Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Jerry Watts - The Crisis of The Negro Intellectual Reconsidered (2004)
Jerry Watts - The Crisis of The Negro Intellectual Reconsidered (2004)
Jerry Watts - The Crisis of The Negro Intellectual Reconsidered (2004)
Edited by
JERRY WATTS
ROUTLEDGE
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Published in 2004 by
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John Blassingame
Sylvia Boone
Carl Price
Nellie Jean Sindab
Lisa Sullivan
Phil White
Joe Wood
Contents
List of Contributors ix
Introduction 1
JERRY G.WATTS
Index 325
List of Contributors
Jeffrey Melnick
Babson College, Wellesley, Massachusetts
Fred Montas
Ph.D. Candidate (Political Science)
Cornell University, Ithaca, New York
Nikhil Pal Singh
Department of History
University of Washington, Seattle
Penny M.Von Eschen
Department of History
University of Michigan, Ann Arbor
Alan Wald
Department of English
University of Michigan, Ann Arbor
Jerry G.Watts
American Studies Program
Trinity College, Hartford, Connecticut
Traci C.West
School of Theology
Drew University, Madison, New Jersey
Introduction
JERRY G.WATTS
Thirty-five years after its initial publication, Harold Cruse’s The Crisis of the
Negro Intellectual remains a foundational work in African American studies and
American cultural studies. Serious students of twentieth-century American
intellectual history and the history of twentieth-century American intellectuals
must wrestle with Cruse’s text not merely because of the various arguments
contained in the book, but also because of the immense influence of the book on
subsequent generations of American intellectuals, particularly African American
intellectuals. The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual captures an African American
intellectual sensibility that was very widespread and influential during the late
1960s and early 1970s. Though not exhaustive of all of the major currents in
black thinking of that period, the text is a bellwether of sorts. The book is somewhat
akin to I’ll Take My Stand, the bible of the Southern agrarian intellectual
formation.1 One now reads I’ll Take My Stand not only to understand certain
romanticized and reactionary images of America that were attractive to some
southern white American intellectuals during the early decades of the twentieth
century, but also to touch base with a foundational ideological statement that
generated many supportive and oppositional responses. The significance of I’ll
Take My Stand can only be adduced by situating it amid those intellectual
forebears who gave rise to it and those intellectual responses that arose in its
wake. Similarly, the significance of The Crisis is greater than the mere
arguments contained within the book’s covers. Much like I’ll Take My Stand,
The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual announces a significant intellectual
formation and stands in the crossroads of numerous debates.
When published in 1967, The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual was one of the
very few texts that treated African American intellectuals as
intellectually significant. The longstanding racist marginalization of African
American intellectuals within mainstream American intellectual discourses came
under intense attack during the 1960s and ’70s, at least within black intellectual
circles. Neither an announcement for the “death of white sociology” nor a
declaration of the irrelevance of white literary assessments of black literature via
the invocation of a black aesthetic, The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual was
nevertheless partner to this black nationalist intellectual moment insofar as it
constituted a call to arms for African American literary and artistic autonomy.
2 • JERRY G.WATTS
faculties of predominantly white colleges (and fewer still outside of the black
studies programs), American higher education appeared to be beginning to
recognize the parochialism of its past.
The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual was published during a highly contentious
moment in African American political life. The nation was in turmoil over the
war in Vietnam. Civil rights advances appeared to be waning. The Crisis
appeared three years after the passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and two
years after the passage of the 1965 Voting Rights Act, two acts that were seen by
most within the leadership ranks of the civil rights movement as cornerstone
achievements in the struggle for equal black citizenship rights. Writing with a
thirty-five-year hindsight, we can see that the civil rights movement and the
resultant civil rights legislation successfully ended most aspects of de jure
segregation in the United States. These new laws finally placed the authority of
the federal government behind the enforcement of the Fourteenth Amendment.
The Voting Rights Act fundamentally altered the political status of blacks in the
South. There, black residents began to vote at a higher rate than blacks
elsewhere. In the decades following the passage of the Voting Rights Act,
thousands of blacks would be elected to local, county and state offices in the South.4
The rise of the black Southern vote, when coupled with the deep black-voter
attachment to the Democratic Party at the national level, generated a white
backlash that revitalized the Republican Party in the South as the party of whites.
White Southerners embraced the “Party of Lincoln” in order to flee the
Democratic Party, which had become, in their minds, too sympathetic to the
concerns of blacks and thus too unsympathetic to their own issues. The rejection
of the Democratic Party by white Southern voters did not necessarily extend to
all local and state Southern Democratic elected officials. Though the South had
become a two-party region, it remained politically segregated.5
The monumental successes of the civil right movement at obtaining federally
enforced legal equality including voting rights for Southern blacks were stellar
victories. However, the limitations of these legislative victories were almost
immediately apparent. Having obtained the vote, black Southerners began to
recognize the shortcomings of the liberal orientation of the civil rights
movement. Now that the fanciest of local restaurants were open to black
customers, how many blacks could actually afford to dine in them? Black
Southerners came to the realization that the right to vote did not automatically
translate into group economic mobility. Long neglected issues of economic
justice now rose to the foreground.
The black political optimism that arose as a result of the Civil Rights Act of
1964 and the 1965 Voting Rights Act was violently brought into question by
events in a predominantly black neighborhood of Los Angeles. During the summer
of 1965, a massive civil disturbance occurred that was unprecedented in the history
of urban American civil disturbances. Popularly referred to as the Watts riot or
Watts rebellion (depending on one’s political slant), this urban protest was a
testimony to the political despair of a segment of the black American populace
4 • JERRY G.WATTS
that had long possessed the right to vote but had come to the recognition that the
vote was not an efficacious mechanism for realizing economic inclusion.
Because of their different historical experiences with voting, black Southerners
felt enthused at precisely the point that black urban Northerners and Westerners
recognized the substantive limitations of voting rights and voting. If anything,
the national rhetoric celebrating America’s racial progress in the aftermath of the
civil rights legislation only added to the frustration of many blacks who
experienced no relief from their subjugation.
While Lyndon B.Johnson’s Great Society programs would continue
throughout the remainder of his term in office, the massive escalation of the U.S.
commitment to a war in Southeast Asia drained resources that could have been
invested in the “War on Poverty.” In the contest between “guns and butter,” guns
won. By 1965, the United States had committed more than 500,000 troops to the
war effort. In addition, Francis Fox Piven and Richard Cloward have
persuasively shown that Johnson’s “War on Poverty” had never been intended to
systematically rid the nation of poverty.6 In response to Johnson’s Vietnam War
policies, an antiwar movement arose. Throughout America, news clips regularly
showed marching protesters, civil disobedience activists, and white “hard hats”
spewing venom against the protesters.
When the Cruse book first arrived in bookstores, the civil rights movement was
quagmired in a crisis of purpose from which it would never emerge. The
movement’s liberal integrationist outlook had been challenged, if not replaced, in
many sectors of black America by black nationalism and black power advocates.
While we cannot assume that most blacks were advocates of black nationalism,
it was clear that black nationalism had attained a significant presence and
respectability within the ranks of black political activists, intellectuals, and
college students. Insofar as the civil rights movement was in decline following
1965, black nationalism took on the appearance of a rebellious ideology. This
image of insurgency was further highlighted by the rhetorical fire, fervor, and
excesses that came to dominate the speeches of the perceived leaders of the black
power movement. Their rhetorical insubordination, which first gained credibility
following the events at Watts, was further reinforced by the black riots/rebellions
that took place in Detroit in 1966 and Newark in 1967. Stokely Carmichael,
H.Rap Brown and Eldridge Cleaver became media celebrities. Fortuitously for
Cruse, his book appeared at precisely the moment that a rhetoric of revolutionary
black nationalism had popularly emerged to challenge the liberal integrationist
praxis of Martin Luther King Jr. and his spiritual confreres.
Despite its long and rich tradition, the black nationalism that emerged during
the late 1960s was never saddled with the aura of defeat as was its counterpart,
integrationism. Integration, a project premised on restraint and gradualism was
unable to withstand the understandable frustrations of those whose dreams were
repeatedly deferred. Nothing served as better proof of this than the images of
silhouetted black figures darting in and out of stores engulfed in flames.
INTRODUCTION • 5
Enter Harold Cruse. Within black activists and intellectual circles, The Crisis
of the Negro Intellectual loomed as a major source of black political debate.
Blacks on various sides of the political spectrum sharpened their ideas through
interrogations of the book. It was as if Cruse had provided an interpretive format
for understanding urban rebellions and the new mood of militant assertiveaess.
Furthermore, he had issued a call for black intellectuals to give direction to the
angry but chaotic black masses. Black anger, dissatisfaction, and frustration were
insufficient for emancipation. Blacks needed a program of action, and only black
intellectuals could provide it. In granting black intellectuals/artists the role of
formulating that plan of action, Cruse appealed to their honest desires to become
“relevant.” Furthermore, to the extent that The Crisis offered a critique and
condemnation of the white Left, many white intellectuals and scholars wrestled
with the implications of Cruse’s arguments and what they might harbor for an
emergent New left.
The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual does not easily lend itself to summation or
linear analysis. The sheer multiplicity of Cruse’s arguments, assertions, and
innuendoes precludes an all encompassing, singular critique. If there is any
conclusion that can be reached after reading the essays contained in this
collection, we might agree that it succeeds primarily in raising numerous
important questions concerning twentieth-century African American intellectual
life. The hyperaggressive, if not dogmatically didactic, nature of this polemic
leads Cruse to grandiose statements. His assessments of individual African
American writers could by themselves generate a volume of critical responses.
Individual chapters on figures like Richard Wright, Claude McKay, and Lorraine
Hansberry have not stood up well in regards to scholarship then and now.
Because of his provocativeness, Cruse’s errors and miscalculations have
sometimes stimulated rich scholarly responses. On other occasions, his errors
were sufficiently grotesque so as to demand complete denunciation. For
instance, Cruse’s ad hominen attacks on the political behavior of West Indian
intellectuals in the United States has given rise to a devastating rebuttal by
Columbia University historian Winston James. In fashioning this wonderful
rebuttal, James has provided us with an entirely new, historically nuanced
discussion of twentieth-century West Indian radical intellectuals in the United
States.7 Even Cruse’s thesis about the Communist Party as a dominator of black
cultural production has been refuted by insightful counter arguments written by
Mark Naison, William J.Maxwell, and Bill V.Mullen, among others.8 The point
here is not that the desire to rebut Cruse has singlehandedly inspired the work of
numerous scholars. Instead, Cruse can be viewed as a serious participant in the
reevaluation of the American intellectual Left during the first half of
the twentieth-century. Those whose subsequent studies revise, refute, and even
condemn his arguments are but partners with Cruse in an ongoing revisionist
conversation.
Due to the attitude and vantage point of its author, The Crisis of the Negro
Intellectual has often been viewed as a solitary enterprise standing outside of any
6 • JERRY G.WATTS
Robert Chrisman, the young editor of the new journal The Black Scholar,
would pen a thoughtful review titled “The Crisis of Harold Cruse.” Published in
the initial issue of The Black Scholar, Chrisman would call The Crisis, “a
remarkable achievement,” noting, “Documentation is thorough and extensive;
many texts and sources on black experience emerge for the first time or are
pleasantly renewed and the index is excellent. The Crisis of the Negro
Intellectual is by far the most impressive history of black intellectual
development to emerge in this decade.”14
Chrisman sees real problems in The Crisis despite the book’s brilliance. He
believes that Cruse is unnecessarily confusing in his use of the term culture.
Cruse, Chrisman argues, employs only an esthetic sense of the term when in fact
he should also have utilized the idea of culture in its more functional,
socialscientific sense. Moreover, he accuses Cruse of vicious anti-Semitism in
his use of Jews as a scapegoat for black intellectual failure. Challenging Cruse’s
belief that culture precedes political and social change, Chrisman declares that
“if art alone could make revolution, there would be daily upheavals.” Finally,
among other shortcomings, Chrisman believes that The Crisis “does not resolve
its own conflicts nor fulfill its thesis. It rides through its 500 pages on a razor’s
edge of ambivalent fury. The fury is more precise and lethal when it is turned to
blacks…. When turned toward the individual and institutionalized oppression of
white America, the fury of Cruse sputters, fizzles, and fails. Fails, falls back
upon itself and any black within its range. Having evaded an analysis of
American capitalism and economic racism and the relationship between
capitalism and culture, Cruse returns to his favorite whipping boy, the black
intellectual.”15
In a vein similar to Chrisman’s, Ernest Kaiser, an older black leftist, also
criticized Cruse for letting American capitalism “off the hook.”16 Insofar as
Cruse accepted capitalist America as a permanent given, he was forced to
construct an argument for black emancipation that did not bring into question the
nation’s economic structure. Appearing in the black leftist intellectual organ
Freedomways in the winter of 1969, Kaiser’s review of The Crisis would be by
far the most condemnatory analysis of the text published in a major journal. It
was not surprising that Kaiser and his conferes at Freedomways would give such
prominence to a review of The Crisis, for Cruse had repeatedly attacked the
Freedomways crowd in the book. Kaiser’s review offers numerous examples of
conceptual confusion in Cruse’s book. For instance, Kaiser views it as absurd
that Cruse could assert that black intellectuals should have worked out a
synthesis of Marcus Garvey’s economic nationalism (orthodox capitalism) and
Marxism. How could the two be synthesized? Most important, Kaiser is the
only early reviewer of The Crisis who was sufficiently familiar with the Harlem
intellectual scene and the treatment of blacks within the Communist Party to be
able to challenge Cruse on the facts of his arguments. In conclusion, he
considered The Crisis a dangerous and wrongheaded text.
INTRODUCTION • 9
The essays contained in the present volume are collectively a testimony to the
continuing significance of The Crisis despite its shortcomings. This collection
includes critics of various perspectives who continue to read the The Crisis in
vastly different ways. There has been no attempt on my part as editor to generate
any consensus of perspectives on the Cruse text. I disagree with many of the
arguments contained within, and yet I am thrilled to be able to publish a
collection of essays that are resolutely serious in their approach toward Cruse. In
so doing I hope to pay homage to a thinker worthy of continual reconsideration.
Most of the authors herein have chosen to discuss specific arguments made by
Cruse. Some have utilized Cruse’s arguments to launch broader discussions of
various issues pertaining to African American intellectuals. Still others have
contributed discussions on intellectual issues completely ignored by Cruse.
Van Gosse provides a penetrating profile of the enigmatic Cruse. Despite the
prominence of The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual, Cruse has been highly
successful at keeping himself outside of public view. Most readers of The Crisis
have known little about the intellectual trajectory that gave birth to The Crisis.
Gosse’s discussion of Cruse’s life before the publication of The Crisis of the Negro
Intellectual fills an important gap in our knowledge of the noted author. One
fascinating aspect of Cruse’s life that comes through in this interview is Cruse’s
unusual introduction to Marxist thought. Cruse notes that he was introduced to
Marxist thought by the left-wing Italian partisans who were simultaneously
fighting against Italian fascism and the Nazi occupation of Italy. Intrigued by
Cruse, Gosse has penned a sensitive portrait.17
Martin Kilson has provided an ambitious if somewhat scathing critique of The
Crisis of the Negro Intellectual In large part, Kilson is baffled by the ways in
which The Crisis celebrated a neo-Booker T.Washington, racially
accommodationist, self-help tradition and yet retained its patina as a militant
black nationalist text. Kilson believes that Cruse’s most glaring error lay in his
willingness to denounce liberal-leftist integrationists at precisely the moment
that this sector was involved in the civil rights movement, the largest progressive
African American political movement in United States history. Yet Kilson finds
much to be excited about in many of Cruse’s formulations.
Like Kilson, but for very different reasons, Nikhil Pah Singh provides
penetrating criticisms of some of the twists and slips in Cruse’s arguments. He
situates The Crisis amid writings that Cruse published before and after it. In so
doing, Singh allows us to perceive alterations in Cruse’s thinking that Cruse
never acknowledges in his writing. Singh views Cruse’s work as an American
precursor to the emergence of cultural studies in the United States.
