By Alan Bean

For the past few days, we have been attending a human rights conference in Philadelphia sponsored by the U.S. Human Rights Fund.  We have learned a lot and met so many inspiring individuals it is a bit overwhelming.  But the high point of the conference, for me, was a chance encounter with Dianna Freelon Foster of Grenada, Mississippi.

Grenada, you may recall from an earlier post, was the site of the most heroic, dreadful, awe-inspiring and anonymous civil rights campaigns in American history.  Nobody knows about Grenada.  Everybody should.

Dianna Freelon Foster was going into the eleventh grade in the fall of 1966 when the civil rights community decided it was time to integrate the public schools.  Every night, hundreds of people would gather at a church near the courthouse square to sing freedom songs, pray and preach.  Then, in the power of the Holy Ghost, they would march to the courthouse and take a stand for civil rights.  And when morning came, the first day of school, hundreds of black children had the audacity to show up at the all white schools of Granada, Mississippi.

“We walked into the school the first morning, ” Dianna remembers, “and the first thing I noticed was how beautiful it was–nothing at all like the black school I had been attending.  It was a very tense atmosphere and you had the feeling something was wrong.  Then, one by one, all the white girls were called to the office.  I remember thinking ‘there was no way all those white girls can fit in that tiny little office’.”

When all the white girls had left the building, the black girls were informed that the school was closing for the day.  “We walked out the door,” Dianna recalls, “and all I could see was a bunch of white men, some of them sitting in the branches of the trees, and they were all carrying weapons: baseball bats, tire irons, that sort of thing.  We tried to rush back into the school but the principal locked the door on us.  That’s the thing that really hurt me–that a human being could do something like that–locking us out when he knew we were in danger.”

“We were walking with a male student and we were trying to get to the church, because that’s where we felt safe and strong.  Then the men surrounded us.  They were pushing and prodding us girls, but it was the boy who received the real beating.  They would have left us pretty much alone, but every time we tried to help our friend who had been horribly beaten, they’d start beating us up too.  I guess I blocked it all out of my mind.  For a long time I didn’t remember much about it.  But then, years later, I talked to my mother and my brother, and they told me how awful it really was.”

The public schools of Grenada were not integrated in 1966.  Or 1967.  Or 1968 or 1969.

The Grenada movement has been forgotten because it did not achieve its objective; but nowhere in America did a community come together in such an emphatic and disciplined fashion behind a human rights agenda. 

Dianna Freelon Foster wants to talk about the past.  She made a successful run for mayor of Grenada a few years ago because she wanted to help her community come to terms with its painful history.  Most of the most prosperous majority white neighborhoods had formed separate municipalities for the usual reasons, but when Ms. Foster was elected mayor these communities were quickly re-annexed by the city of Grenada and Foster was defeated.

“I’m the racist because I want to talk about the past.  Well, I need to talk about it.  Everybody does, but they just want to forget and move forward.  Most of our black children have no idea what happened in our community.  Their parents don’t want to think about it.  We all just live as if all the ugliness never happened.  But it did; and we need to deal with it.”

The next time Friends of Justice sponsors a civil rights tour in Mississippi we’re going to Grenada and Dianna Freelon Foster will be our tour guide.

By Alan Bean

After a day of listening to people speaking earnestly about human rights, I meandered back to the site of Occupy Philly.  As I arrived this evening, an earnest forty-something black guy was informing a cluster of twenty-something young people that every good and perfect gift can be traced back to the hippies of the 1960s.  In his view, the occupy movement was a recreation of the hippy spirit. 

His big idea was shoes.  Old shoes.  If everybody hung a pair around their neck, people would get the message.  

“What is the message?” I asked dimly.

“That people is missing in action; that voices are not being heard,” the man explained.

As I moved closer to the action I could see dozens of little discussion groups spread across the courtyard in front of Philadelphia’s city hall.

The group I joined was discussing the relative merits of keeping the small tent city where it is or moving to a more suitable location.  Everyone in the group I joined was about my age, which may be why I joined it.  Everyone, it seemed, was either old enough to remember the hippies or in their mid-to-late twenties with little representation from intervening age brackets.  It was also clear that 10% (or so) of the folks engaged in the discussion groups were homeless people.  A few of these folk were taking part in the discussion; most were simply listening.

When everyone had their say the GA (General Assembly) began.  The format of the meeting appeared to have been imported from the Arab Spring movement (as opposed to the Soviet revolution, as Michael Gerson has it in a silly column in the Washington Post.)  “Mike Check” someone would say.  “Mike check,” the crowd hollered back.  Then the speaker would line out his message in short bursts of verbiage reminiscent of a sermon in a black church.

“Our group discussed . . .” a speaker would begin.

