An NAACP chapter of a different hue

Aiming to expand his membership, national president explains, 'Colored people come in all colors'

By Krissah Thompson
The Washington Post

WARREN, MAINE -- Benjamin Todd Jealous pulls in front of the prison compound, passes through the only unlocked door in the building and surrenders his BlackBerry and driver's license to guards. He is ushered quickly through a metal detector, then past a heavy green door that clangs shut.

A guard hands him a big beeper to clip to his tailored gray suit. "Push the red button if you feel threatened," he is told. The beepers are given only to the prison's most important visitors, and Jealous -- the national president of the NAACP -- qualifies.

He is led down a concrete path into a courtyard surrounded by a four-story-high chain-link fence topped with glinting barbed wire. He then passes through another heavy door that locks with a click and finally into a large room where 92 inmates are waiting.

A grizzly bear of a white man with a shock of gray hair on his chin stares from the front row. Near him, a young white guy, arms thick with muscles, leans back in his chair. Three rows behind, a balding white man with blue letters tattooed across his forehead sits quietly. White face after white face, inmate after inmate -- a sea of white men with few exceptions.

Here they are: the Maine State Prison Chapter of the NAACP.

And here is Jealous: on a mission to do no less than revitalize his aging organization in a racially changing America.

In other words, a sales call.

"Hey, guys," he says.

On the drive up from Portland to Warren, Jealous laughed at the memory of his first trip to the prison. When he sat down with the warden and said, "Thanks for bringing me to Maine. My grandfather is buried here," an awkward feeling of surprise hung in the room.

"There are things you just don't expect the president of the NAACP to say," Jealous said, driving through the countryside.

And there are places the president of the NAACP is just not expected to be. Such as a prison, in Maine, which, according to census projections, is 95.3 percent white, making it the whitest state in the country.

"No one's been here in half a century," Jealous said, zooming past a small town. By "no one," he meant no one from the NAACP's top leadership.

Though the organization has 2,200 chapters, Jealous has taken a special interest in this Maine group because of the NAACP's ongoing attempts to reach beyond its core in the black community. The association's membership has been stagnant at about half a million members for years, and part of Jealous's plan to increase that number is to be more inclusive.

He has formed an alliance around health-care reform with the country's largest Latino advocacy group, and in recent speeches has highlighted examples of diversity in the NAACP's ranks: the Bangladeshi chapter president in Hamtramck, Mich.; the Southeast Asian presidents in Seattle and San Jose; the Latino executive committee members in the Southwest; the Native American members in Alabama and Oklahoma.

More than any other example, though, the Maine prison chapter has become a kind of symbol of the 100-year-old civil rights group finding its way on the shifting terrain of race. Jealous talks about the chapter frequently, and as he deals with questions about the organization's relevance since Barack Obama was elected to the White House, he has returned here again and again.

Today's trip is his third since becoming president in September 2008. A busy man with a busy schedule, he once again finds himself in this large room with a crowd of mostly white prisoners, greeting a dark-haired white man in starched prison blues with the words, "Hi, Mr. President."

A voice for inmates

The man Jealous is talking to is William "Billy" Flynn, who is in for 28 years to life and is also president of the prison chapter. "All right, gentlemen," Flynn says, stepping to the microphone.

A poster of Malcolm X delivering his "By Any Means Necessary" speech is affixed to the front of the lectern. A cinder block wall is covered in fliers that read: "NAACP You Have the Right to Vote" and posters of Obama, the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. and Muhammad Ali. In more than a dozen posters, no one is white.

"There's some confusion when people see an Irish guy as president of the NAACP chapter," Flynn says later. "I've had my fair share of comments."

Standing behind the poster of Malcolm X, Flynn talks about what he considers the lack of rights for prisoners. Sentenced at 16 after pleading guilty to a highly publicized New Hampshire murder, Flynn, now 35, has spent his adult life behind bars. He did not know anything about the NAACP when he arrived and is surprised to learn that he is one of the few whites leading an organization chapter.