Jeffrey Melnick’s critique of Cruse’s discussion of George Gershwin
opens new vistas for delineating cultural exchanges between Jewish Americans
and African Americans. Cruse depicted Gershwin as a member of the cabal of
leftwing Jews who milked and exploited black culture, and believed that the
Jewish Gershwin’s ability to market Porgy and Bess as authentically black not
only stemmed from Gershwin’s privilege of whiteness but resulted in lesser
10 • JERRY G.WATTS
opportunities for the artistic exploration of black folk culture by black writers
and playwrights. Cruse thus found him to be an interloper. Melnick concludes
that Cruse’s understanding of the appropriate art for blacks and for Jews is rooted
in racial essentialistic ethnic/racial aesthetics and thus does not truly comprehend
the rich interplay between ethnic cultures.
One of the major absences in Cruse’s text is a serious consideration of the
political and cultural implications of black music. James C.Hall offers an
important critique of Cruse in regard to his apparent unwillingness to consider
jazz musicians as artists of the highest caliber (on par with literary artists such as
novelists) who confronted and promulgated ideas through their art form. Cruse,
Hall notes, concentrates on the absence of an African American-controlled
artistic infrastructure that could support jazz and jazz musicians. Hall recognizes
Cruse’s concern as justifiable, but he criticizes Cruse for not having mentioned
attempts by blacks to create such infrastructures in regard to music. Hall wonders
if black capitalist owners of record companies and others in the music industry
would be governed by an ethic any different from that of white record company
owners. Additionally, Hall criticizes Cruse for omitting a discussion of actual
creative forms and styles of jazz and the fact that black jazz musicians were
conspicuously engaged in creating music that challenged the homogenizing
tendencies of consumption-oriented capitalism. Hall also reminds us of Cruse’s
dismissal of African American popular music (such as that of James Brown).
Given the seminal influence of African American music on American culture and
society, Hall’s essay is utterly important.
Cheryl Greenberg delves into one of the most controversial aspects of The
Crisis of the Negro Intellectual, Cruse’s discussion of the relationship between
blacks and Jews. Unlike Cruse, Greenberg provides a thoroughly documented
and nuanced discussion of the conflicts and partnerships between the two
groups. While she acknowledges that blacks and Jews often clashed over issues
deriving from their economic differences, she also notes that there were
differences within the Jewish community toward blacks, and vice versa.
Alan Wald utilizes his essay to discuss Cruse’s claim that blacks within the
Communist Party were the dependents of Jewish cultural arbiters within the
Party. Wald argues quite persuasively that Cruse’s depiction of black-Jewish
relations within the Communist Party is not accurate. He utilizes a reading of The
Lonely Crusade, Chester Himes’s 1947 novel about black-Jewish relationships
within the party in Los Angeles during the early 1940s. Wald then analyzes in
detail specific claims Cruse makes about the supposed controlling behavior of
Jews toward blacks within the party, as well as the supposed obsequiousness of
black Communist Party members to their Jewish superiors. Nevertheless, Wald
has no doubt that there were individuals within the party who behaved in the
manner described by Cruse.
Earl Ofari Hutchinson, author of Blacks and Reds, a history of the conflict and
cooperation between the U.S. Communist Party and African Americans, offers a
synopsis, of sorts, of that extended work. He believes that Cruse is both correct
INTRODUCTION • 11
in describing the paternalism of the Communist Party toward blacks and incorrect
in understating the significance and sincerity of the party’s attempts to engage
black Americans. Yet Hutchinson believes that Cruse was absolutely correct in
dissecting the party’s fear of black nationalist sentiments among black people.
Simply put, the Communist Party was fearful of what it could not incorporate;
thus, black nationalism would be deemed reactionary by party leaders even as
late as the era of Malcolm X. In this sense, Ofari thinks that Cruse understood
something about blacks and black consciousness that the Communist Party never
grasped.
Penny M.Von Eschen shrewdly discusses the ways that Cruse’s vision of the
domestic political possibilities were premised on an acceptance of the U.S.
participation in the Cold War with the Soviet Union. By divorcing domestic
political concerns from an analysis of U.S. imperialistic ambitions in
undermining decolonization struggles around the globe, Cruse was unable to
grasp the authentic democratic impulses behind Paul Robeson’s anticolonial
politics. Cruse, caught in a cul-de-sac of Cold War reasoning, labeled any
criticism of U.S. international behavior as pro-Soviet.
Kevin Gaines focuses on the personal animosity and political conflict between
Cruse and black writer Julian Mayfield to underscore Cruse’s misreading of the
international concerns of many progressive black intellectuals during the period
of African decolonization. Like Von Eschen, Gaines highlights the shortcomings
of Cruse’s commitment to Cold War politics and his resultant inability to grasp
the significance of international politics on domestic American race relations.
Julian Mayfield and a sizable cadre of progressive African American
intellectuals (including W.E.B.DuBois) became expatriates in Ghana shortly
after its independence. Under the leadership of the charismatic Kwame Nkrumah,
independent Ghana became a symbol of African possibility. It was a place where
the new politics of the “third world” could begin to unfold. Many black
American intellectuals thought that they could realize their pan-African
sensibilities by placing their talents in the service of Ghanian nation building.
Insofar as Ghana attempted to avoid a non-colonial relationship with both the
Soviet Union and the United States, the expatriates in Ghana were viewed by the
American government as antithetical to this nation’s international interests.
The essay by Traci C.West offers a rather pathbreaking discussion of the
sexism that precluded African American women access to one of the few
blackcontrolled infrastructures for the dissemination of ideas. While most black
ministers are not intellectuals, those who are constitute one of the largest
constellations of organic intellectuals in the African American community. The
sexist exclusion of black women from pulpits constitutes a phenomenal waste of
intellectual talent in a community direly in need of all the thinkers it can get. In his
well-known essay, “The Dilemma of the Black Intellectual,” Cornel West
pronounces the black preacher tradition as one of two organic intellectual
traditions in African American life. While we may not agree with his assertion,
we cannot ignore the central role that the ministry plays in the dissemination of
12 • JERRY G.WATTS
ideas in black America. In her essay herein, Traci C.West focuses our attention
on an intellectual arena within black America in which democratic discourse is
utterly distorted. Given Cruse’s conspicuous avoidance of any discussion of the
relationship between African American intellectuals and the black church
tradition, as well as his thoroughly weak consideration of African American
female thinkers. West’s essay on African American female religious intellectuals
could not have been centered around a critique of The Crisis.
Beverly Guy-Sheftall’s essay is a short commentary on Cruse’s disregard for
the ideas of female African American intellectuals; Cruse could have more
accurately titled his book The Crisis of the Negro Male Intellectual Except for
Lorraine Hansberry, whom Cruse mentions only to pillage, no singular female is
analyzed. Given Cruse’s belief in the artistic value of mining African American
folk culture, one might have expected him to confront the writings of Zora Neale
Hurston. Furthermore, it is not clear why Cruse ignored Ida Wells-Barnett, given
his fondness for highly assertive black thinkers. The highly politicized writer and
Communist Party fellow traveler Alice Childress was also given only a
perfunctory mention.
Molefi Kete Asante, the founder of the Afrocentrism intellectual movement,
believes that in many respects, Cruse’s work was a precursor to Afrocentrism. In
highlighting Cruse’s argument for the importance of black cultural autonomy,
Asante argues that Cruse and Afrocentrists similarly understand the problems of
African American identity confusion. The primary difference between the
Afrocentrist and Cruse is that Cruse did not recognize that African Americans
were Africans in America. Had he recognized this, and grounded his call for
black cultural autonomy in an African cultural identity, Cruse might have been
able to realize his project of freeing black intellectuals and artists to realize their
highest creativity.
Peniel Joseph contributes a perceptive discussion of Cruse’s intellectual
development. He utilizes Cruse’s biography as a means for understanding the
vicissitudes in his thought. Joseph offers insight into the origins of Cruse’s
resentment toward Lorraine Hansberry and Paul Robeson. Reading Joseph, it
becomes clearer just how phenomenal it was that Cruse, a struggling writer who
was working odd jobs to make ends meet, could muster sufficient discipline to
write The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual, a massive and ambitious work.
Though Cruse labored in obscurity before the appearance of The Crisis, he would
become an honored figure among subsequent generations of black nationalist
intellectuals.
Fred Montas, a young political theorist, attempts to situate Cruse’s notion of
ethnic-premised cultural democracy within a discussion of the
theoretical preconditions necessary for a dynamic democratic individuality.
Montas argues that Cruse’s advocacy of black nationalism places blacks in a
cul-de-sac from which they could never authentically realize the richness of their
humanity. Black nationalists, like Cruse, would intentionally preclude open-
ended African American quests to experience the world around them, for Cruse
INTRODUCTION • 13
Notes
1. Twelve Southerners, I’ll Take My Stand (New York: Harper & Row, 1930).
2. Christopher Lasch, The New Radicalism in America (New York: Knopf, 1965);
Richard Pells, Radical Visions and American Dreams:Culture and Social Thought
in the Depression (New York: Harper and Row, 1973).
3. See Jerry Gafio Watts, Heroism and the Black Intellectual: Ralph Ellison, Politics
and Afro-American Intellectual Life (Chapel Hill: Univ. of North Carolina
Press, 1994).
4. For a history of the impact of the 1965 Voting Rights Act (and its extensions) on
the American south, see Quiet Revolution in the South: The Impact of the Voting
Rights Act, 1965–1990, Eds. Chandler Davidson and Bernard Grofman (Princeton,
N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1994); Controversies in Minority Voting: The
Voting Rights Act in Perspective, Eds. Bernard Grofman and Chandler Davidson,
(Washington, D.C.: Brookings Institution, 1992); and J.Morgan Kousser,
Colorblind Injustice: Minority Voting Rights and the Undoing of the Second
Reconstruction, (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1999).
5. For an overview of the rise of the Republican Party in the South in response to
perceptions about the Democratic Party’s allegiances to blacks, see Earl Black and
14 • JERRY G.WATTS
VAN GOSSE
In the thirty years since the publication of The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual,
Harold Cruse’s analysis of the necessity of a cultural revolution in America by
African Americans has exerted great influence, often critiqued but never
superseded. As Manning Marable notes in his history of postwar black activism,
it is “the most complex theoretical work produced in the Black Power period.”1
Though his ideas continue to receive attention, Cruse himself remains elusive,
despite a fifty-year career as an intellectual activist. It may be that he wanted it
that way, and has effectively controlled his own representation through sheer
force of textual authority. The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual is explicitly about
Cruse himself, his crisis or “Crusade” (as Julian Mayfield punned at the time),
but its intense personalism on the intellectual plane serves to render the rest of
the author’s life opaque. This reticence, combined with Cruse’s fiercely
polemical style, makes him an apparitional figure in the story, there and not
there, as if he is always standing on the side, noting for future appraisal the
follies around him. He etches in acid a vast range of political actors since the late
1940s—in Robert Chrisman’s memorable aphorism, “Cruse may not be the
gadfly of Athens, but he is certainly the horsefly of Harlem”—but his own role
remains elliptical.2 By the author’s own admission, “talking very much about
myself and my own political exploits…would have necessitated another kind of
a book—a political autobiography, a genre I was not interested in.”3
The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual was followed in 1968 by Rebellion or
Revolution? selected essays introduced by a brief, eloquent memoir intended to
“explain some of the activities in which I was involved” and “the line of
critical progression which led to the publication of my first book.”4 Taken
together, the two books present Cruse’s political career as a series of sour
failures, the only merit of which was to force his intellectual evolution. This
progress toward enlightenment is described as “a road leading deeper into a
peculiar kind of American cultural sickness, a pathological region of the
American psyche defended by political and cultural antagonists of all kinds I
came through it all badly mauled, scarred, traduced, defeated in a score of battles,
but determined to win the war even if that required becoming a critical Kamikaze
fighter on the cultural front.”5
18 • VAN GOSSE
A more succinct explanation came in his terse account of how he had known
LeRoi Jones years before they went to Cuba together in 1960. After all, Jones
MORE THAN JUST A POLITICIAN • 21
was not yet famous at all in those years, just a young man out of the U.S. Air
Force trying to find his way in the Village Beat scene. To Cruse, however, there
was nothing odd in his knowing the poet Jones, “because I was more-than just a
politician.” Jones confirms that he knew “Harold Cruse, the writer…from my
MacDougal Street days, often in the Cafe Figaro. (He lived then in a furnished
room on West 23rd or West 14th, and was always complaining about how
Broadway producers were turning down musicals he was writing.)”14
From this passing comment one gleans a sense of a strikingly different Cruse—
a would-be writer of hit Broadway shows first and a polemicist after. It is
unclear how many musicals, plays and novels he did write, but the biographical
squib for his second published article, “Race and Bohemianism in Greenwich
Village,” a short piece of cultural commentary in the NAACP’s Crisis in January
1960, noted that “he has written three plays in search of a producer and is now at
work on a novel giving a panoramic view of the Negro in the Village.” Several
of the dramatic works are extant. The New York Public Library has a play script
dated 1960 and titled Irma Tazewell: The Maid’s Dilemma (A Play in Two Acts
and Eleven Scenes). Two different versions of a musical called Headline Hetty
are at New York’s Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture (the first
from 1955, with book and lyrics by Cruse, and a 1959 revision with lyrics by
Cruse and Edward Bland and music by Bland). Notes from a class he gave in
1965 have Cruse mentioning that in 1961 he had written a musical “around Pearl
Bailey. Took years to get lyrics; another year for money (millionaire sponsor),
found composer—$2000 for score…. Later, Bailey refused.”15
From the manuscript of Headline Hetty one gleans some idea of Cruse’s
literary interests and style. Not having heard the music or seen the show, one can
still venture that Cruse’s later readers would be surprised by Headline Hetty. It is
in no sense political, nor does it aspire to the dramatic gravitas of the tradition
leading from Oscar Hammerstein to Stephen Sondheim. Headline Hetty is a light
piece with no discernible dark tones or larger agenda, and reads like a Guys and
Dolls, Harlem style, rather than a Brecht-Weill musical. Besides Hetty, “a
newspaper girl,” its main characters have Damon Runyonesque names like
Boney Bigdeel, Stella Bella, Ace, Joe Elbow, Professor Lownote and Amy
Tattle. The chief dramatic device is a floating chorus of Shoe Shine Boys who
inhabit the archetypal Harlem corner where Hetty plies her trade until fortune
hits. The song titles are perhaps the clearest indication of Cruse’s
romantic, sentimental and popular bent in the style of the wisecracking
1930s—“I’m Gettin Up in the World,” “There’s a Boom in the Love Market,”
“The Horse-Sense of Consequence,” “I’m A-Hungering for Scandalmongering,”
“This Side of Heartbreak,” “Where Love Birds Fly,” and “What Used to be a
Lady,” among others.
These semirevelations (for those who knew Cruse in the 1950s remember his
literary bent, while those who met him in 1960 and after know nothing of it) may
seem of little consequence. It would be a mistake, however, to underestimate the
centrality of Cruse’s literary ambitions to his life.
22 • VAN GOSSE
In the most obvious terms, it appears that Cruse spent at least 15 years actively
trying to get his plays staged, with no luck. In his angry 1968 review of The
Crisis of the Negro Intellectual, Julian Mayfield wrote that as far back as 1949,
“Mr. Cruse had written a play…the left wing off-Broadway theater groups,
which were the only ones encouraging black writers then, had all turned it
down.” In this same review, Mayfield also suggested that “more than a decade after
Lorraine Hansberry, as Cruse implies, revealed herself to be hopelessly
integrationist and a puppet of the white Marxists, he was asking her to lend her
name, prestige and money in support of his musical play….”16 Since Hansberry
first turns up in The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual as a young writer for Paul
Robeson’s newspaper Freedom in 1952, one gathers that Cruse’s request that she
read one of his musicals came in 1963 or later, which is confirmed by his own
testimony that when he left Liberator magazine at the end of 1964, and signed a
book contract with the publisher William R.Morrow, he was at the same time
writing and producing a musical play with other writers, including Frank Fields,
who had written the music for Jules Dassin’s 1946 film Body and Soul with John
Garfield and Canada Lee.
