and register--my oldestbrother.
The Conquest: The Story of a Negro Pioneer Page 24