The history he does know comes from a few well-worn pages photocopied from books, passed down from the men who chartered the chapter to try to improve conditions in the majority-white prison. From those pages, he learned that the NAACP was founded 100 years ago by both blacks and whites, a fact he enthusiastically repeats whenever anyone asks him what a white man is doing in charge.

And if the question is why he is in the association at all, he explains that it seems better than the Jaycees and the Longtimers, the only other organizations the prison allows, because the NAACP chapter receives outside support. The leaders of the Portland NAACP branch and Jealous have been willing to meet with prison officials on behalf of the inmates. With "an extra-powerful support group on the street," Flynn says the prisoners can get the officials' attention. They have been able to get them to grant them lower phone rates and to issue new rules that let social groups meet more often.

Joseph "JJ" Jackson -- the chapter's vice president, who is black -- was locked up in May 1995 and knows Flynn well. "This is a black organization, but you have that felon beside your name and that makes you a minority," he says. "You're treated like you're black. Frankly, everybody needs civil rights here."

Flynn and Jackson take their work seriously. Flynn says he runs his meetings according to Robert's Rules of Order and mails out the minutes to the Portland branch of the NAACP, which sends them to the NAACP national headquarters in Baltimore, where Jealous's assistant reviews them. Together, the inmates and their backers on the outside were able to organize this meeting, where prisoners can register to vote.

During the gathering, Flynn tells the inmates seated before him in plastic chairs that Maine is one of only two states that gives inmates that right. He soon finishes his speech and sits down while the men fill out their cards.

A wary female guard stands at the door, eyes darting from face to face. Another guard walks the edges of the room. A prison administrator stands at the back holding her hand over her mouth as she talks to the guard next to her so that the inmates can't read her lips. The prisoners remain orderly and calm.

A rainbow of prisoners

Then Jealous speaks. He takes a moment to look out at his audience. A Native American with long black hair is sitting four rows from the front; and two black men, one bald and another with cornrows, are sitting in the back row. A Latino man is near the front, and a South Asian man is in the center of the crowd. The rest are white.

"It was pointed out that the name of the NAACP is the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People. That confuses folks sometimes," says Jealous, standing behind the wooden lectern. "As they say, colored people come in all colors."

The inmates laugh.

"No one should be denied the right to vote in this country -- period," Jealous ends.

From the front row, the grizzly-bear-looking inmate, named Richard, stands to applaud. Most of the other men do, too.

During this week, Jealous will travel to six states in six days, but unlike the fundraiser in Boston and the anti-police-brutality rally outside of Chicago, here he is confined. He cannot work the room, so he stands stiffly and takes a few questions.

Soon a guard taps Flynn on the shoulder. "Time to go. Wrap it up."

Jealous stands by the door -- another guard hovering over his shoulder -- shaking hands as the men file out. The buff young white man wearing a white T-shirt and gray sweats, says "Thank you." So does the chubby balding man with glasses. The gray-haired man with the blue letters tattooed on his forehead slips out without a word.

"Thank you. Thank you, sir. Appreciate it. All right," Jealous says as they leave.

The Native American inmate stops the line.

"Do you think you can help the red man get his headband like you helped the Muslim get his kufi?" he asks Jealous, who tells him to talk to Flynn and Jackson.

Jealous is then ushered out, too, back through the prison courtyard. Through a metal door that bangs shut behind him. He returns the safety beeper and is given his BlackBerry and ID. He shakes hands with the warden, Jeffrey Merrill, who thanks him for coming and invites him back. "It's educational," Merrill says. "The men need that."

Across the prison, doors are closing as the inmates are returned to their cells. Clang. Clang.

Outside, another door closes with a soft click.

"It's nice for a change not to see so many black folks," Jealous says as he pulls away.

Race Matters

Of note:

How were you treated when you were arrested?
They treated me better Down South than they did up North. The North is not always a refuge.