Besides these play scripts and the memories of others, friendly and otherwise,
there is additional contemporary evidence that as late as 1960 Cruse defined
himself in literary rather than political terms. Before he went to Cuba, and
through the same association with Richard Gibson, Cruse was invited to contribute
to a special July 4 issue of the now legendary Cuban cultural weekly Lunes de
Revolucion, focused on “Los Negroes en USA.” This was no small event,
because Gibson had also rounded up pieces from such eminences as James
Baldwin and Langston Hughes, as well as well-established writers Mayfield and
John Henrik Clarke.
It is odd and indeed interesting that although Cruse went all the way back to
his Daily Worker days for the collected essays in Rebellion and Revolution?
reprinting four brief film and theater reviews, he omitted his contribution to
Lunes de Revolucion, which came at a critical time in his evolution and was a
serious comment on “El Arte Negro y El Arte Occidental” (“Negro Art and
Western Art”). In this essay he meditated at some length on what we now call
Eurocentrism: “The idea of Greek superiority in literature, theater, the plastic
arts, philosophy and science is a Western idea. Many works have been written
affirming that all that is superior in Western society had its origin in the
Greek tradition. From this belief comes the idea that only the white race can
create great art.” From here he goes on to talk about Sidney Bechet, Ellington,
Porgy and Bess, and Dvorak’s use of black musical themes in his “Symphony
for a New World.” He indicts Benedetto Croce and Bernard Berenson for their
aesthetics of racial exclusiveness, and suggests that “the United States is the
ultimate hope for white supremacy in the politics and economy of the world, and
therefore in its art,” but that “art in the United States does not represent our
multiracial composition.” The most interesting comment comes at the end, where
Cruse is identified as “Novelista y dramaturgo norteamericano conocido como
MORE THAN JUST A POLITICIAN • 23
agudo essayista estudioso del arte negro” (“North American novelist and
playwright known as a sharp essayist studying Negro art.”)17
A focus on the theater is evident even in Cruse’s published political writings.
In The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual he anatomizes the history of the black
theater, rather than painting and the other visual arts, or poetry, or the novel. He
indicated his deep affinity for the musical stage more directly in Rebellion and
Revolution? in describing his Harlem boyhood and implicitly how it led to
“creative impulses I had for other kinds of literature which are neither forensic
nor theoretical nor polemical.” Harlem “introduced me to the exciting and
impressionable black vaudeville world of the local theaters” and “great
personalities” like Ellington, Calloway, Hines, Webb, Basie, Henderson and
more—a “black theatrical art…not only unique but inimitable.” Besides his
heartfelt remembrance of the singer Florence Mills, “a stately female vision,
faceless in time, a radiant form in a darkened spirit house full of unseen
worshippers murmuring in cadence to rhythm and song,” what is most striking
about the memoir is Cruse’s casual citations of his intellectual influences.
Besides the philosophers Marx and Schopenhauer, and black writers like Hughes,
Wright, Du Bois and Locke, he includes the white playwrights O’Neill, Ibsen
and Shaw, and the now-forgotten drama critic George Jean Nathan.18
Cruse may have been known as a “sharp essayist” in 1960, but in reality he
had published exactly two essays; apparently, however, he was already
beginning to make his mark. In the late 1950s, he had “transferred his cultural
loyalties” to the American Society of African Culture (AMSAC), a spinoff of the
Paris-based Society for African Culture (SAC), founded in 1947, which became
a magnet for an emerging transnational group of anticolonial theorists, including
American expatriates like Richard Wright, radical but with a anticommunist
tinge. In 1957, Cruse had an article, “An Afro-American’s Cultural Views,”
accepted by SAC’s prestigious journal Presence Africaine, and on this basis he
became active in AMSAC when it was founded soon after. Almost immediately,
polemics ensued because of Cruse’s controversial claims in his Presence
Africaine article, and he participated in an abortive debate with the black critic
J.Saunders Redding, who later attacked him in the New Leader.19
The polite ambience of the CIA-funded AMSAC was evidently not enough to
contain Cruse’s new political and cultural interests, and soon came his fateful
engagement with the Cuban Revolution. As Richard Gibson, a former Agence
France Press correspondent then working for CBS and holding a fellowship at
the Columbia University School of Journalism tells it:
Wright in Paris in the 50s, maintaining the concepts of Black and White
more relevant than Left and Right. They shared the same hostility to the
Communist Party…. But at the time, the Cubans were declaring
themselves ‘humanistas’ not ‘communistas’ and he eagerly accepted my
invitation to him to go to Cuba with the FPCC delegation.20
On the basis of his acquaintance with Gibson, Cruse was one of the second-or
third-ranked black writers (Baldwin, Hughes, and John Oliver Killens had bowed
out) to participate in the now-legendary Fair Play for Cuba delegation in July
1960, which he described in The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual, as did Jones in
his prize-winning Evergreen Review essay “Cuba Libre.” By that time, Cruse had
already become active in an emerging group of quasi-nationalist “downtown”
black artists led by Jones, and this circle of contacts was the apparent basis of his
invitation to Cuba. Jones had begun by forming something called the
Organization of Young Men. As he later noted:
The March on Washington had been announced at this time by Martin Luther
King Jr., and appears to have provided the initial impetus for launching the FNP.
As Lynn put it in his memoirs, “I was skeptical…but decided to attend. If we felt
no viable program was enunciated, we would issue a call for our new party.”31 In
fact, the party was announced to the world in the most impressive of all possible
ways four days before the March on Washington, via a front-page story in the
New York Times on August 24, 1963, “An All-Negro Party for ‘64 Is Formed.”
This well timed preemptive strike considerably exaggerated the party’s
strength, declaring that a national committee of one hundred people had already
been formed under the acting chairmanship of Lynn, and an office opened in
Harlem. It also said that the “initiators of the national committee intend to
distribute handbills to participants” not only in Washington but in other cities,
and at factory gates, including the Ford River Rouge plant in Detroit—a
characteristic touch suggesting the Boggses’ involvement. The bulk of the article
by M.S.Handler, who covered black politics for the Times, provided priceless
publicity for the infant organization by quoting its first brochure:
At this late date it is difficult to sort out the sequence of events in the FNP’s
founding. No one involved remembers them exactly, and Lynn’s autobiography
is clearly mistaken when he writes that after King’s “I Have a Dream” speech
“The radicals repaired to the Park Sheraton Hotel to prepare our manifesto for a
Freedom Now party. After a five-hour meeting we agreed to form a committee
for a Freedom Now party with myself as acting chairman,” since the Times
article predates any such meeting.33
What seems apparent is that a small group got together in New York in late
1962. It apparently included Lynn, Worthy, a woman named Pernella
Wattley (who on July 22, 1963, joined Worthy in a polite sit-in at the United
Nations where they forced Adlai Stevenson to discuss South Africa), probably
Dan Watts and “perhaps others that had been on board with the Cuba issue.”34
As Worthy remembers it, Harold Cruse became involved “[a]fter we started
holding meetings at Pernella Wattley’s apartment. He lived on Fourteenth Street
and I lived on Nineteenth Street. The small group that began meeting, we were
fishing around for likely people,” so Worthy called Cruse, and went to his
apartment with documents. All that was involved was “mainly kicking around
ideas,” though Cruse did call him once to say he wanted to be chairman of the
program committee.35
MORE THAN JUST A POLITICIAN • 29
The main disagreement at the meeting was between the separatists and the
integrationists. A shaky compromise was reached: all candidates for public
office would be black, but individuals of whatever color were free to join
[In the coming months,] fending off the white liberals with one hand, it
was necessary to use the other to hold back the separatists. Many blacks
made it crystal clear they wanted no truck with white people. They were
particularly concerned that certain white radical parties not obtain a
manipulating influence in our councils.36
At the time, Worthy disagreed, writing in late 1963 that the party had to be all
black so as to avoid being “the political equivalent of CORE.”37 Cruse dismisses
the question of white participation as “a side issue, a mini-issue,” but clearly took
major exception to the interventions of “those established forces trying to come
in on it, the Communists, the SWP, the Black Nationalists, the West Indians, all
trying to make hay off the idea.” At that time, as he remembers it, there was
really “a mass movement” made up of “dozens of little movements, but none
were really together, all were acting up in the spirit of the times.” In the end, he
notes, “It just collapsed…. I realized finally it would never get off the ground, it
was part of my education. It was a bundle of contradictions, a melange of
activists stimulated by Cuba and Africa, ranting and raving.” Cruse goes on to
lay particular blame at the feet of the Michigan FNP, led by the Boggses and
their associates in the Group on Advanced Leadership (GOAL): “They went
back to Detroit and started their own, on their own, a separate faction. You can’t
build a national party if people go off on their own.”
Not surprisingly, after so many years, others remember it differently. No one
else, for instance, defines the relationship between the FNP in New York and in
Detroit as a “split,” to use Cruse’s words, or even remembers any particular
differences, though Lynn’s memoir does quote a hard-edged letter from
James Boggs:
30 • VAN GOSSE
“I wrote that I did not believe the party should be under any kind of
umbrella. If you want to know what I mean by an umbrella, I mean that it
should not be under the auspices of any radical group. And if you want me
to be more concrete, I am under the impression that the people you have in
Detroit and Cleveland are people whom you were given by the SWP. Are
they or are they not? And isn’t this true of some other places?
The other point I want to get home very clearly and very sharply. If
white radicals are saying they must be in the party in order for it to be a
party, then I am against the damn party…. There are going to have to be
some choices here. Are you going to have some Muslims or are you going
to have some whites and no Muslims? Because you are not going to have
the two….”38
It was copycatted from the FPCC ad in the Times, which had an excellent
response. But there wasn’t any similar response to the LCA ad, except for
many bitter comments from the American Committee on Africa, who
seemed to fear that militant and angry blacks were about to poach in their
liberal but mainly white preserve. The critics included the American
Friends Service Committee and pacifists opposed to French nuclear testing
in the Sahara. Dan Watts was disapointed to discover that the African
diplomatic corps in New York at the UN and in Washington, D.C. were
not very enthusiastic nor supportive. The FLN [Algerian National
Liberation Front] office in New York, headed by M’hammed Yazid and
Mohammed Sahnoun, who were personal friends of mine, were among the
more appreciative, as was Vusumi Make, then representative of the Pan-
Africanist Congress of Azania, in New York. (He was later to marry Maya
Angelou and move with her to Cairo.)41
From this somewhat inauspicous beginning, the LCA slowly grew, building an
audience among émigré Africans and the still relatively small number of African
Americans interested in current African politics from a radically anti-imperialist
perspective. In mid-1961, an office was opened near the United Nations; at that
point, the LCA’s principals included only Watts, Clarke, and a white man named
Lowell Beveridge, named as the magazine’s editor. Increasingly, the newsletter
became its main project. Liberator’s early issues featured in-depth articles on the
continent’s remaining colonies, plus publicity about cultural programs on
African themes in New York, often endorsed by the various U.N. missions from
the newly independent African nations.42 Considerable attention was given to the
travails of the African student population, which had come to America on U.S.
government-sponsored programs to combat communism, with numerous
32 • VAN GOSSE
smiling. Increasingly the emphasis was on New York City politics and black
theater and jazz, and a new group of young writers became editors (and
members, with Cruse, of the editorial board, announced in December 1963),
including Carlos Russell, C.E.Wilson, and Clebert Ford, a black actor gaining
prominence for his role in Jean Genet’s The Blacks. Especially notable were
sharp attacks on Martin Luther King, Jr. as a lapdog of the white establishment.
One cartoon showed Kennedy holding a leashed, docile King on all fours, and
telling a Southern cop, “No…. You hold your dog…. King doesn’t bite!” However,
the Liberator continued to also feature African National Congress statements and
the like.43 Testimonials were received from Mrs. Paul Robeson and Lorraine
Hansberry—” It is becoming an excellent publication”—rather than Nasser.
By this time, a woman activist who had been working with Malcolm X in
Harlem, Rose L.H.Finkenstaedt, was writing pointed articles about the direction
of the civil rights movement, including a December 1962 piece, “Needed: An
Afro-American Political Party,” that anticipated the FNP. In January 1963, her
husband, James Finkenstaedt, a white vice president with the publisher William
R.Morrow, signed on as a volunteer associate editor, though his main job was
handling circulation. Their connection to the Liberator proved to be a fortuitous
one for Cruse.44
Cruse’s first article, “Rebellion or Revolution? (Part One),” appeared in the
Liberator in October 1963, along with William Worthy’s article on the FNP, “An
All Black Political Party” (which was presumably no coincidence since all of the
parties concerned had been attending the same meetings). In this same issue the
sponsoring organization was changed from the Liberation Committee for Africa
to the Afro-American Institute, also indicative of a new direction. Over the
summer Cruse had decided to write some articles, and visited Watts.
Presumably, they had known each other earlier in the circle of On Guard, but the
magazine’s focus on Africa held little interest for Cruse; the organizing of the
FNP apparently brought them into closer contact: “I just sent him my stuff and
went to a few meetings where articles were presented…. It was very simple.”
According to James Finkenstaedt, Cruse was “invited to a Liberator meeting by
Dan Watts, and was immediately highly respected by the entire staff. He was
named to the editorial board in December, 1963….”45
Over the next year, Cruse’s in-depth analyses of black politics in the past and
present dominated the Liberator, as Finkenstaedt remembers it: “Cruse’s role at
the Liberator from the time of his first article in the issue of October, 1963…was
one of preeminence. He was probably the leading intellectual on the
staff.”46 These articles also greatly extended Cruse’s public reputation and later
formed the main body of his second book, Rebellion or Revolution? but that was
not all he published in the magazine.47 In November 1963, even before he officially
joined the editorial board, a short piece, “Third Party: Facts and Forecasts,”
appeared and was billed as the first installment of a monthly department, or
“forum.” In it, Cruse analyzed the August March on Washington as “the end
of an era,” the end of false hopes and “illusions.” The new phase would be an
34 • VAN GOSSE
Eventually, says Cruse, “I quit, I just quit. I got tired of wasting my time with
Dan Watts…a spokesman for that crowd at the U.N.”51 As of January 1965,
Cruse was off the Liberator’s masthead, with no explanation and no apparent
shift in the magazine’s politics. Indeed, that same issue had an article by Max
Stanford with a title, “Revolutionary Nationalism and the Afro-American
Student,” that consciously evoked Cruse.
Certainly, Cruse had other reasons for moving on. He was trying to both write
and produce a new musical with several others. His health was also precarious. His
1968 recollection states simply that “I felt highly satisfied in my Liberator role,
but it was short-lived because of certain ideological conflicts that were bound to
develop within the staff over editorial policy…. In 1964, during hospitalization
after an ulcer attack, I quit Liberator, finally convinced that only a lengthy book
would allow me to fully elaborate my views.”52
Most important, however, was his relationship with James Finkenstaedt, which
both men stress had nothing to do with their work on the Liberator. In
Finkenstaedt’s words, “My function as William Morrow Vice-President had
nothing to do with my activities for the Liberator. It simply gave me a certain
professional competence. I deliberately kept the two worlds separate. However,
through my contacts with the Liberator, I was able to introduce authors to
William Morrow. William Worthy, Imamu Baraka, Harold Cruse, Larry Neal,
Len Holt, Reverend Cleague, C.Eric Lincoln, Charles Hamilton were published
by William Morrow.”53 In early 1965, Finkenstaedt gave Cruse a contract for
two books: his collected articles, and a new work presenting his comprehensive
critique of black politics, which became The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual.