“Our group discussed . . . ” the crowd echoed.

“The advisability of checking with city officials . . .”

“The advisability of checking with city officials . . .”

“As to whether permits would be honored .  .  .”

“As to whether permits would be honored . . .”

You get the picture.

All the speakers were white, most were young, and all were clearly college educated.  (The phrase “in terms of” always denotes someone who has spent an inordinate amount of time in a classroom, and I heard a lot of it this evening.)

At least a dozen people spoke tonight.  If the crowd liked the message, fingers waved in the air; if they didn’t like what they were hearing, fingers waved downward.  This too is an Arab Spring import.

The big concerns appeared to be: a. should we change locations so the city can renovate the plaza in front of city hall?; b. what are we going to do in preparation for the first blizzard; and c. what can we do to capture the attention of the city?  The most prominent answer to the last question was the occupation of vacant city properties.   A veteran of the US infantry suggested that, like an army, the occupying group should find a way of symbolically signifying its ownership of the new property.

Several speakers advocated setting up a separate community with its own schools, living quarters and food supply.  That way, it was explained, “we don’t have to worry about what everybody else does.”

Listening to these speakers I was seized by an odd sense of deja vu.  Then it struck me.  I was recalling “The Church and American Utopianism,” a course church historian Bill Leonard taught at Southern Seminary in the late 1970s.  One of the primary texts came to mind, “Heavens on Earth:  Utopian Communities in America 1680-1880.”

This wasn’t Oneida, Amana or the Mormons–this was Philadelphia in 2011; but the basic spirit is the same.  Something new is happening here that will change everything. 

In that sense, the spirit of Woodstock is alive in the Occupy movement, but in a much more earnest, vital and focused way.  I haven’t seen young people this centered since I was young myself–and that was a long, long time ago.

Like all utopian communities, the occupy movement will enjoy a relatively brief life span.  It’s current form is glorious and inspiring, but it isn’t sustainable.  Still, it might evolve into a permanent social force far more influential than the fear-and-resentment-drivenTea Party.

As I was leaving, I passed a homeless woman who was ranting at Barack Obama.  “Pick a lane,” she told the President, “it’s time to decide whose side you’re on.”  (expletives deleted).  It mattered not whether anyone was within twenty feet of her, the diatribe continued.  She had been on the same topic twelve hours earlier when I visited the tent city after breakfast. 

A homeless man approached and promised to tell me five really funny jokes for a dollar.  Number five I had heard before (one through four were too crude to repeat in this family forum).  “What’s the greatest nation on earth?” he asked.  “A do-nation.”  Now he was asking for four dollars–five if I could spare it.  I gave him two and moved on.

Long after the Occupy people have packed up their tents the mentally ill woman and the panhandling comedian will remain at their posts.  But I’m glad the Occupy people are doing what they are doing and I hope they are still hanging on when the flowers of Spring are in bloom.

By Alan Bean

Thus far, the Occupy movement has set up camp in parks and in front of symbolic centers of power.   Alec MacGillis of the New Republic has some excellent suggestions (in today’s Washington Post) for some other sites that are highly deserving of occupation; places like Wal Mart, the Bill Clinton library (Bill oversaw a massive reduction in the capital gains tax), Harvard University, and several other deserving targets. 

Melanie Wilmoth and I are in Philadelphia attending a human rights conference and our hotel is located just a few blocks from the city’s historic city hall.  There wasn’t a lot of life at 9:30 am, but Mike, the guy at the Information booth, told us things would be hopping if we came back at 7:00 this evening. 

I asked Mike about the demographics of the movement and he admitted that “we’re mainly white and college educated, so far.”  Mike is fifty and, like me, a trained theologian and pastor with Baptist roots.  “I’m mainly into house churches now,” he told me. 

But Occupy Philly is actively reaching out to the minority community. I asked about the digital divide and Mike smiled knowingly.  “This movement is driven by technology,” he admitted.  “That’s probably a big reason why most of us are so young.  I’m fifty, and I try hard to stay on top of the social networking innovations, but there’s something new out there every time you turn around.  We’re in constant contact with all the big Occupy operations across the country and we’ve got people working on all the big issues all the time.

If you go to the Occupy Philly website, you can see a video of Mike marrying a couple outside City Hall yesterday.  That’s something they’ll never forget! 

Now comes the big challenge; preparing for the onslaught of winter.  “We’ve got that covered,” Mike tells me. “We’ve got people working on tents that are 100% insulated.  People are already wearing four layers of clothing in Philly and it’s only November.  Occupy Philly hasn’t had a lot of press, largely because local law enforcement has been very open and flexible and political officials drop by occasionally to chat. 

We’ll try to get back to City Hall later this week and give you an update.