Questions for Benjamin Todd Jealous
By Deborah Solomon
The New York Times Magazine
Published July 30, 2009
Photo by David S. Holloway for The New York Times

As the new head of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, can you tell us how your organization plans to respond to the case of Henry Louis Gates Jr., the Harvard professor who was recently arrested for disorderly conduct at his own home — charges that have since been dropped — after he reportedly chewed out a cop who suspected him of burglary?
Our local volunteers are already engaged with the Cambridge Police Department, as we are with police departments across this country. The next step is passing the End Racial Profiling Act in Congress. Racial profiling is a constant drumbeat in this country. It’s a form of humiliation that strikes like lightning on a daily basis, and that is part of what Professor Gates was responding to. It’s hard to be in your house, told you’re a burglary suspect and then when you are no longer a suspect, told you are the problem.

Even so, many of us were surprised to hear President Obama accuse the Cambridge Police of acting “stupidly.” The president didn’t try very hard to extend his famous capacity for empathy to Sgt. James Crowley, who claims he was verbally abused by Gates.
I would be concerned if the Cambridge police chief didn't feel the same way.

The N.A.A.C.P., which just held its 100th annual convention amid much fanfare, was founded to advance civil rights. Why has the organization failed to take a stand on same-sex marriage, one of the most urgent civil rights issues of our day?
We’re engaged in fighting a whole range of issues of urgent relevance to the gay community and people of color in our country, including school bullying, hate crimes and employment discrimination. But we’re a barge, not a speedboat. We’re not going to repeat the mistakes of so many other institutions that have literally torn themselves apart over this divisive issue.

Exit polling suggested that 70 percent of black voters — the largest by far of any minority group — voted to make gay marriage illegal in California by voting in favor of Proposition 8 last fall. How do you explain that? The bond between black culture and church culture?
You’re looking at this from 50,000 feet. I’m looking at if from the ground, and I know that church leaders are on both sides of the debate. Black voters have been scapegoated — so many pundits blamed the passage of Proposition 8 on them. But it would have passed even if 100 percent of the black voters had voted against it.

Why do you think it’s such a divisive issue in the black community?
If gay rights groups want to change the opinion polls in the black community, they have to invest in it. It’s a long-term conversation. The battle to oppose Prop 8 could have been much better run. They came to the black community late, with the expectation that they were going to get certain results.

So you think gays should mobilize blacks instead of expecting you to?
That’s exactly right.

As the son of a white father and a black mother, do you refer to yourself as black?
Yes, without qualification.

What was it like growing up with the name Jealous?
People tended not to forget me. I embraced it as a competitive advantage.

You're 36; you were born after the big civil rights struggles. Do you think that makes your generation more willing to work within existing channels of power?
You’re talking to somebody who was kicked out of school for organizing student protests and has gone to jail in New York and Mississippi for civil disobedience. So draw whatever conclusions you want.

You’re also a Columbia graduate and a Rhodes Scholar. So you must have done something right.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, so they say.

How were you treated when you were arrested?
They treated me better Down South than they did up North. The North is not always a refuge.

INTERVIEW HAS BEEN CONDENSED AND EDITED.

President Barack Obama addresses 2009 NAACP Convention

In the news

100 Years Old, NAACP Debates Its Current Role

By Krissah Thompson
Washington Post Staff Writer
Sunday, July 12, 2009

NEW YORK -- In the beginning, the purpose of the nation's oldest civil rights organization was well defined: to achieve equal justice under the law for black Americans.

One hundred years later, as 5,000 members of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People gather here to set an agenda, little is so clear-cut.

The NAACP faces a slew of questions: Has the election of the first black U.S. president marked the end of the civil rights agenda? Must an organization traditionally focused on the plight of black Americans expand its mission? What should a black civil rights organization do in 2009?

The NAACP has long been a prism through which to view the puzzle of race in America, and the current uncertainty promises to be a presence at its week-long centennial convention, which will include addresses from President Obama and Attorney General Eric H. Holder Jr.