Morrow encouraged Cruse to write the latter book first, for the greatest possible
impact. In any case, it made a dramatic difference in Cruse’s life: for the first time,
he had the financial independence to devote himself exclusively to research and
writing.
One more significant political engagement remained before the publication of
The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual made Cruse famous, and moved him from
New York to the University of Michigan as a leading figure in the new discipline
of black studies. In 1965, Cruse’s old acquaintance with LeRoi Jones and the
respect he had gained as an analyst of black politics led to his teaching in Jones’s
celebrated but short-lived Black Arts Repertory School in Harlem.
Cruse’s class in “cultural philosophy” began on July 1, 1965. One of the
participants was Yuri Kochiyama, a Japanese American interned in World War
II who later moved to Harlem and became active in civil rights and nationalist
politics, including Malcolm X’s Organization of Afro-American Unity and
the Revolutionary Action Movement. According to Kochiyama, the class had
twelve to fifteen students, Harlem activists rather than intellectuals, “people who
were not that well read. But he didn’t seem to mind…we were really at
rockbottom in terms of left thinking.” Cruse was apparently a superb teacher,
patient and egalitarian, and “a very easy person to get along with. We all felt
very comfortable with him. He treated us very well…. As a human being, he was
36 • VAN GOSSE
From here Cruse went on to another of his major theses, that identity in America
is by “group,” that “the problem is group democracy, not class democracy,” and
the key question: “How can the Negro bourgeois class and the Negro ghetto class
ever come together?” This was only a prelude, however, to his synopsis of U.S.
capitalist development and the twentieth-century explosion of mass media,
making the “cultural aspect…a revolutionary idea applicable to Afro-Americans
because of the peculiar and unique way that the U.S. developed.”55
In this and the next class, on July 6, Cruse also gave his working-class
students detailed definitions of key words like culture, nationalism, integration,
assimilation, theory, revolution, democracy, prejudice, racialism (“no such word
as racism or racist in dictionary”), plurality, bourgeois, proletarian, nihilism,
socialist, anarchism, anarchy, dialectics, individualism, economics,
politics, pragmatic pragmatism, and aesthetic. He also focused at length on
Harlem as a “base of cultural movement” and a “base of nationalist
reorganization along political, economic and cultural lines,” examining in
intensive and specific detail how and by whom this might happen, and the need
for an “Afro-American cultural philosophy” because “[t]he route to democracy
lies in the control of the cultural apparatus.”56 The clash between European and
MORE THAN JUST A POLITICIAN • 37
Afro-American cultural forms, especially in music, was detailed, and the current
crop of black magazines like Liberator and Freedomways was critiqued.
To any reader of The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual, these phrases, themes,
and epigrams from Cruse’s lectures must seem very familiar, yet periodically he
did engage with issues left out of the book. These range from cooperative
economics in Europe and their relevance for Harlem to the politico-economic
strategy of the Cuban Revolution in coming to power and changing the island’s
social order (and a suggestion that the continued domination of whites meant “[a]
nother revolution needed within Cuban Revolution on race issue”), as well as
references to Nasser and “African socialism” as “pragmatic.” Periodically,
detailed exegeses of revolutionary history and theory in Europe, and the Marxist
legacy, were offered. Repeatedly, however, he returned to the pivotal role of the
Negro intellectual in any future revolution, even stressing the need for “political,
economic, and cultural bureaus” of “specialists” and “experts”—“Movement
must be cultural or it is no movement at all.” Throughout are his descriptions,
biting even in secondhand form, of the “dominant ethnic group feeding off
subordinate ethnic group,” as with Porgy and Bess, “a Jewish-Anglo-Saxon
collaboration,”57 though his animus toward West Indian activists within African
American politics—a major theme of The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual—is
noticeably absent.
Certain influences upon Cruse, and aspects of his political program, are
clarified by these lectures. The importance of C.Wright Mills is evident, both in
Cruse’s insistence upon “group” versus “class” and his conception of the
intellectual’s proper role. His short list of books “to read and study” included
Black Nationalism by E.U.Essien-Udom, Nationalism by Hans Kohn, The Negro
in American Culture by Margaret Butcher, and Mills’s essays in Power, Politics
and People. References to “men of power” and the “power elite” are sprinkled
through the notes, as is this intriguingly opaque description of Mills, who
“consecrated his work in human affairs,…has had policy-making
ramifications.”58
Years later, Cruse dryly summed up his experience with the Black Arts
School: “It was part of my learning process of what revolutionary situations can
produce…not what you expect.” The last class with his former Black Arts students
was on January 20,1966. Meanwhile, he finished his massive manuscript, was
again hospitalized for ulcers, and joked to acquaintances that when his book
came out, “maybe I should leave the country.”59
In any event, The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual changed Cruse’s life
completely. From a modest notoriety among black radical intellectuals in
New York and a few other cities, he became world famous and was invited to
speak in Europe and at the most prestigious American universities, bringing this
narrative to an end.
This much seems obvious: the life of Harold Cruse in these years indicates the
profound quandaries facing black intellectuals (a point made forcefully by Grace
Lee Boggs in a later interview). Having broken with orthodox Marxism, Cruse
38 • VAN GOSSE
Notes
Thanks are due to Robin D.G.Kelley for his suggestions, and to Grace Lee
Boggs, James Finkenstaedt, Richard Gibson, Martin Sklar, William Worthy, and
Yuri Kochiyama for their recollections. Special thanks are due as well to Harold
Cruse.
concluded that “with this prospect ahead, I personally would vote on just that
ground alone to keep whites out of the party…the sad truth is that of thousands of
whites I know, I can think of only a handful who would stand up to the bitter end when
home, job, reputation, even freedom from imprisonment are imminently
threatened.” An office was listed at 81 East 125th Street in Harlem, and Pernella
Wattley as “corresponding secretary.”
38. James Boggs letter, quoted in Lynn, Fountain, 185.
39. Grace Lee Boggs, telephone interview with the author September 2, 1996.
40. For the Fair Play for Cuba Committee and the larger history of U.S. involvement
with the Cuban Revolution, see Van Gosse, Where the Boys Are: Cuba, Cold War
America and the Making of a New Left (London: Verso, 1993), passim.
41. Electronic communication, Gibson to the author, May 24,1996.
42. See, for instance, “A Letter from Angola” in the August 1961 issue, from an
“assimilated” Angolan, denouncing the Portuguese repression in heartfelt terms,
and the announcement of “Negro History Week…Commemorating the Death of
Patrice Lumumba,” with a performance of the Freedom Suite by Max Roach and
Abby Lincoln, cosponsored by the Ghanaian, Guinean, and United Arab Republic’s
U.N. Missions (January 1962 issue).
43. Liberator, July 1963.
44. “My wife was a contributor to the Liberator, through her contact with Malcolm X,
she wrote about the Black Muslims, as well as social problems in Harlem. I was
involved with distribution, the newstand sales throughout the country with special
emphasis on the New York area. My official title was associate editor; I attended
meetings and consulted with authors, but I had no fundamental editorial function.
Likewise Lowell Beveridge, the only other white man on the staff, bore the title of
editor, but he only served as copy-editor and text-composer. The magazine centered
around Dan Watts: he was in charge; he chose the writers, enlisted celebrities, such
as James Baldwin and Ossie Davis among others, and selected the subjects. He was
to my mind an extremely competent publisher and certainly the most important
figure in the operation in every capacity—from editorial, to promotional and
financial.” Letter, James C.Finkenstaedt to the author, September 18, 1996.
45. Ibid.
46. Ibid.
47. They are “Rebellion or Revolution?” in Liberator, October, November, December,
1963 and January 1964; “The Roots of Black Nationalism,” March and April,
1964; “FNP vs. SWP: Marxism and the Negro,” May and June, 1964; and “The
Economics of Black Nationalism,” July,August, 1964.
48.
49. “I do not know really why Cruse left the magazine. He may have had policy
differences with Dan Watts. Both my wife and I had great respect for him; he was a
very influential figure.” Finkenstaedt letter, September 18, 1996.
50. In Yuri Kochiyama’s notes from Cruse’s 1965 class at the Black Arts School,
another point is made: “Could have been a Harlem magazine. Should have utilized
Southern writers, and pooled the talents of specialists.” Interestingly, when the New
York Times noted the Liberator’s fifth anniversary on June 13,1965, it quoted
Watts (who asserted a circulation of 15,000) speaking in entirely Crusian terms
about his mission: “We advocate white acceptance of a multiracial, pluralistic
MORE THAN JUST A POLITICIAN • 41
society,” and that “[a]ll black ghettos” should be treated as an “an underdeveloped
country, with massive technical assistance.”
51. Obviously, this is a one-sided view of the dispute between Cruse and Watts. It is,
however, the only account available. Several attempts were made to contact Watts,
who did not respond.
52. Cruse, Rebellion or Revolution? 24–25.
53. Finkenstaedt letter, September 18, 1996.
54. Kochiyama interview, October 14, 1996.
55. Harold Cruse; emphasis in the original.
56.
57.
58.
59. These final details on Cruse in New York are from Kochiyama’s recollections. She
maintained contact with Cruse through 1967, and retyped his Liberator essays into
manuscript form for the book Rebellion or Revolution? Cruse continued to work
with LeRoi Jones, speaking at the Afro-American Festival of the Arts in Newark in
1966, along with Stokely Carmichael; see Baraka, Autobiography, 236.
42
2
Anatomy of Black Intellectuals
and Nationalism
Harold Cruse Revisited
MARTIN KILSON
during the late 1960s; and (3) extensive intervention on behalf of black
sociopolitical incorporation by the federal government.
Inevitably, African American responses to the long, cruel, cynical reign of an
American political culture of whiteness were variegated, not one-dimensional
The African American intelligentsia sector in general fashioned social and
political responses that sought broad-gauged inclusion into mainstream
American life and institutions at parity with white ethnic groups. This inclusion
or mainstream incorporation strategy was popularly labeled “integration” and it
became the dominant or mainline black leadership strategy as the twentieth-
century African American intelligentsia evolved. But from its onset in the
thinking and discourse of black abolitionist figures before the Civil War, like
Frederick Douglass, and in the post-Emancipation era, like W.E.B.DuBois,
Reverdy Ransom, Monroe Trotter, Ida Wells-Barnett, and others, the “integration
strategy” always confronted challenges from the black “cultural separatist” or
“black nationalist” strategy.
The Caribbean immigrant figure Marcus Garvey emerged as the most
prominent spokesperson of the black nationalist strategy in the formative phase of
the twentieth-century African American intelligentsia. Through Garvey’s keen
organizational skill—manifest in the Universal Negro Improvement Association
(UNIA)—and his special talent for tapping the everyday black-ethnic
consciousness latent among the growing African American urban working class
and lower middle class or petit-bourgeois sectors, the black nationalist strategy
gained a competitive status with the integrationist strategy throughout the era
between the two world wars. And while the black nationalist approach to
challenging the white supremacist marginalization of African Americans was
outdistanced by the integrationist outlook during the heyday of the civil rights
movement from the mid-1950s through the 1960s, it nonetheless was an
ideological force in African American life.
To date, the most influential probe of the interplay of integrationist and black
nationalist orientations in the life cycle of the twentieth-century African
American intelligentsia remains Harold Cruse’s The Crisis of the Negro
Intellectual (1967). No volume has delineated the complex interplay of the black
nationalist thrust and the quest of the integrationist strand of the African
American intelligentsia as provocatively as Cruse’s work.
institutional terms among African Americans during the twentieth century have
been associated with the integrationist or mainstream-incorporation orientation.
This means in organizational terms that when it comes to the matter of
connecting black realities with mainstream American processes, it has been the
sector of the African American intelligentsia linked to the National Association
for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) that has been typically chosen
by the everyday black citizen to perform African Americans’ main operational
leadership tasks.
Put another way, while what might be called the cathartic-leadership tasks
faced by black citizens have sometimes been entrusted to proponents of black
nationalist thrusts, what I call operational-leadership tasks have been
overwhelmingly entrusted to intelligentsia proponents of the integrationist or
mainstream-incorporation leadership perspective. It is, then, this longstanding
attitudinal bifurcation of the black-ethnic mind-set among the typical African
American citizen throughout most of the twentieth century that comprises what I
call the “black modernist dilemma.”
This issue of a split-minded African American outlook toward the
integrationist and black nationalist leadership perspectives is a recurrent shaping
theme throughout the six hundred pages of The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual
For Cruse, it was a disturbing and baffling dimension of the twentieth century
evolution of African Americans that the black nationalist view of black
peoplehood and of African Americans’ modernization needs did not vanquish the
integrationist or acculturationist outlook. The pages of The Crisis of the Negro
Intellectual are riddled with many variants of Cruse’s disenchantment with the
black modernist dilemma. Indeed, Cruse’s antipathy toward the black
integrationist outlook almost assumes the quality of a religious commitment. For
Cruse, that segment of African American leadership favoring civil rights
acculturationist entry to mainstream white American institutions ought to be
rejected and stripped of its black-ethnic legitimacy. This kind of pragmatic
adjustment of African American leadership style (practiced since 1905 by the
Niagara Movement, the NAACP, the National Urban League, leaders of
mainline black religious denominations, leaders of black professional
associations, etc.) Cruse pejoratively labeled “interracialism.”
And he doesn’t get around to presenting this explanation until midway into the
book. This occurs during a critical discussion of LeRoi Jones (Amira Baraka) as
a kind of bête noire among the interracialist sector of African American
intellectuals of the early 1960s. It happened that Jones had fashioned for himself
a kind of janus-faced ideological identity as a radical black intellectual—an
identity that combined a black militant demeanor with an interracialist
orientation. For Cruse this identity mode reeked of irrationality, an irrationality
that Cruse presented as a psychological explanation: “A peculiar form of what
might be called the psychology of political interracialism (for want of a better
term) has been inculcated in the Negro’s mind…. He has been so conditioned
that he cannot separate personal and individual associations with…whites in the
everyday business of striving and existing, from that interior business that is the
specific concern of his group’s [cultural] existence.”4
Thus, in Cruse’s ideological vision, the militant black intellectual like Jones,
who locates himself favorably vis-à-vis the liberal black/white integrationist
paradigm, represents a cultural perversion. The appeal of the integrationist
paradigm to such a black intellectual amounts to a pathological psychic process,
notes Cruse—a left-wing version of a generic “Uncle Tom.”
The endgame of Cruse’s analysis in The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual is, I
think, plain enough: namely, to fashion favorable black nationalist perspectives
in regard to the development of twentieth-century African American life in
general, and thus thereby to discredit the interracialist or acculturationist
paradigm. While Cruse’s goal is reasonable enough, the key issue remains how
historically valid, how analytically effective, and how intellectually viable
Cruse’s discourse is in his study. My reconsideration of Cruse’s monumental
work proceeds along the lines of these evaluative criteria.
ethnic groups, for he is suggesting that African Americans are both a racial
group (shaped, that is, by white supremacist oppressive patterns) and an ethnic
group (shaped, that is, by generic traditional patterns)—a formulation regarding
what might be called the organic character of African Americans as a cultural
group that DuBois formulated in Dusk of Dawn (1940). But, on the other hand,
Cruse is mistaken in his deduction from this insightful fact: that white ethnic
groups possessed during their twentieth-century evolution some special variant of
ethnic cultural “separateness” that enabled them to acquire viable modernizing
capacities without linkages with the WASP-hegemonic mainstream American
system. This, however, is an ideology-driven deduction by Cruse. That is to say,
though it’s an argument that serves the critique of what Cruse called the
interracialist flaw among twentieth-century African American intelligentsia, his
argument simply lacks a basis in the actual historical development of the
aforementioned white ethnic groups.
