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About The monitor. (Omaha, Neb.) 1915-1928 | View Entire Issue (Sept. 11, 1919)
THE LATE RACE RIOTS White Woman Writes Her Personal Experiences in Recent Race Troubles in Washington. (From The Nation, New York.) To the Editor of The Nation: Sir: On Tuesday night, when so many in Ledroit Park feared a mob and a general massacre, and when most white men believed that a white woman who ventured into that section would be literally devoured, I took it into mv bead to go there and go I did. I went for several reasons. One was to prove that a white woman could do it; another because I knew what had been done by the authorities and thought that a little reassurance from a lone and harmless woman might go a good way, for I guessed the probable psychological state in that section. Resides I wanted to know at first hand that the Colored people were doing and thinking. I found out. If I talked to one Colored man, I talked to a hundred and fifty. Occa sionally I would stop to speak to one I knew; oftener I would accost a group of unknown men and ask them for their views. Always and every where I met with courtesy and at tention. As we talked, men would ap pear from the shadows—seemingly from the night itself—until there were perhaps twenty of us. Only once did I see a policeman, who glanced at us curiously, but said nothing and passed slowly on. And when we had fin ished our talk, the group would melt into nothingness and I would pro ceed on my auest. I saw no women at all. And the men—why, those men were not out to “start something.” They were armed, most of them, and were quite frank about it, hut they did not want a tight. They said they were out to see if a mob was coming, and, if there were, they were going home to barri cade themselves; then if the mob tried to get in, there was trouble ahead. As one put it: “A man would be less than a man if he did not fight for his family and his home.” Their state of mind was not primarily fight. It was fear, a perfect hysteria of dread lest, as more than one expressed it, “a new East St. Louis” was at hand. And, as with all hysteria, a small occurrence would have set them off in a frenzy. Dynamite! They were TNT. Again and again I was asked: “Is a mob gathering on Penn sylvania avenue? Will they come up and bum us out? Is the Park cor doned. For they did not dare go down town far enough to see if the troops were really there. Over and over, 1 heard the pathetic question: “Do the white folks care? Does anyone rare? Are they really doing any thing?” I told them that the best of the whites did care, but that they were helpless. I told them also that measures had really been taken that afternoon and what they were—that them ree.'ly was military, as well as police protection. One queer old man lemarked: “Well, I reckon some buddy do care, or a white lady wouldn't come out to tell us about it.” A one-handed soldier said: “I en listed; I gave the country my hand, and I was ready to give more. When I was ,n France, I was a man and a soldier, but when I got back here I’m not a citizen; I’m not a man, even— just a big, fciack brute.” It was not said bitterly; it went deeper than bit terness. He spoke like a man with a Droken heait. Another said: “They said this is to protect the white wom en. My father was in charge of a whole plantation and a family of white women during the civil war. They weren’t afraid to leave the white wom en with us then, and Colored men are no different now." Many of them expressed a liking for, and confidence in, the captain of the precinct, and, when a man of one race speaks well of a man of another, during a race riot, that means some thing. But they spoke of the lack of Coioied police, and the fact that Col ored men were being dropped from the force and that none had been appoint ed since 1010. “You know,” they said, “that we could talk better to Colored police. They would reason wit! the people and not just knock them 'round. They know who the people are and what is going on, and they could stop a lot of trouble with out arrests. But they don’t want to give us a chance.” I saw but one noisy Negro, a half The Monitor’s Phone Number ___ , Douglas 3224 i witted and dishevelled-looking fellow, 1 talking loudly and belligerently. Two Colored men seized and thoroughly I shook him, telling him that if he did not “shut up and get home,” he would <ertamly find things happening to him. Once an excited Colored boy came flying on a bicycle with the news that a white mob had formed inside the cordon and was on its way. "Let’s go meet them,” said one young hot head. This was at once negatived. “We’ll watch and see if they are com I mg, and if they are, we will go home and lock the doors. That’s what Cap tain Doyle said, and he knows what’s what.” So, for a few tense moments, we stood peering into the drizzly gloom, not knowing what might after all he about to come. But all was quiet, and we silently drifted our I ways. And thus it went for two hours. I n et them—not savages, not red-hand ed murderers, but citizens, hunted anu terrified, looking more or less ; hopelessly to their government for j aid: human beings craving the hand of brotherhood and cut to the very heart. I thought of Belgium. I re membered that my country stands abioad for liberty, justice, and the rights of men, though she has them not at home. How blind we are, we Anglo-Saxons who talk of freedom and have not yet freed our souls. But still I hope and dimly see a dawn— red, it is true, but still a far-off dawn. A white man once said to me: “You talk like a Negro. You seem at times to Identify yourself with them. Have i you lost vour race consciousness?” I \ replied: “I hope I think enough like them to show you how they feel. I hope I always lose race consciousness when it stands in the way of my con sciousness of common humanity.” rlhen he said a queer thing: “I do not know whether you are mad or in -p:red.” I had been thinking of going to Serbia, but I believe my duty is j here. I believe that our country needs all of us who are standing along the color line. I am ready to do anything possible, to whatever limit. If you, to v hom I look as a leader in this sit uation, should ever need my seivices, you have bat to speak. My soul is aflame, not with the glare of the de stroying torch, but with the steady, incandescent glow which cannot be extinguished. Washington, July 20. E. G. M. •THE TORTURED NEGRO OR THE CRY FOR JUSTICE” THIS is the title of a unique epic dealing with racial friction in the United States, by an eminent Jewish j poet of California, Mr. Louis Muchel. The Colored people throughout the land will be interested in the brochure just published by the California Eagle Press. The telling blows struck for truth by the author can readily be ap preciated from the following ringing words which comprise the first chap ter: j Strike out, oh Lincoln land, cry loud Once more for freedom, truth and right; Strike out for justice clean and proud— Justice at home with love and light; No world can be peaceful and free— Nor can we guide the nations all— When this republic fails to see The Negro doomed, pathetic thrall! Strike out, oh land, thy shame, thy, sore— itelj Oh, strike thy Negro child no more!— : America, thy glory balks, Thy liberty not fairness spells, The liar blooms, the lyncher walks With head erect, the braggart yells Of whites supreme, of black folks crushed, Of state rights’ yams and other crimes— America, thy pulse is hushed And freedom dies in madmen’s slimes; Oh, break the tortured Negro’s chains And save thyself from shame and pains! We give the Negro flag and sword, The front line in huge battles’ roar— We give him sometimes praise cf word Hut all times insults and back door; We close the shops, the chance for him And ridicule his race, his face, His soul we wreck, his light we dim— Oh God, is this a land of grace? The black horse thrives, the black coal bums, The black man suffers! weeps and yearns! What right have we to lynch the clan That toil in peace and fight in war? Why scorn with Jim Crow car Ham’s man And steal his ballot, book, bread, bar? How can we be a nation true If tend’rest hearts we martyr wild?— No black man our presidents slew— Kind soul has he just like a child And brains and brawn and traita that are A national need and shining star!— We forced him here crude, undefiled, A nature man, a chattel slave— Through blood and tears, reviled, be guiled He bore his burden, honest, suave) | When John Brown rose and Lincoln spoke We wrung the shackles from his wrist, But forged a subtler, tricky yoke Of jealousy and race-hate mist! How can we when he has made good Deny him mankind’s brotherhood? He stood the test of gun and pen; He winged the heights of muse and art; He trod the road of greatest men; He scored in steadfastness and heart; He gave the world the nobler thought; “Be kind and merciful to foes, Be gentler far than those that wrought The iron heel, the bitter woes!” In pains he cheered, in tears he smiled A freeman, though at home, exiled!— From auction block to lynching post, From bloodhound chase to Jim Crow car, From flogging brute to Ku Klux ghost, From old-time gag to racial war— The scenes have changed, the forms are new, But persecution still blights here— The Negro, like the wand’ring Jew' Moans crucified in Gentiles’ sphere!— But through fire, blood, rope, scorn and thorn Ham’s hosts will rise, soul-cleansed, reborn! From slave-bound state to modern d radge Was fateful span of strife-marked years!— No rebuffs, snubs or meanest grudge— No slayers’ bands, nor cowards’ fears Can squelch the race, nor halt its pace, Nor this republic to find light, As wondrous progress in scant space The Negro won with hardest fight! No other tribe on earth has done So much, so quick in spiteful zone!— Strike down, oh Lincoln land, strike down The biased knave, the lynching mob!— Thief, burglar, muid’rer, rapist, clown Not typical make black man’s job!— To foist rare crimes upon a race So brave in stress, so meek in peace Is national sin and white disgrace— Great God, when will this slander cease ? The Negro as a race not rapes, The W'hite man as a race fate shapes! The Only Solution Let right prevail and W'rong disband And purge our land from tyrant’s laws— When Negroes die w’here white men stand Black blood destroys oppressors’ claws! Home, school, church, court, farm, mine, wold, mill, The public grill and sleeping place— Thyself, dear land, thy heart, mind, will Belong to both, white and black race! The earth must be safe hearth for all, White cannot stand, if black must fall! Don’t go around with a chip on your shoulder, because it offers a strong temptation to some other fellow to knock it off. RACE BOOKS AND PERIODICALS Our Boys and Girls A weekly newspaper for our youth, $1.00 per year; 50c for 6 months. 64 West 140th St., New York City. The Negro in American History By Prof. John W. Cromwell, $1.40 and worth more. 1439 Swann St., N. W., Washington, D. C. The Negro Soldier By John E. Bruce “Grit”. The glor ious record of America’s black heroes, 25 cents (no stamps.) 2709 Madison Ave., New York City. The Crusader Magazine The Greatest Negro Magazine of America. $1.00 per year and cheap at that. 2299 Seventh Ave., New Yoik City. A monthly Review of Africa and the Orient, $1.50 per year. 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