The association's president, Benjamin Todd Jealous -- who at 36 is the youngest person to ever lead the organization -- acknowledges the pride his membership takes in hosting the first black president and attorney general but argues that their ascension does not negate the need for the NAACP. In many ways, the convention this week sets out to prove that point.

Jealous began the year by laying out his vision for an organization focused not solely on old civil rights battles, but on human rights as well. He envisions an NAACP primarily serving a black constituency but with a broader outlook.

"We are a very black organization, but we are not a black organization. There is a difference. It's the difference between being able to play the black position on the field and being able to play any position," Jealous said. "We are from our origin a multiracial, multiethnic human rights organization."

In his approach is a subtle nod to the need to respond to modern times by recalibrating the NAACP's approach to issues of race. The association, which claims more than half a million members, will host conversations on the impact of racial disparities in the criminal justice system on African American and Latino communities and on the meaning of recent Supreme Court decisions as they relate to affirmative action. It will also host a diverse panel of youth activists who are working with people of various races, ethnicities and backgrounds to deal with national and global human rights issues.

"We have succeeded in many ways -- Obama and Holder are examples of that -- but we are very much focused on the work ahead," Jealous said yesterday at the convention's opening news conference, standing with the president of the LatinoJustice PRLDEF to show solidarity in their support for Supreme Court nominee Sonia Sotomayor.

Hazel N. Dukes, longtime president of the NAACP New York State Conference, agreed, saying, "The NAACP is alive and well." Referring to the 2,000 young people attending sessions this week, she said, "We're teaching them our history."

But appreciating the association's venerable history and finding a way forward are separate issues, historians and young activists said.

David Garrow, a civil rights historian and author of the book "Bearing the Cross," a biography of the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., argues that there has been a shift away from the traditional notion of black civil rights because of the steady growth in black civic participation and decline of civil rights-era protest organizations.

So is NAACP at 100 facing the end of the civil rights era?

"It's just sort of a definitional question," Garrow said. "It's a conundrum of the label. . . . The transition from one era to another in terms of African American civil rights is really marked by the movement of African Americans into civic life and government. One could say that the election of Barack Obama marks the end of an era. It signifies the complete inclusion of black people at all levels of politics."

The presence of a black man in the nation's highest office has become a stand-in for the 1960s civil rights movement's ideal of fuller social integration of black and white communities, Garrow said. Core concerns of that time, such as geographic integration and redistribution of income, are no longer central to the discussion.

Young activists are defining their work in different terms. Basheer Jones, a 24-year-old talk radio host in Cleveland, is not a member of the NAACP; he says the organization has been out of touch. But he is attending his first NAACP convention -- at the invitation of an older member -- and calls himself a community activist, not a civil rights activist.

"This new generation of leadership has to be different. We have to have the same courage and enthusiasm, but we have to unite a little bit more despite your religion, your socioeconomic status," said Jones, who believes the current struggle is class-based. "It's a different time."

Rinku Sen, an Oakland activist who is president of the Applied Research Center, a think tank on race, said the landscape for a civil rights agenda has shifted with the country's demographics. She sees the NAACP's decision to broaden its mission beyond the black community as timely but probably difficult.

"There are a lot of new players in the game as immigrant communities have matured," Sen said. "People have the urge to come together but often find it difficult to build staying power for those alliances, and quite a lot of that loops back to racial dynamics and our inability to resolve them. There are real differences in how groups pushing for racial justice experience the problem. African Americans, Latino immigrants and South Asian Muslims don't fit in exactly the same place in the hierarchy."

Darren Hutchinson, a professor at American University's Washington College of Law, said the NAACP may face an even larger problem moving into its second century.

Americans are dealing with "racial exhaustion," he said. "A lot of people are tired of talking about race. They have to find a new language for dealing with these issues."