There might be something to say for Cruse’s skepticism toward the relationship
of interracialism and African Americans in the American Marxist movement of
the 1920s to 1950s. But at the same time Cruse carries his antipathy to white
leftist purveyors of interracialism much too far. Above all, Cruse’s problack
nationalist predilections rule out the chance that progressive white intellectuals
could possess that combination of intellectual acumen and black-friendly
humanism/progressivism required to produce strategies for the viable
modernization development of African Americans. This paranoid black
nationalist view of white intellectuals’ incapacity to genuinely contribute to the
54 • MARTIN KILSON
It was apparent that these infiltrators used by the Communists were none
other than the West Indian members of the African Blood Brotherhood. In
this regard it is ironic that in the legend built up around the personality of
Garvey, motion has come down that his worst enemies and detractors were
all American Negroes [e.g., DuBois, Randolph, Owens, James Weldon
ANATOMY OF BLACK INTELLECTUALLS AND NATIONALISM • 57
Johnson, et al.] who did not appreciate the man’s nationalist genius.
However, the truth of the matter was that while Garvey’s most inspired
followers were West Indians, so were his most vitriolic and effective
enemies—both in the United States and in the West Indies…. West Indians
are never so ‘revolutionary’ as when they are away from the Islands.18
Finally, it should be noted that Cruse’s discussion of the leftist tilt among
immigrant black and domestic black intellectuals is informed by a kind
of implicit classificatory schema. This schema posits two types of black
radicalism during the evolution of the twentieth-century African American
intelligentsia: a category I’d call “secular radicalism,” and another I’d call
“sacred radicalism.” For Cruse, the only legitimate form of black radicalism was
the category of “sacred radicalism”—the category that encompassed black
nationalist leadership options (like the Garvey movement, for example), as well
as other black communitarian forms such as large evangelist black church
movements like Father Divine’s and Bishop “Daddy” Grace’s church
organizations. If the “secular radicalism” is informed by a cosmopolitan,
pluralist, and multicultural modern ethos, the “sacred radicalism” reflects
traditional, parochial, and ethnocentric patterns. Accordingly, Cruse
choreographed the role of leftist West Indian intellectuals—their machinations
via leftist organizations like the socialists, communists, Marxists, trade unions,
and the like—as intrinsic proponents of interracialism, a modern leadership
methodology that he viewed as the bane of viable modernization development of
twentieth-century African American society.
However, in the overall context of The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual,
Cruse’s critique of West Indian leftist intellectuals was only a part of his attack
on the secular-radical patterns among black intellectuals and leadership
organizations. The main thrust of his attack on secular-radical patterns was
directed at the mainline African American professional class, the prominent
upper stratum within twentieth-century African American life that E.Franklin
Frazier labeled the “black bourgeoisie” in his famous book of the same name
(1956). After all, it was this class stratum that operated the main black institutional
infrastructures that mediated so much of African Americans’ modern
development within a white supremacist twentieth-century American
democracy—infrastructures such as Negro colleges, professional associations,
civic organizations, churches, business enterprise, trade unions, civil rights and
political organizations, and so on.
The remainder of this chapter will appraise Cruse’s thinking on the mainstream
African American professional class—the black bourgeoisie—as the prominent
leadership stratum in the twentieth-century development of African American
society. In the following discussion I will use the term black elite as synonymous
with the terms African American professional class and black bourgeoisie.
58 • MARTIN KILSON
The positive side of the interracialist approach among the civil-rights activist
sector of the evolving twentieth-century African American professional and
leadership class did not impress Harold Cruse, however. In short, for Cruse,
interracialism functioned as a pathological trap among the civil rights activist
sector of the black elite, and this attitude toward interracialism became a
doctrinaire analytical category of Cruse’s thinking throughout The Crisis of the
Negro Intellectual.
As noted earlier in this chapter, Cruse never makes analytical and intellectual
peace with what I call the black modernist paradox—the seemingly
contra dictory pattern within the evolving twentieth-century African American
society whereby popular society among blacks exhibited cathartic interests in
aspects of black nationalist leadership orientations on the one hand, but on the
other hand overwhelmingly turned to the mainstream civil rights activist black
professional class for operational-leadership functions. What Cruse did not
understand is that this black modernist paradox reflected a keen variant of
pragmatism among both the civil rights activist sector of the black professional
class and black popular society. The variant of pragmatism I have in mind can be
called the activist-progressive pragmatism mode. It was, therefore, the opposite
of the vulgar variant of American pragmatism. In its core ethos, the vulgar
variant of American pragmatism (practiced most raucously by the WASP elites in
the American South throughout the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries)
is power cynical, materialistic, opportunistic, and even authoritarian—
extraconstitutional, that is. In other words, the vulgar variant of American
pragmatism is not opportunity reformist and humanitarian enhancing, as is the
activist-progressive pragmatism mode.
Thus, it was precisely this vulgar variant of pragmatism that was adopted by
the establishmentarian or accommodationist sector of the evolving twentieth-
century black elite—that sector led Washington’s Tuskegee Machine. What is
therefore intellectually interesting about Cruse’s discourse on the black elite in
The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual is the extent to which his ideological tilt
favors the vulgar variant of pragmatism, as witnessed in Cruse’s preference for
the accommodationist conservative Booker T.Washington sector of the evolving
twentieth-century black elite. As I will show below, Cruse employs a veneer of
seemingly radical black nationalist narrative motifs to portray the leadership
activities of the accommodationist strand of this evolving elite, the strand averse
to civil rights activism.
1900s to the 1930s is offered with a special tendentious purpose, that being to
show that in the early era of “Black Manhattan”—as James Weldon Johnson
dubbed Harlem—what might be called the “black communitarian character” of
Harlem was at its height, and the reason for this was the dominant role played in
early black Manhattan by black capitalist entrepreneurs.
Above all, in Cruse’s eyes it was the prominence among early Harlem’s black
entrepreneurs of Booker T.Washington’s accommodationist thinking that was
crucial. T.Thomas Fortune—owner and editor of black America’s leading
weekly newspaper in this era, The New York Age—was one of the leading
pro Washington elite personalities; another such pro-Washington personality was
Philip A.Payton, a real estate developer. A unique economic development
situation also prevailed during the early era of Black Manhattan, for there was a
surplus of good middle-class housing and apartments—built initially by white
real estate speculators—that whites were slow to occupy. Therefore, this caused
black middle-class purchases in Harlem “in mass proportions around 1905,”
Cruse informs us. Above all, Cruse claims that among Harlem’s emergent black
elite there was a kind of problack nationalist ambience, so to speak. As Cruse
puts it, “The origins of Harlem’s black community are to be found in the rise of
black economic nationalism” (emphasis in the original). African American
entrepreneur Payton was the central figure in this regard, along with his Afro-
American Realty Company. Cruse waxes euphorically on the Bookerite
accommodationist strand among the evolving twentieth-century black elite that
initiated good black modernization development in Harlem’s formative years,
noting,
because the evolving black capitalist entrepreneurial process was shaped along
the lines of Washington’s accommodationist outlook and his National Negro
Business League. Cruse’s pleasure at this pattern of development is highlighted
in the early pages of The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual, where he reports on the
fourteenth annual gathering of the Tuskegee Negro Conference (originally
founded in 1891). As Cruse informs us, his hero Washington waxed rosily about
the Afro-American Realty Company, advising his African American audience to
“Get some property…. Get a home of your own.” Above all, Washington
articulated one of his favorite uplift-the-black-race mantras: “When [our] Race
gets Bank Book, its Troubles will cease.”20
Of course, any member of the civil rights activist sector of early-twentieth-
century African American leadership (W.E.B. DuBois, James Weldon Johnson,
Reverend Francis Grimke, Attorney Archibald Grimke, Anna Julia Cooper,
Monroe Trotter, Ida Wells-Barnett, et al.) would have added that without civil/
human rights within a nonracist democratic American system, this Bookerite
mantra was supremely naive! Furthermore, Cruse does not inform his readers that
the civil rights activist sector of African American leadership fully understood
the importance black mechanisms, institutions, and social-system arrangements
concerned with modernization development for African Americans. DuBois
himself even articulated a black-communitarian developmental perspective
during the 1930s, aspects of which are treated in Elliot Rudwick’s
W.E.B.DuBois: A Study in Minority Group Leadership (1960) and in Henry Lee
Moon’s The Emerging Thought of W.E.B.DuBois (1972).
Be that as it may, Cruse lets his readers in on just how thrilled he himself is to
have discovered the historical record of the Afro-American Realty Company’s
business successes at the founding period of modern Harlem. “The Afro-
American Realty Company lasted about five years,” Cruse informs us,
“[initiating] a wave of real estate buying among Harlem’s new [middle-class]
Negro arrivals.”21 What is more, notes Cruse, Payton and his company used
capitalist modalities for black modernization development without causing
anxiety among white Americans relating to African Americans in New York City
“getting out of their place—without causing whites to fear “uppityness” on the
part of the accommodationist-oriented business sector of the evolving twentieth-
century African American elite.
Indeed, in his research on the early development of Harlem, it was a satisfying
discovery on Cruse’s part that conservative white people easily adjusted to black
capitalist successes represented by Payton’s Afro-American Realty Company,
influenced especially by Washington’s accommodationist strand of the African
American elite. As Cruse put it, “Despite much bitter feeling [between blacks
and whites] during a fifteen year struggle of Negroes to gain a foothold, Harlem
was won [by the accommodationist sector of black leadership] without serious
violence.” This amounted to a major African American developmental
breakthrough in Cruse’s eyes, causing him to celebrate it with the observation
that the accommodationist brand of nationalism “had become aggressive and
62 • MARTIN KILSON
eschewing civil rights activism and the use of interracial networks as a means for
black activism. With such narrative/verbal maneuvers, in other words, Cruse
turns upside-down the normal understanding of the relationship between the
Bookerite accommodationist leadership mode and the DuBoisian civil rights
activist leadership mode. Thus, Cruse skillfully calibrates his narrative to give
the impression that by challenging the vicious racist denial of human rights and
civil rights of African American citizens, the civil rights activist sector of black
leadership associated with DuBois and the NAACP was not concerned with
everyday black communitarian needs and concerns. In Cruse’s turned-upside-
down analytical schema, only accommodationist-oriented black capitalists and
their professional networks performed a genuine black communitarian
leadership function. In this manner, then, Cruse surrounded the conservative
accommodationist-oriented sector of the evolving twentieth-century black elite
with a “nationalism aura”—so to speak—and thus also with a “militant aura.”
It was above all the era of the black consciousness phase of the civil rights
movement when Harold Cruse fashioned his phony aura of militancy—his facile
black militant narrative patina—for his version of the black communitarian
leadership function. During the mid-1960s era, when Cruse was writing The Crisis
of the Negro Intellectual, both the integrationist element and the black nationalist
element coexisted within the overall civil rights movement. Cruse was thus
aware that an important constituency within the civil rights movement—the
black nationalist constitutency that at this time had been influenced by Malcolm
X’s leadership role in the Nation of Islam—would be attentive to the phony aura
of militancy with which he packaged his analysis. Leftist and progressive
elements among African American professionals like myself at this period were
fascinated—and also annoyed—at Cruse’s success at deploying such a phony
aura of militancy as a critiquing theme over and against the civil rights activist
sector of black intellectuals (the genuine leftist and progressive black
professional element) throughout The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual.
In this connection, I recall vividly to this day how surprised I was to discover
firsthand this aspect of the appeal of The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual among
the newly expanding population of activist-oriented African American students
on white college campuses—and at Black colleges, too—during the late 1960s
and into the ’70s, the period overlapping the rise of Afro-American studies and
black studies programs on these campuses. I had numerous discussions on
Cruse’s book with black students at Harvard during this period. One discussion
with a young black administrator there—freshman Dean Archie Epps—resulted
in holding a conference on Cruse’s book. Epps suggested that one of the
discussion groups on African American issues he had put together around
Harvard since 1963 (the first one was the Leverett House Forum, which invited
Malcolm X to the campus) might be used to bring Cruse to Harvard to discuss
his book. And we did just that. We used the Alain Locke Forum (in conjunction
with the Harvard Advocate journal staff) to mount a searching discussion of The
Crisis of the Negro Intellectual. The discussion took place in the fall of 1973,
64 • MARTIN KILSON
featuring Cruse himself, Ralph Ellison, Albert Murray, Ewart Guinier (professor
and chair of Afro-American studies at Harvard), and Nathan Huggins (a professor
of history at Columbia University who later succeeded Guinier as chair of Afro-
American studies at Harvard in 1979). Student commentators at this discussion
viewed Cruse’s analysis as a valid critique of the mainstream civil rights activist
sector of the black bourgeoisie as represented by the interracialist-oriented
NAACP—to my surprise, I should add. Moreover, throughout the 1970s and
’80s, The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual secured a broad readership and icon
status among African American students at white and black colleges, and among
some black professionals as well, leaving its competitors in the dust. This was all
evidence of the narrative skill of Cruse’s text, especially of his text’s facile black-
militant patina.
Finally, as already noted, I classify black nationalist modes as belonging to
black mobilization patterns that might be called “sacred radicalism,” as
contrasted with black mobilization patterns that might be classified as “secular
radicalism.” The secular-radicalism form among the evolving twentieth-century
African American leadership has always done at least two crucial things: first, it
has been the black activist thrusts of the secular-radical type that typically
challenged as first priority the white supremacist oppression of African
American civil rights and human rights; second, black activist thrusts of the
secular-radical mode have typically adopted the interracialism or integrationist
outlook (something anathema to Cruse), and typically fashioned integrationist
alliances along the liberal/progressive side of the American political spectrum. On
the other hand, Marcus Garvey and his Universal Negro Improvement
Association tried to strike a separatist deal with the Ku Klux Klan.
Above all, the liberal and progressive use of interracialism by the civil rights
activist sector of the evolving twentieth-century African American leadership
class was a phenomenon of enormous political significance—a significance that
completely eluded Cruse’s one-dimensional black nationalist thinking. In terms
of challenging the American white supremacist oppression and creation of
pariahs among African American citizens during the twentieth-century, the
liberal/progressive use of interracialism by the civil rights activist strand of black
leadership helped an important sector of white Americans to fashion a critical
outlook for themselves toward the racist features of American society. In time, this
development facilitated public policy advances that extended beyond the crucial
policy needs of African American citizens to include the important policy needs
of weak sectors among the white majority—sectors like the working-class
families, white women, the white disabled, and so on.
In short, whether or not Cruse was intellectually able to grasp this matter at the
time he wrote The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual, the black nationalist
mobilization modes that he was ideologically committed to proved much less
effective in challenging the American white supremacist edifice in a viable
liberal and progressive manner. It was the historical task in twentieth-century
American society of the DuBoisian civil rights activist mobilization
ANATOMY OF BLACK INTELLECTUALLS AND NATIONALISM • 65
Here, more assertively than any other place in The Crisis of the Negro
Intellectual, Cruse presents a deep preference for the black nationalism
developmental approach. But in this regard it must be noted that Cruse also
exhibits a lot of conceptual confusion, because early in his discussion of his
black nationalism developmental perspective he uses as an analogy his view of
the modernization-developmental experience of white ethnic groups like Irish
Americans, Jewish Americans, Italian Americans, and the like. Earlier in this
chapter, when I evaluated Cruse’s use of an analogy with the experience of
white ethnic groups, I pointed out that Cruse was impressed by what he believed
was the ethnocentric specialness of white ethnic groups’ use of their cultural
attributes—their “separateness” was Cruse’s term. As Cruse put it: “Every other
ethnic group in America, a ‘nation of nations,’ has accepted the fact of its
separateness and used it to its own advantage.”29
This formulation rings sympathetically in Cruse’s or any other black
nationalist intellectual’s ears, but it just happens not to be historically valid. The
historical facts are that all of the non-WASP white ethnic groups (the Irish, Jews,
Italians, Poles, et al.) evolved out of the late nineteenth century and through the
twentieth century along the path of viable modernization development—that is,
viable social mobility, occupational mobility, income/wealth mobility—not as
separatistic ethnic enclaves. Quite the contrary, they evolved along the path of
viable modernization development only through multifaceted linkages and
alliances with the dominant white WASP group. And although the Irish, Italians,
Poles, and others were ethnically denigrated and despised by the WASPS, white
ethnic groups were nevertheless able to fashion interethnic interactions with the
dominant WASP group because they did not have to suffer the vicious kind of
oppressive ethnic marginalization and ethnic stigmatization on the institutional
scale and to the historical depth that African American citizens had to endure
and experience in nineteenth- and twentieth-century American society.
