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I was only in Ruleville for three days while preparations were being finished for my assignment in Shaw, a small all-black community in the Delta. Our first task in Shaw was fixing up a small one-room shack that had been donated for use as a community center. We added a small library of books, fixed the broken windows, and added a phone. I planted a lawn in front. A passerby told me that once you get Mississippi mud between your toes you can’t get it out, but that didn’t work on me. I only returned once, in 1973, and things were still so bad I have had no desire to return since.
Once the center was ready we held an open house. The day was pretty uneventful, with a steady stream of visitors. I had a long conversation with a couple of local black teachers. Since we were planning a standard civics course as part of our program, I enquired as to what was being taught in the schools. Nothing! They told me they would be fired immediately if they ever tried to teach the U.S. Constitution!
As night began to fall a long line of pickups suddenly appeared, driving slowly past, over and over again. We all hit the floor and turned the lights off, trying to make the place look empty. We called SNCC headquarters in Greenwood and were told just to stay put. One of the volunteers was the son of a California congressman and he called Washington, the FBI, everyone he could think of. About 10 p.m. our staff contact, Bradford, appeared and told us there were sheriff’s cars with shotguns on both ends of the street checking everyone entering or leaving (except for the pickups). We ended up spending the night sleeping fitfully on the wooden floor. By morning the pickups were gone. Later the sheriff came by and chided us for over-reacting — they were only trying to protect us. Yeah, right.
We’ve been ’buked and we’ve been scorned
We’ve been talked about sure’s you’re born
But we’ll never turn back, no we’ll never turn back
Until we’ve all been free
And we have equality
Our classes started out great. The students were enthusiastic, ready to take on an entrenched system of apartheid. But the local schools opened for the summer, and we lost most of our students.
I then spent most of my time canvassing for voter registration. It wasn’t an easy sell. The names of applicants were published in the local newspaper. Those that had jobs were usually fired. Worse, homes were shot at and people beaten after trying to register. At one home a disembodied voice came out from the closed shades next to the door: “Go away, I don’t want to get killed.” He added, “See that lady on the porch at the end of the street?” “Yes.” “She tells the white folks everything she sees.” Not many doors opened to us on that street.
I also accompanied an Episcopal priest from New Hampshire as he visited white church pastors in Greenville. Most refused to see us. The few that did told us that we didn’t understand: their blacks were like children who couldn’t make it on their own. A couple of pastors told us yes, they agreed with us, but if they ever said so publicly they would be fired.
Weekly meetings were held at night in black churches, with lots of singing, speeches, and testimonials of people who had gone to register to vote. Registering was proving to be a liberating event. One woman testified she was asked, “Hattie Mae, you isn’t part of this, is you?” “Yes’m. I is.” “You’re fired!” Hattie Mae was dancing as she related this. It was her version of “Take this job and shove it.” Another elderly lady confided in me that she was so incensed at her working conditions that she regularly added chicken manure to the food she prepared for the family she was working for twelve hours a day, six days a week, for fifteen cents an hour.
Blacks were going to the courthouse daily to register to vote. To my knowledge, none of them ever succeeded in registering. They were given a four-page application form that included copying a section of the Mississippi Constitution, selected by the registrar, and writing an interpretation. Passing or failing was at the discretion of the registrar, with no explanation.
As it turned out, the main point of all this was to document what was happening and present it to the U.S. Congress. One of several civil rights acts was passed in 1964, and a voting rights act was passed in 1965 that sent federal registrars to fourteen southern states to register voters.
Toward the end of the summer caucuses were held in each county to elect officers of the Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party and pass resolutions. The local blacks were familiar with the procedure because they elected leaders in their churches. They were more familiar with Robert’s Rules of Order than I was. Delegates were selected to attend a state convention inJackson. From there delegates were selected to go to the national Democratic Party convention and challenge the all-white regular Mississippi Democratic Party delegates. Behind the scenes negotiations offered them observer status for two delegates. Even that outraged the regular Mississippi Democratic Party delegates and they stormed out in protest. But that didn’t satisfy the Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party delegates, and they refused the offer. They were still able to present their case to the entire convention. They got their point across.
About Robert C. Hargreaves
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