Jewel Shears, who joined the New Jersey chapter of the NAACP last week, said the weariness some have about the subject inspired her activism. "Race is something that we have to keep talking about with all of the disparities that exist," she said. "We have to do our due diligence to help the cause."

Jealous pointed to a "constant drumbeat of racism" to make his point.

"On the one hand, we see the image of a black man getting off Air Force One. On the other hand, we see photos of kids getting turned away from a swimming pool," he said. "We can't be post-racial until we are post-racism, and until we get there, we will be on the watch."

NAACP President Benjamin Todd Jealous calls for fair confirmation hearings for Supreme Court nominee Sonia Sotomayor at the organization's 100th convention in New York. Jealous has said he seeks to broaden the organization's mission to encompass more than black civil rights issues. (By Yanina Manolova -- Associated Press)

Workshop on plan to move DSS out of Hudson

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Friday, May 29, 2009

For more information:
Linda Mussmann at (518) 209-7966

Information sharing, community questions and Plan D on the agenda

HUDSON -- The BOTTOM LINE will host an informational workshop 6pm to 8pm, Wednesday, June 3, on the current plan to move the Columbia County Department of Social Services away from Hudson to Claverack. The workshop will present new information and clarify ongoing issues in an effort to help the community better understand the impact this decision will have on their lives. The meeting will take place in the all-purpose room at Shiloh Baptist Church, 14 Warren Street, Hudson.

Several alternatives emerged both before and since county lawmakers purchased the former Ockawamick School (Route 217 in Claverack) for $1.5 million, and then formulated the "Ockawamick Plan" to move 15 county departments outside of Hudson, the county seat. First there was Plan B, then C. The Bottom Line would like to continue the discussion with the presentation of another option -- Plan D.

Plan D is the most economical suggestion thus far and calls for maintaining the primary DSS office at its current location on Railroad Avenue. This option includes the construction of a new addition to the existing building and office reorganization, along with a healthy dose of efficient space management. The pros and cons of this idea will be part of the discussion on Wednesday.

The Bottom Line wants to hear from the public. Come and share your thoughts on the plan that will relocate DSS six miles into the countryside, next door to a country club. While the location may be appealing to the individuals that constitute the county Board of Supervisors, it is not a place easily accessible to mothers with children, the disabled and the elderly, those who are mandated to visit the office on a regular basis.

County human services, along with a network of supporting professionals and organizations are located within Hudson and must remain in place. The Columbia County Courthouse, Columbia Memorial Hospital and many law offices serve the same clientele. And because public transportation does not exist, basic accessibility to services is the issue.

What's more, with this decision, the county leadership signaled its intention to dismantle Hudson as the county seat. The relocation of DSS is just one part of the scheme, but it is arguably the most destructive because it will require massive busing of Hudson and Greenport residents (more than 60 percent of all DSS clients reside in the 12534 zip code).

"We are not convinced that 'busing people' is an idea that is prudent for a number of reasons," said Linda Mussmann. "Mainly because it will further stigmatize people already having a hard time. It's a cruel decision and wrong."

"The idea is wrong on a practical level. While the location may have been suitable for a school of the late 20th century it is totally inappropriate for a human services building in the 21st, a time when we must cut down on fuel consumption," Mussmann said.

"Our elected officials -- Art Baer, Doug McGivney, Phil Williams, Linda Scheer and Roy Brown, in particular -- are making bad choices. The decision to expand outside the city is foolish because this is a time when we should be developing thrifty and sensible ways and means of using small cities," Mussmann said.

Join us Wednesday night to learn more about how this plan will impact our community, and to voice your opinion. Be informed, write or call your elected officials. Tell your chosen representatives what you think about this plan to destroy the centralized delivery of human services.

"Stop the sprawl y'all!"

Join us 6 p.m., Wednesday (June 3) at Shiloh Baptist Church, 14 Warren Street, Hudson.

About the Bottom Line:
Founded in 2001, the Bottom Line Party focuses on issues that effect
the health, safety and economic well-being of all Hudson residents,
but especially for the working class and poor.