In short, Cruse’s core thinking about the black nationalist or cultural-separatist
modernization developmental model for African Americans is based upon a
sophomoric and poor understanding of American social history. For Cruse’s
information and that of other black nationalist-prone intellectuals, WASPS were
the group that controlled America’s banks, finances, institutions of higher
education, marketing mechanisms, powerful social networks, powerful status
patterns, and so on throughout the nineteenth century and into much of the
twentieth century, while at the same time the same WASPS even despised and
denigrated white ethnics like Jews (“kikes”), Poles (“bohunks”), the Irish
(“micks”), Italians (“wops” or “dagos”), and others.
Although the massive historical literature on the modernization development of
white ethnic groups shows that the Irish, Poles, Italians, and others tinkered with
ethnic-separatist mechanisms through which to attempt viable modernization
development—mechanisms equivalent to what African American intellectuals
like Cruse have in mind when talking about black-nationalist mechanisms—none
of these white ethnic-separatist mechanisms in regard to business and industry
68 • MARTIN KILSON
A Concluding Note
Monumental works on core historical issues often themselves have a mixed
history, so to speak, in that they can be gauged over time by either their actual
argumentative content or by their symbolic ideological emissions. From this
vantage point, Cruse’s The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual can be viewed as an
important monumental work. The symbolic ideological emissions associated
with Cruse’s work have been an especially important feature of the book, a
situation related to the particular era in which it appeared and therefore to the
contemporary needs readers brought to it—a matter of “the eyes of the beholder
(reader),” as it were.
I have suggested in this chapter that Cruse’s book was one of those
monumental works whose symbolic ideological emissions overshadowed its
actual historical/argumentative content. The “beholders’ eyes” I refer to were
those of the activist black consciousness sector of African Americans during the
middle 1960s and onward, a core component of which was located among an
exploding population of black students on white campuses and on the older
Negro college campuses. Elements among this black-consciousness sector of
African Americans had experienced a certain dissatisfaction with the mainstream
civil rights activist strand among black leadership (that associated with the
NAACP, the National Urban League, the Congress Of Racial Equality, the
Southern Christian Leadership Council, the National Council of Negro Women,
etc.), and this produced in turn a leadership vacuum in African Americans’
national leadership dynamics.
A variety of black nationalist-type organizations, such as the Nation of Islam,
had appeared by the early 1960s in an attempt to fill this vacuum, as did riotous
70 • MARTIN KILSON
American racism were actively and legally challenged and uprooted, as Johnson
proposed, Payton’s Afro-American Realty Company and other black
entrepreneurial enterprises would forever suffer inequalities before the door of
American banks and investment houses.
It is bizarre for Cruse to suggest that the political weakness of African
Americans and their leadership during the twentieth century was also due to the
rejection of Washington’s accommodationist approach by the civil-rights activist
sector of the black elite. In Cruse’s words, this rejection of Washington’s
accommodationist approach doomed the black elite to remain “politically
subservient.” The actual historical facts are just the opposite of what
Cruse’s comment suggests. The facts are that the African American subsystem in
American society remained politically subservient because of the vicious and
oppressive functioning of America’s white supremacist edifice. Such a white
supremacist edifice was authoritarian in its interface with black people, was
juridically destructive of black people’s civil rights, and it employed police
violence and vigilante violence to violate most African Americans’ human
rights. Nothing in Washington’s crude patron-client accommodationist
leadership methodology had a chance in hell at altering America’s white
supremacist oppressive interface with black people from the 1890s throughout 70
percent of the twentieth century, and Cruse should have known this.
Note, finally, that Cruse concludes the above observations by cribbing E.
Franklin Frazier’s arguments, put forth in Black Bourgeoisie (1956). In Cruse’s
version of Frazier’s arguments, the civil rights activist sector of the black elite
played no role in the rise of the new negro movement nor its Harlem Renaissance
phase from the World War I era into the 1920s and onward. For some of us
among African American intellectuals who are near Cruse’s age cohort, however,
I dare say we know somewhat more than Cruse does of the history of the
contributions to the new negro movement by civil rights activist elements in the
black bourgeoisie. For example, the bourgeois black sociologist Charles
Spurgeon Johnson founded and ran the National Urban League’s brilliant journal
Opportunity: Journal Negro Life during the 1920s, fashioning it into a main
intellectual rallying organ of the Harlem Renaissance. Similarly, the equally
bourgeois W.E.B.DuBois utilized the NAACP’s organ the Crisis, to further the
artistic and political ambitions of the new negro movement.
Furthermore, Cruse tells us that the black bourgeoisie’s twentieth-century
sojourn left the African American professional class “intellectually unfulfilled
and provincial” as well as “culturally imitative and unimaginative.” Here again
Cruse is piggybacking Frazier’s arguments in Black Bourgeoisie. Of course, this
is essentially a charge of intellectual charlatanism against the evolving twentieth-
century African American professional class or elite, and no doubt there has been
some intellectual charlatanism in its ranks, though no more I dare say than in the
bourgeois or elite ranks of white ethnic groups like the Irish Americans, Jewish
Americans, Italian Americans, and WASPS.
72 • MARTIN KILSON
Notes
1. See John Higham, Strangers In The Land (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers
University Press, 1955).
2. See, for example, David Roedigger, Wages Of Whiteness (New York: Verso, 1992)
and Noel Ignatieff, How the Irish Became White (New York: Routledge, 1995).
ANATOMY OF BLACK INTELLECTUALLS AND NATIONALISM • 73
3. See Ralph J.Bunche, The Political Status of the Negro in the Age of FDR (Chicago:
University of Chicago Press, 1973), chapters 13–18.
4. Harold W.Cruse, The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual (New York: William Morrow,
1967), 363.
5. Ibid.
6. Ibid., 363–64.
7. Ibid.
8. Ibid.
9. Ibid., 169.
10. Ibid., 117.
11. Ibid., 147.
12. Ibid., 372–73.
13. Ibid., 117–18.
14. Winston James, Holding Aloft the Banner of Ethiopia: Caribbean Radicalism in
Early Twentieth-Century America (New York: Verso, 1998), 262ff.
15. Cruse, Crisis, 45.
16. James, Holding Aloft, 284.
17. Cruse, Crisis, 46–47.
18. Ibid., 19.
19. Ibid., 20; emphasis in the original.
20. Ibid., 21.
21. Ibid.
22. Ibid.
23. Ibid.
24. Ibid.
25. Johnson, Black Manhattan (New York: Alfred A.Knopf, 1930), 149.
26. Ibid., 283.
27. Cruse, Crisis, 25.
28. Ibid., 25–26.
29. Ibid., 364.
30. I treat the generic ideological outlook of conservative black intellectuals in Martin
Kilson, Paths To Black Conservatism: Critical Studies On Black Intellectuals
(Manuscript).
31. Cruse, Crisis, 26.
74
3
Negro Exceptionalism
The Antinomies of Harold Cruse
transition, of course, occurred in the very civil rights movement that Cruse so
disparaged, and from which he paradoxically benefited (since ensconced at the
University of Michigan), something about which he has remained dimly aware to
this day. What irks Spillers is that the contemporary black intellectual is so
unaware, so willfully oblivious of “where he/she is,” today.11 Her own
prescription notwithstanding, upon reading her essay we still do not have a
sufficient understanding of “where Cruse was,” the discursive and cognitive
framework in which his work unfolded and the historical significance of his
overall intellectual trajectory. Thus, while I cannot aspire to the broad political
resonance of Spillers’s response to Cruse, in the short essay that follows I will
provisionally “read” Cruse’s text in the manner she recommends, namely, as a
discursive production and “thought-object,” one with its own genealogy, or
determinate conditions, omissions and inconsistencies.12
In the years leading up to the completion of The Crisis of the Negro
Intellectual, what most riveted Cruse was the question of decolonization and
anticolonial nationalism, making him at least one possible answer to bell hooks’s
query about the discursive formation of African American studies in the current
conjuncture.13 Indeed, as I will argue below, of the many contradictions and
ambivalent impulses that constitute The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual perhaps
the most significant is its ambiguous and ultimately unsuccessful attempt to
translate what Cruse had identified as the theory and practice of decolonization
into a “Negro-American” idiom. This undoubtedly heterodox framing of Cruse’s
book only makes sense if we read The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual, most
immediately, in the context of Cruse’s work from the 1960s; in other words, if
we read it, along with the collection of essays he published under the title,
Rebellion or Revolution? (l968). Of the latter, the first essays were actually
written in the late 1940s, when Cruse was still a member of the Communist Party
(CPUSA), while the last essays were written after The Crisis of the Negro
Intellectual was finished in early 1967. At the center of the anthology, and most
important, are a series of essays written in a flurry of political activity in the
early 1960s. In these essays Cruse outlines, in some detail, his conception of the
relationship between Marxism and black nationalism and begins to develop what
would later be termed “the colonial analogy” as a means of understanding the
emergent black political rebellion of the 1960s.
Cruse’s first articulation of these views occurs in one of his most important
essays from the 1960s, “Revolutionary Nationalism and the Afro-American,”
first published in Studies on the Left in 1962. It is in this essay that Cruse
develops a position that would become very popular in New Left circles by the
late 1960s, defining decolonization as the fulcrum of transformative politics in
the post-World War II era. “The revolutionary initiative has passed to the
colonial world and in the United States is passing to the Negro,” Cruse writes,
“while Western Marxists theorize, temporize and debate.”14 Extrapolating from
the experience of the Cuban Revolution, Cruse makes the analogy explicit,
arguing that Negroes have been able to translate the efficacy and meaning of
78 • NIKHIL PAL SINGH
Cruse conceived The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual, in other words, precisly as
a public, theoretical intervention that sought to shape the public, institutional
practices of other black culture workers. In fact, what is most familiar about the
book to the contemporary (postmodern) reader is its insistence upon cultural
politics as the decisive instance of the political in general. In this sense, the
greatest innovation of The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual may also be its
greatest shortcoming—namely, Cruse’s profoundly resonant, yet imprecise and
undifferentiated, uses of the word culture. This term carries multiple burdens in
this work, as the site for (1) articulating cohesive ideologies of group belonging
(“cultural identity”); (2) intervening in the discriminatory organization and
administration of the U.S. economy (“cultural apparatus”); and (3) rethinking
leftist theories of social transformation (“cultural revolution”).22
Of these three uses, only the first clearly coincides with what Spillers critiques
as a performative/representative model of the intellectual’s practice as it relates
to the fictive object, “the black community.” The additional, perhaps residual,
senses of culture that I have culled from Cruse’s work, by contrast, actually
correspond to a more complex sense of culture as a specific ensemble of
productive relations within a larger social formation. Thus, for example, “the
cultural apparatus” (an idea Cruse takes from C.Wright Mills) is understood as a
specific set of institutions or as an industry: “radio, television, film industries,
advertising combines, electronic recording and computer industries, highly
developed telecommunications networks, and so forth.”23 This U.S. culture
industry is important for structural reasons, or precisely because it has become a
uniquely valorized site and expanding occupational location within the overall
political economy of late imperial America. As Cruse writes, “Mass cultural
communications is a basic industry, as basic as oil, steel, and transportation….
Developing along with it, supporting it and subservient to it, is an organized
network of functions that are creative, administrative, propagandistic, educational,
recreational, political, artistic, economic and cultural…. Only the blind cannot
see that whoever controls the cultural apparatus—whatever class, power group
faction or political combine—also controls the destiny of the United States and
everything in it.”24
Thus, the concept of the “cultural revoltution”—an idea Cruse first broaches
while considering the “connection between the Negro rebellion and the African
revolution”—is understood in turn as the highest stage of revolutionary thought
and action, mingling the senses of culture as a site of national and subnational
identity formation, and culture as an industrial product and nodal economic
site.25
The revolutionary, democratic transformation of “the cultural apparatus”
would provide the key to the overall transformation of the U.S. social formation,
and to sustaining a project of black autonomy without territorial separation. The
reasons for this are structural and (once again) in a broad sense cultural, since for
Cruse, the real American dilemma is not the racial drama of segregation and
NEGRO EXCEPTIONALISM • 81
integration, but the persistent denial of black cultural presence and consequent
degeneration of the “national culture.” As Cruse summarizes,
Once again, several versions of the complex word culture are (as Raymond
Williams might say), solvent within this passage: culture as “the best that has
been thought and said,” culture as the province of new forms of mass
communication and economic accumulation, culture as the formation of a people
or nation, and culture as an arena of democratic “expression.” All these
meanings, however, devolve back upon a single idea: black intellectuals are now
strategically situated as the vanguard of a new class—that of culture workers—
and are thus the group with “the most potential” for making a cultural (which is
to say social, economic, and political) revolution in the United States.27
The reason for this extended discussion of Cruse’s theory of culture is because
the central preoccupation, and hence major failing, of The Crisis of the Negro
Intellectual is its attempt to develop a fully integrated model of cultural analysis,
from his earlier, sketchy formulations. Cruse, in other words, is less interested in
exhorting black intellectuals to occupy “the romantic ground of organicity” vis a
vis “the black community” than in theorizing the efficacy of cultural work in
general, and specifically the black intellectual’s (and it’s true that for Cruse this
is a man’s) insertion into the new institutions of culture making.28 While Cruse
ultimately conflates, rather than theorizes, the relationship between cultural
production as a material activity and cultural identity (as its presumed result),
this derives less from a faulty conceptualization of the position of the intellectual
than from Cruse’s (prior) political committment to a redemptive, messianic
political theory, black nationalism; for it is the latter that leads him to privilege
the forms of polemical and rhetorical address, and to consistently fall back upon
82 • NIKHIL PAL SINGH
working through the relationship between black nationalism and the struggle for
democracy in America as it first unfolded under the tremendous cultural
influence of Popular Front, and American, communism. When read through the
lens of Cruse’s intellectual biography and his contributions in Rebellion or
Revolution? the extent to which The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual distorts and
conceals the historical genesis of Cruse’s theoretical and political preoccupations
as they emerged from the communist tradition becomes that much more
apparent. For it is this tradition, more than any other, that gave credence and
legitimacy to the politics and languages of national self-determination, including
the potentially self-determining power of subnationalities and national minorities
within larger state and party formations.
In other words, whether or not the communists defined “the national question”
correctly, and despite the suppression of nationality groupings within the USSR,
(and the CPUSA), it is nonetheless fair to say that for many radical black
intellectuals during the 1940s the basis for weighing the relative merits of the
U.S. and Soviet systems did not revolve primarily around the question of
socialism versus capitalism, but rather around which of these supranational states
had best resolved its own national, colonial, and minority questions—which in
America meant the “Negro Question.”33 Cruse’s extensive knowledge of and
continuing indebtedness to this intellectual tradition is nowhere more clearly
indicated than in his rather cryptic, vanguardist lament in The Crisis of the Negro
Intellectual that “Negro revolutionaries” never realized that “there was no one in
America who possessed the remotest chance of Americanizing Marxism but
themselves.”34 In fact, Cruse’s compound and I would suggest that
indistinguishable hatred of communists and Jews derives less from any anti-
Semitic residues than from the fact that, in his view, the former defaulted on the
promise of resolving the historic problem of black nationality under the banner
of unifying national slogans like “Communism is Twentieth-Century
Americanism “while the latter surreptitiously hijacked the party apparatus for
their own individual and “ethnic group” interests.33
Though Cruse is quite explicit about his break with communism in all of his
writings from the 1960s, it is notable that in his self-conscious bid to construct a
comprehensive theory of black politics in the context of U.S. intranational
relations The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual refuses to foreground the global
significance of anticolonial struggles that are at the conceptual center of the
essays in Rebellion or Revolution? Instead, for reasons that remain to
be determined, Cruse abandons most of his references to questions of national
liberation, favoring instead the self-enclosed language of American ethnocultural
politics and intergroup relations. In addition, The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual
not only actively downplays the systematic relevance of the Marxist problematic
(while actually upping the intensity of ad hominem attacks on many existing
American communists and Trotskyists), it also expunges talk of domestic
colonialism in favor of an interrogation of the ways American leftist agendas and
liberal rights discourse misled black intellectuals and prevented them from
84 • NIKHIL PAL SINGH
advancing the material and political aims of blacks as an ethnic group. What I
would highlight is the decisive displacement that occurs between Cruse’s two
important works of the 1960s: a shift from a discourse of colonialism and
national liberation to a discourse of U.S.-based ethnic pluralism and black
nationalism. Indeed, Cruse’s implicit decision not to elaborate upon questions of
colonialism and decolonization in The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual is
particularly interesting given that it occurred at precisely the moment when the
“colonial analogy” for blacks in the United States was being widely embraced
within certain quarters of the student new left and black power movements
around 1968.
Cruse offers a justification for this shift, suggesting that the “third world”
rhetoric of national liberation embraced by Black “Powerites” obscured the
“uniquely American conditions” of the “Negro revolution.”36 In a recent essay,
African American historian Wilson Moses favors this “exceptionlist” reading of
Cruse, arguing that the popularity of anticolonial thinkers like Frantz Fanon in
the wake of 1968 has tended to overshadow the more pertinent and relevant work
of “American” intellectuals like Cruse.37 Yet by pitting Cruse against Fanon,
Moses continues to obscure what may be the deeper relationship between their
two projects. After all, in the introduction to Rebellion or Revolution? (again,
penned after The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual had been published), Cruse
argues that the popularity of Fanon among “the young black generation of 1968”
was ample repudiation of those who continued to stress “the fundamentally
American outlook of the American Negro.”38 Most important, Cruse never
explicitly discounted his earlier view that any indigenous theory of black
liberation in the United States needed to recognize that “the racial crisis in
America was the internal reflection of the contemporary world-wide readjustment
of ex-colonial masters and ex-colonial subjects.”39 Indeed, rather than stressing
discontinuities between the two works, Cruse implicitly affirms The Crisis of the
Negro Intellectual as establishing “the outlines of a new radical theory” called
for in the earlier essays.40
In the current conjuncture, when the metaphors of colonialization and
decolonization now once again regularly appear in the multicultural skirmishes
over how to properly conceptualize U.S. intranational differences, what are we to
make of these many twists and turns? How should we adjudicate and assess the
shifts in Cruse’s political itinerary and intellectual vocabulary?41 Ultimately, one
of the greatest difficulties of unpacking Cruse’s thought is that his
voracious autodidacticism lead him simultaneously toward highly original,
synthetic formulations and at the same time toward fairly derivative, and even ad
hoc uses of the ideas of others. In other words, what is not always clear is the
degree to which Cruse’s intellectual choices were self-conscious and
intellectually rigorous, and the degree to which they derived from his being an
(admitted) intellectual gadfly, and his predisposition to be influenced by
whomever he happened to be reading (or attacking) at the time, whether it was
C.Wright Mills, Herbert Aptheker, Albert Camus, or the members of the Society
NEGRO EXCEPTIONALISM • 85
of African Culture.42 In another sense, the intellectual choices that Cruse made in
order to write The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual were both self-conscious and
opportunistic as he chose to selectively develop many of the central themes of
his earlier essays without explicitly disclosing any real changes in his position.
What I would suggest is that we understand the political lexicon differentiating
The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual from Rebellion or Revolution? as an effect
of Cruse’s attempt to fashion the definitive theory of the black struggle in the
United States of the 1960s, and as the result of his desire to put his own
authoritative stamp upon the public discussion of “race” in the United States.
The ambivalence of The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual resides here, or in the
fact that in it Cruse’s celebrated call for a black declaration of independence
within the public cultural sphere is paradoxically and deliberately rendered in a
reworking of the public languages of the American political tradition. Thus,
while I agree with Jerry Watts, who argues that Cruse’s text established “the
intellectual groundwork for the emergence of a dominant black nationalist wing
of intellectuals” during the 1960s, I disagree with his suggestion that Cruse
“underestimated the degree to which the most vehement black nationalist
intellectual was fundamentally American.”43 My own view is that Cruse’s
relationship to dominant discourses of American national belonging is more
complex and contradictory than it may first appear to be. Here, the development
of Cruse’s position has a deeper, though unacknowledged, affinity with the
intellectual itinerary of Ralph Ellison. Indeed, I would suggest that it is hardly an
accident that Ellison is one of the few black writers who actually escapes Cruse’s
ire in The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual, despite the former’s firm embrace of
an integrationist politics and celebrated rejection of an explicitly politicized
aesthetic. The reason is that both writers ultimately shared a black radical, plural
reading of American exceptionalism that heralded (in Cruse’s words) “the
Negro’s” exceptional status as “the only native American culture producer”
capable of addressing “the unsolved American nationality problem.”44 Perhaps a
more troubling symmetry is that both writers made their bids for and were
accorded public authority and recognition after presenting withering portraits of
black political failure, demonstrating a decided preference for intellectual
isolationism, and following the all-too familiar Cold War trajectory of the man
who knows communists, locked in the security of the anticommunist embrace.
It is thus, however, that Cruse arrives at the paradoxical position whereby he
conceives the full expression of “the black ethnic personality” as the
completion, rather than the negation, of an American nation-building enterprise.
Herein lies what may be the core antinomy of Cruse’s work (and the complex
tradition of black nationalist thinking he exemplifies): his scathing attacks upon
white intellectual paternalism, and the politics of liberal and left-wing
“integrationism,” and his calls for black cultural and economic autonomy
notwithstanding, his argument ultimately rests upon claiming an unprecedented,
black centrality within the exceptional(ist) logics of American nationality. As
Cruse writes, “In America, the materio-economic conditions relate to a societal,
86 • NIKHIL PAL SINGH
could only be imagined from the depths of black difference itself, since, as Cruse
puts it, “the melting pot has never included the Negro.”51
Of course, the major animus behind Cruse’s argument that America is a
“nation of nations” is his raging hostility toward the politics of the mainstream
civil rights movement. “When the legal redress in civil rights reaches the point of
saturation de jure,” he writes (rather prophetically), “the civil righters will then
be disarmed and naked in the spotlight of adverse power.”52 Indeed, in a
fascinating formulation, Cruse argues that “the very premise of racial integration
negates the idea of Negro ethnic identity.”53 In other words, according to Cruse,
the idea of integration inscribes the interrelated fictions of liberal individualism
and homogeneous whiteness underpinning a unitary conception of American
nationality and thus negating the possibility of an autonomous black existence,
or (sub)national (or “ethnic”) sovereignty. As Cruse notes, “Although the three
main power groups—Protestants, Catholics and Jews—neither want nor need to
become integrated with each other, the existence of a great body of homogenized
inter-assimilated white Americans is the premise for racial integration. Thus, the
Negro integrationist runs afoul of reality in pursuit of an illusion of the ‘open
society’—a false front that hides several doors to several different worlds of
hyphenated Americans.’”54
Or, as Cruse writes elsewhere, “[E]very other ethnic group in America, a
‘nation of nations/has accepted the fact of its separateness and used it to its own
advantage” except “the Negro.” This situation,” he continues, “results from a
psychology that is rooted in the negro’s symbiotic “blood ties” to the white
Anglo-Saxon….the culmination of that racial drama of love and hate between
slave and master, bound together on the purgatory of plantations.” The only
effective solution to this irresolvable dilemma for Cruse is for the (heroic, male)
intellectual to shortcircuit the drama, “to break the psychological umbilical ties
to intellectual paternalism,” and sever the symbolic and affective kinship ties
binding what might be defined as a situation of black/white intraraciality.55 This
is finally also the source of Cruse’s heady mixture of envy and antipathy toward
Jewish intellectuals, whom he accuses of being “magnanimously free with other
people’s ethnicity” even as they assiduously pursue their own group interests in
the United States and elsewhere.56 Indeed, for Cruse, the fact of “the emergence
of Israel as a world-power-in-minuscule meant that the Jewish question in
America was no longer purely a domestic minority problem growing out of the
old immigrant status tradition.”57 Jewish intellectuals who counseled
‘racial’ integration, in other words, had actually achieved precisely the kind of
(dual) nationalist solution that was persistently denied to “Negroes.”
Yet it remains unclear in the context of his own abandonment of a more
internationalist understanding of “race” politics, just what Cruse imagines as an
alternative to this state of affairs. Indeed, his own prescription, including the
effective rewriting or “up-dating” of the U.S. Constitution, still assumes the
primary recourse to be the juridical sanction of a national master narrative. At the
same time, The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual upholds what has subsequently
88 • NIKHIL PAL SINGH
In other words, rather than untangling this knotted, transactional history, Cruse
now mostly speaks to our own multicultural scepticism. With a deep knowledge
of American (yes, “racial”) history, Cruse was decidedly less sanguine than the
various Popular Front writers of the 1940s or the ethnic revivalists of the 1960s
about the possibility of an overall harmonization of America’s internal “nations.”
Indeed, this is the basis for his hostility toward American communism, which in
his view had defaulted on its promise of answering the question of black
nationality in America during World War II, by wedding itself to the vision of
America as a universal nation capable of overriding “ethnic” and national
difference and division. The same can be said for black intellectuals, whose great
failure, unlike their Jewish counterparts, was that they had been (in the words of
E.Franklin Frazier) “seduced by the lure of final assimilation.”65 Yet the question
remains, to what extent was Cruse himself “seduced” in his own efforts to set the
terms of this argument right? In his bid to secure an authoritative claim upon the
public discussion of “race” in the United States, Cruse not only distorted the
historical record of black radicalism (including his own), but he also misread the
real political tenor of ethnicity arguments. Contradicting Cruse’s intent, “a
politics of black ethnicity” is now perhaps the cornerstone of a conservative
“racial” theory that assiduously erases references to color and colonization
within a market-driven narrative of interethnic competition and functional
adjustment to American societal norms.66 Moreover, just as Cruse failed to
develop an adequate theory of cultural production, he was similarly unable to
theorize the specificity of the internal cultures of U.S. imperialism. Ironically, he
may even be said to have sacrificed the more powerful and risky
conceptualizions of the politics of black nationality from his early essays,
precisely at the moment of gaining a certain public political purchase with the
reception of his most celebrated book. If the discussion of salient, intranational
differences today invokes the worldly metaphors of colonization and
decolonization too cheaply—even as it shares in the accumulated surplus of the
U.S. (trans)nation-space—then Cruse is partially to blame. We should not forget,
however, that he is also one of our most promising precursors. His “text” then is
really a palimpsest, which, when read carefully, reveals the densely charged
layers of an intellectual terrain that remains our own.
Notes
4. Judith Smith, “Lorraine Hansberry, Raisin in the Sun, and the Politics of Racial
Difference,” and Mary Helen Washington, “Comment”; papers presented at the
American Studies Association conference, Pittsburgh, 1995. See also Penny Von
Eschen, “The Cold War Seduction of Harold Cruse,” in this volume.
5. Hortense Spillers, “The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual: A Post-Date,” Boundary 2
(Vol. 21, No. 3, Fall 1994): 67.
6. Ibid., 70.
7. Ibid., 73.
8. Ibid., 110–12.
9. Ibid., 74.
10. Ibid., 67, 85–87.
11. Ibid., 92.
12. Ibid., 99–100; For a detailed exposition of genealogical reading strategies see Michel
Foucualt, “Nietzsche, Genealogy and History,” in The Foucault Reader (New York:
Pantheon, 1984), translated and edited by Paul Rabinow.
13. See the first epigraph, which has been exerpted from Paul Gilroy, “A Dialogue with
bell hooks,” in Small Acts: Thoughts on the Politics of Black Cultures (London:
Serpent’s Tail, 1993), 217.
14. Harold Cruse, “Revolutionary Nationalism and the Afro-American,” in Rebellion
or Revolution? (New York: William Morrow, 1968), 75.
15. Ibid.,95.
16. Ibid., 96. As Cruse puts it elsewhere, “Backward peoples must replace the white
working class as the “chosen people” of the dialectical functionings of world
society”; see Harold Cruse, “Marxism and the Negro,” in Rebellion or Revolution?
151.
17. Harold Cruse, “Les Noirs et L’idee Revolte (The Blacks and the Idea of Revolt),”
in Rebellion or Revolution? 169–70.
18. Ibid., 191.
19. Ibid., 190. As Cruse puts it elsewhere, “The Negro rebellion in America is destined
to usher in a new era in human relations and to add a throughly new conception of
the meaning and the form and content of social revolution.” Cruse, “Rebellion or
Revolution?—1,” in Rebellion or Revolution? 111.
20. Spillers, “Post-Date,” 115.
21. Cruse, “Introduction,” in Rebellion or Revolution? 27; emphasis in the originial.
Cruse, in other words, did not need Althusser to understand the distinction between
the “real object” and the “object of knowledge,” since he was already a careful
reader of Marx. Quoting the latter, Cruse writes,” ‘In the social production which
men carry on they enter into definite relations that are indispensable and
independent of their will.’” This means, Cruse continues, “that men are subject to
the blind forces of the laws of social production unless they become socially
conscious of what is happening to them. But how men become socially conscious
is a problem of the theory of knowledge and reflection, which is an inseparable
category in the dialectical method of social inquiry.” See Cruse, “Marxism and the
Negro,” in Rebellion or Revolution? 150.
22. Harold Cruse, The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual (New York: William Morrow,
1967); also see Cruse, “Rebellion or Revolution?—1,” 115.
23. Cruse, Crisis, 474.
24. Ibid.
92 • NIKHIL PAL SINGH
37. Wilson Moses, “Ambivalent Maybe,” in Lure and Loathing: Essays on Race,
Identity and the Ambivalence of Assimilation, ed. Gerald Early (New York:
Penguin, 1993), 193.
38. Cruse, “Introduction,” 23.
39. Cruse, “Revolutionary Nationalism and the Afro-American,” in Rebellion or
Revolution? 95; emphasis added.
40. Cruse, “Introduction,” 27.
41. A few examples will suffice. In his seminal essay “The New Cultural Politics of
Difference,” Cornel West writes that “decolonized sensibilities fanned and fueled
the Civil Rights and Black power movements, as well as the student, anti-war,
feminist, gay, brown and lesbian movements”; in Out There: Marginalization and
Contemporary Cultures edited by Russell Ferguson, Martha Gever, Trinh T.Minh-
ha, Cornel West (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1990), 25. Meanwhile, in their important
anthology, David Lloyd and Abdul Jan Mohammed blithely use the conjunction
“Third World and minority,” assuming the conjunction of U.S.-based minority
group politics and struggles around development and underdevelopment within the
world system. See Lloyd and Mohammed, The Nature and Context of Minority
Discourse (New York: Oxford University Press, 1990). Most recently, Gayatri
Chakravorty Spivak critically interrogates the tendency within varied, emergent
transnational studies of culture “to obliterate the diffrence between United States
internal colonization and the dynamics of the decolonized space.” See Spivak,
“Scattered Speculations on the Question of Cultural Studies,” Outside in the
Teaching Machine (New York: Routledge, 1993), 278–79. Suffice to say,
excavating Cruse’s ideas on these matters is important because of the tendency to
forget our discursive debts and conceal our discursive tangles.
42. Cruse, Crisis, 469–75.
43. Watts, Heroism, 8.
44. Cruse, Crisis, 13, 29.
45. Ibid., 189.
46. Harold Cruse, Plural but Equal (New York: William Morrow, 1985), part 5. See
also my discussion of pluralism in the context of ethnicity theory below.