For more information:
Linda Mussmann at (518) 209-7966

###

BOTTOM LINE: Community Speak-Out Tuesday

Learn about Plan B and join in the discussion

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Friday, April 10, 2009

HUDSON -- The BOTTOM LINE will host a community speak-out 6 p.m., Tuesday, April 14, to learn more about Plan B, and discuss the decision to move the Columbia County Department of Social Services away from Hudson to Claverack. The meeting will take place at the First Presbyterian Church (Warren and Fourth streets, Hudson).

The Bottom Line wants to hear from the public. This meeting is an opportunity for the community to learn more, and speak out about the two proposals:

• Plan A, which will move DSS to an abandoned school building, six miles outside the city of Hudson.

• Plan B, an idea to keep DSS in Hudson (where the majority of clients live), and locate it just steps away from the existing county human services building at 325 Columbia Street.

Hudson Mayor Richard Scalera will present the details of Plan B, the idea county Board of Supervisors President Art Baer (R-Hillsdale) refused to make available to the full board prior to its March 11 vote. That plan calls for the construction of a new 30,000 sq. ft. DSS building and a new parking garage on Hudson's north side, directly adjacent to existing county facilities. Scalera will provide an artist's rendering of the projected structures and discuss the estimated costs.

The evening will also include a presentation by the BOTTOM LINE PLAYERS, a live performance in puppet-style theatrical ways and means, recapping how we got into this state of affairs. The characters include THE CHAIR, MAC GIMME, PLAN B, and more.

Coffee and donuts will be available to kick off the event.

Plan A, as approved, will relocate not only DSS, but the Veterans Office, the Public Defender and Probation, as well. Anyone requiring the services of these offices and/or seeking specific assistance with Medicaid, energy assistance (HEAP), health insurance or any other form of temporary/emergency assistance will be required to travel. Lacking a public transportation system, those without access to a private vehicle will have to travel via taxi ($20 roundtrip) or walk.

It is a long walk to Claverack from Hudson. Six miles out and six miles back. Speak out! Let us open the door to this closed-door backroom deal that was rushed to a vote, long before the Board of Supervisors had all the facts.

This rush to judgment by county leaders created a tremendous burden for the people of Columbia County, especially the most fragile among us. We will have to live with this decision for a very long time.

Join us Tuesday night to learn how this plan will impact our community, and to voice your opinion. Tell our elected officials that the decision to move key social services away from the people who need them most is a very bad idea, especially when an economically viable alternative exists.

Join us 6 p.m., Tuesday (April 14) at the First Presbyterian Church, Warren and Fourth streets, Hudson.

About the Bottom Line:
Founded in 2001, the Bottom Line Party focuses on issues that effect the health, safety and economic well-being of all Hudson residents, but especially for the working class and poor.

For more information:
Linda Mussmann at (518) 209-7966

In the news

Reactions to DSS vote vary
by John Mason
Hudson-Catskill Newspapers

COLUMBIA COUNTY — Wednesday’s decision to move the Department of Social Services six miles out of Hudson to the former Ockawamick School was not a surprise, but it did spell relief for some and disappointment for others....

Alan Skerrett, county chapter president of the NAACP, was disappointed in Wednesday’s vote, but said, “Many people out there last night believe we need to continue to resist this move and will continue to resist any way we can. There seems to be a consensus of caring people that we can’t play dead.”

Speaking of caring people, Skerrett said he was most disappointed by what he saw as a lack of sensitivity among the decision-makers.

“People never respond, ‘We know it will be difficult, and we’re going to be sure it’s not a hardship.’ They never offer anything to that effect. At least say something to the effect that ‘We know this will be a hard road to go, but we’ll do our best to make it as feasible as possible.’ There’s no remorse: It makes them seem even more callous in their mission.”

He said Mayor Rick Scalera offered a dramatic contrast in his brief, but eloquent statement that was from the heart.