47. Cruse, Les Noirs et L’idee de Revolte,” 190; As I have argued elsewhere, this
alternative, more robust, pluralism also derives from the 1930s and ’40s and from
the work of a whole range of intellectuals associated with the Popular Front. One
of the most productive groups of intellectuals coalesced around the California
writers Louis Adamic and Carey McWilliams, forming the journal Common
Ground. The search for “common ground,” while one of the characteristic metaphors
for a more inclusive vision of American nationhood and national belonging during
WWII, was also explicitly conceived as an exploration of America’s “racial-cultural
situation,” and in particular America’s “number one minority question”—the
“Negro question.” Indeed, McWilliam’s most important book Brothers under the
Skin was an unprecedented comparative look at what he calls America’s “colored
minorities,” while Adamic’s major work of this period, significantly titled, A
Nation of Nations (1944), was a prolific, differentiated analysis of the fourteen
different immigrant “nations” that made America into a “nation of nations.” See
Cary McWilliams, Brothers under the Skin (Boston: Little Brown, 1943), 8; and
Louis Adamic, A Nation of Nations (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1944); see
also Singh, “Race and Nation.”
94 • NIKHIL PAL SINGH
48. This term comes from Robert Burk, The Eisenhower Administration and Black
Civil Rights (Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 1984).
49. Cruse, Crisis, 7.
50. Ibid., 317.
51. Harold Cruse, quoted in Manning Marable, Race, Reform and Rebellion (Jackson:
University of Mississippi Press, 1991), 40.
52. Cruse, Crisis, 71.
53. Ibid., 13.
54. Ibid., 9.
55. Ibid., 396.
56. Ibid., 497.
57. Ibid., 480–81.
58. Christopher Lasch, “Black Power: Cultural Nationalism as Politics,” in The Agony
of the American Left (New York: Vintage, 1969), 155.
59. Ibid., 142.
60. Werner Sollers, The Invention of Ethnicity (Cambridge: Harvard University Press).
61. Werner Sollors, Beyond Ethnicity: Consent and Descent in American Culture (New
York: Oxford University Press, 1986); David Hollinger, “Post-Ethnic America,”
Contention 2 (1992).
62. Philip Gleason, Speaking of Diversity: Language and Ethnicity in Twentieth-
Century America (New York: Free Press, 1992), 59.
63. Steven Steinberg, The Ethnic Myth: Race, Ethnicity and Class in America (Boston:
Beacon Press, 1989).
64. I am indebted to Judith Smith for the idea that Americanist notions of “ethnicity”
are “generic.” See Judith Smith, “Creating Everyman after World War II:
Evaporating Ethnic and Class Distinctiveness in Postwar White Cultural Identity,”
paper presented at the American Studies Association conference, November 1992.
65. E.Franklin Frazier, “The Failure of the Negro Intellectual,” in E.Franklin Frazier
on Race Relations, Ed. G.Franklin Edwards (Chicago: University of Chicago Press,
1968), 278. Frazier (whom Cruse sincerely admired) was of course comparing
black intellectuals in the United States unfavorably to their counterparts in the
decolonizing world.
66. Michael Omi and Howard Winant, Racial Formation in the United States (New
York: Routlege, 1986).
Part 2
JEFFREY MELNICK
Trying to get a handle on George Gershwin’s Porgy and Bess in his own operatic
work, The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual, Harold Cruse argues that not only
should this folk opera—whose music he hates—have been written “by Negroes
themselves,” but that if it had it would “never have been supported, glorified and
acclaimed,” as Porgy and Bess has. This is a strange two-way contention,
something like the old joke about the restaurant patron who complains, “the food
here is terrible—and such small portions!” After his breathless attempt to explain
why he considers Porgy and Bess a central text for understanding the relative
failures of African American theatrical productions, Cruse settles for calling
Gershwin’s work “the most contradictory cultural symbol ever created in the
Western world”1
Cruse makes it clear that he does not like the substance of Gershwin’s work,
calling it “a rather pedestrian blend of imitation Puccini and imitation South
Carolina-Negro folk music” that participates in the hundred year-old American
tradition of making fun (and money) out of travesties of blackness.2 With this
Cruse joins earlier critics of Porgy and Bess who derided Gershwin’s attempt to
forge unity from diversity: the composer and critic Virgil Thomson wrote that
this work came “straight from the melting pot. At best it is a piquant but highly
unsavory stirring-up together of Israel, Africa and the Gaelic Isles.” Thomson
goes on to note and assail the diffuse nature of Porgy and Bess’s artistic
approach, calling it “crooked folklore and halfway opera.” Ralph Matthews, the
arts writer for the Baltimore Afro-American agreed, noting that in its hybridity
Porgy and Bess lacked the “deep sonorous incantations so frequently identified
with the racial offerings.” African American choral director Hall Johnson was
also cautiously critical, noting, “When the leaves are gathered by strange hands
they soon wither, and when cuttings are transplanted into strange soil, they have
but a short and sickly life.”3
As for the minstrel connection, at least one contemporary critic of Porgy and
Bess, Edward Morrow, thought it was time to “debunk Gershwin’s lampblack
Negroisms” and thus uncover its roots in stage blackface traditions.4 As early as
1946, music historian Rudi Blesh was elaborating further on this point, writing,
Gershwin’s Porgy and Bess is not Negro opera despite a Negro cast, a liberal use
98 • JEFFREY MELNICK
Porgy and Bess: The Anglo-Saxon “creative impulse” was more or less spent by
the 1920s, he says, so Jews rushed in to fill the vacuum, primarily by preempting
“a considerable portion of Negro thematic materials”; as a last gasp, faded Anglo-
Saxons desperately grabbed onto the coattails of increasingly successful Jews,
George Gershwin among them.10
Among other problems, Cruse’s model of cultural production subscribes too
rigidly to a model of ethnic and racial separatism that denies the multiple points
of contact in the modern American city, and indeed the multiple elements of
identity that always contribute to the constitution of a self in relation to others. A
good corrective to such a one-dimensional view comes by example from a
description that David Levering Lewis offers of the bond forged between the Jew
Joel Spingarn and the African American W.E.B.Du Bois, during their years
working for the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People; by
suggesting this relationship was rooted in a “New England kinship of patrician
combativeness and superior culture,” Lewis subtly counteracts the tendency to fold
all the complexities of social identity into the most obvious marker.11
But Cruse’s “race into culture” example has not been ignored. For instance,
literary critic Walter Benn Michaels’ has recently discussed how the idea of
“race” was translated into the concept of “culture” in the years leading up to
World War I. He argues that the concept of distinct cultures that evolved in the
World War I era was a dodge: pretending to be nonracial, “culture” never got
much past the idea of “race” that it was meant to replace. As a result, Michaels
concludes, “the assertion of cultural identity depends upon an identity that
cannot be cultural—we are not Jews because we do Jewish things, we do Jewish
things because we are Jews.”12 But Michaels draws his interpretation from
relatively few literary, anthropological, and sociological texts, and the popular
music scene suggests some major revision might be in order.
The major lesson taught by the success of Jews in the music business is that
“Jewish things” are, quite simply, all things. Jews like Gershwin constructed
their public image as “omni-Americans”: They bypassed the frightening question
of what is lost by assimilation into mainstream culture by suggesting that
“assimilation” is something that Jews did to other people and their cultural
materials—even while they intermarried, hit the big time, and practiced no
religious Judaism.13 The work of the Jews of Tin Pan Alley and
Broadway instructed numerous sympathetic observers to understand the culture
of the Jewish “race” to be defined by fusion. These Jewish productions
positioned their makers at the heart of modern city life.
Leading a group sing of that old “E Pluribus Unum,” Jewish composers and
performers were able as Jews to justify their place at the center of American
popular culture. Arguing that their access to the melancholy Old World cantorial
sounds of their “fathers” (real and imagined) made them perfectly suited to
articulate the pathos of their African American “brothers,” these songwriters
provided an example of how Jews—in their mixedness and social agility—might
operate as an emblem of the healthy nation. The promise of these musical Jews
HAROLD CRUSE’S WORST NIGHTMARE • 101
in American life is that they would gladly contribute cultural capital to the
American scene without making demands for political power. Berlin put some of
this into “Let Me Sing and I’m Happy,” which Al Jolson sang as he played Mr.
Bones in the 1930 movie Mammy, and which allowed the singer to not get
involved with making laws as long as he could continue singing the popular
songs of the nation. What Jewish composers like Gershwin and Berlin suggested
with such popular artifacts was an influential, if now little-noticed, form of
Jewish American cultural nationalism. This cultural nationalism, as Cruse
himself notes in Plural but Equal, was in direct competition with the African
American vogue of the Harlem, or “New Negro,” Renaissance.14
The real “victory” of Jews is not, as Cruse thinks, that a relatively small group
of them somehow dictated policy to African Americans in the Communist Party.
If finger pointing is called for at all (and I’m not saying that it isn’t) then the
Jews of Tin Pan Alley and Broadway offer a much better example than the
Communist Party of a collective that was involved with “cultural group
competition, imitation, exploitation, subordination, and patronization coupled
with creative suppression and negation.”15
Through the medium of African American entertainers and productions, a
virtually closed circle of influence was established among Jewish composers and
performers by the early 1900s. One possible response to Cruse’s argument that
Gershwin and other Jews “achieved status and recognition in the 1920s for music
that they literally stole outright from Harlem nightclubs” is to suggest that if
Cruse is going to employ the vocabulary of theft he could be more precise: Much
of the music Gershwin and his colleagues heard was written by other Jews, and
represents the yield of an earlier wave of appropriation.16
Even so, the extent of contact does raise the question of direct appropriation of
African American compositions by Jews. Claims of musical theft have been
abundant but often difficult to trace: Eubie Blake believed that Gershwin took a
Charles Luckeyth Roberts theme for his own “Swanee Ripples”; Verna Arvey,
the wife of African American composer William Grant Still, thought that
Gershwin might have nicked part of his epochal “I Got Rhythm” from a motif
her husband used to play while he was oboist in the hugely popular 1921 show
Shuffle Along; others have noted the use Gershwin makes of the Charleston
rhythm developed by his friend James P.Johnson for his own Concerto in F.17
In considering these charges of larceny it is important to remember that
however much piracy actually existed, African American musicians felt unable
to protect the fruits of their labor—especially from the Jewish composers and
publishers of Tin Pan Alley. This is nowhere more clear than in the tale of possible
theft that links two giants of the era, Scott Joplin and Irving Berlin. In an essay
published in 1991, Edward Berlin presented his remarkable findings, which show
convincingly that Joplin believed that Irving Berlin stole “Alexander’s Ragtime
Band” from a theme he had been working on for his opera Treemonisha; the
crucial data is that Joplin had brought pieces of Treemonisha to show to Henry
Waterson, a publisher with close ties to Berlin. Tracking a number of different
102 • JEFFREY MELNICK
sources, including one that portrays Joplin being reduced to tears upon first
hearing Berlin’s song, Edward Berlin wisely concludes that it is impossible to
ascertain whether Irving Berlin truly stole from Joplin. More important, he
fittingly notes, is that Joplin—not without some grounding—believed this to be
true. Perhaps the most chilling piece of evidence in Edward Berlin’s account is
this snippet, from a gossip column in 1911, the year of “Alexander’s Ragtime
Band”: “Scott Joplin is anxious to meet Irving Berlin. Scott is hot about
something.”18
Notwithstanding the countless assertions of theft and the friction caused by
various business relationships (including manager to musician), antagonism is
not the central term for comprehending the musical terrain shared by Jews and
African Americans: nearness is. It is hard to imagine any twentieth-century
conception of the “popular” in America that could leave out either Jews or
African Americans. The two most significant branches of the American culture
industry in the first decades of this century—the movies and popular music—
relied on Jews and African Americans as artists, owners, managers, theorists of
the forms, and, not least of all, as subjects of the major productions. By the
1920s, more to the point, much of what was being sold as “black” and as
“popular” was made by Jews.19 For Cruse’s analysis of Gershwin to succeed,
then, it would need to surrender the notion that members of distinct ethnic or
racial groups have “natural” access only to color-coded cultural matter. To get a
fuller sense of the harm done by Gershwin, it is essential to examine not how he
crossed over some bold and definitive boundary in order to get at black stuff, but
instead to come to terms with how he publicized himself—his body, really—as
the ideal site for the production of blackness. What Gershwin might be held most
responsible for is the part he played in constructing the role of the modern white
Negro. The rhetoric surrounding the creation of Porgy and Bess insisted that the
blackness transmitted by Gershwin in the opera came from within and was the
product of a self that had an organic connection to African American life.
Although the composer rarely romanticized the attractive dangers of blackness, a
move that now seems constitutive of the white Negro, Gershwin—with his luster
of high-art respectability—helped organize a critical modality for explaining and
perhaps justifying the presence of Jews in African American music.
Gershwin was the first important Jewish white Negro of the twentieth century;
he had been making claims to African American life and music by the second
and third decades of the 1900s. From the time of his first “mini-opera,” Blue
Monday—which Gershwin referred to in a letter to biographer Isaac Goldberg as
his “nigger opera”—Gershwin situated himself, when he wanted to, as within
African American music.20 Traditional musicology depicts Gershwin as Janus-
faced, staring off across the ocean to the musical modernists of Europe while
also keeping his eyes fixed firmly on the vernacular forms surrounding him. But
it should be clear by now that Gershwin’s greatest gift was in staking out African
American music (arrived at in the vehicle of his vague but vital Jewishness) as
the grounds for modernist innovation.21
HAROLD CRUSE’S WORST NIGHTMARE • 103
appeal in the 1930s: the rediscovery of the American “folk” by all manner of
organizations (the Works Progress Administration, the Communist Party) and
individuals. But unlike those who explored the world of the folk in order to
expose problems in the American system, Gershwin was of a more celebratory
bent. Of course, Henry’s brother Benjamin Botkin was himself a leading
folklorist, with a particular interest in African American materials; Gershwin
might well have understood his work on Porgy and Bess to be a fulfillment of
Botkin’s 1934 call for a conscious blending of native and cosmopolitan artistic
forms.29
It will simply not do, however, to imagine that Gershwin was some leftist
cultural worker out selflessly to compile African American folk materials in
order, ultimately, to further the cause of racial justice. Even so, he presents an
excellent example of the kind of “racial romanticism”—marked by a
“fundamental ambivalence of identifications”—that Kobena Mercer considers
central to the white Negroism of Norman Mailer and others.30
It is sometimes hard to take Gershwin very seriously at all, especially when
examining the superficial and romantic clichés he used to describe his trip. Soon
after arriving in South Carolina Gershwin wrote to his mother that the “place
down here looks like a battered old South Sea Island “going on to complain of
the “flies and gnats and mosquitoes.”31 But any hint of displeasure had
disappeared by the time Frank Gilbreth, a reporter from the Charleston News and
Courier, showed up for the first of two interviews with the composer; Gershwin
gushed at being at such a “back-to-nature” place and even offered up a sample of
a local corn whiskey known as “Hell Hole Swamp.”32 At this initial meeting
Gershwin was clean and neatly dressed in a “light Palm Beach coat and an
orange tie.” When Gilbreth returned for the next interview “Gershwin’s hair was
matted and uncombed, his beard was an inch thick,” and he greeted the reporter
shirtless—”Bare and black above the waist,” as Gilbreth put it. This reporter was
so taken with the blackness of the composer that he wondered whether Gershwin
intended “to play the part of Crown, the tremendous buck in ‘Porgy’ who
plunges a knife into the throat of a friend too lucky at craps and who makes women
love him by placing huge black hands about their throats and tensing his
muscles.”33 The headlong rush of this sentence, its breathless syntax, indicates that
at least this one reporter was nearly overwhelmed by Gershwin’s “native” act.
The content of the description also reminds us that, as Marianna Torgovnick has
written, within “Western culture, the idiom ‘going primitive’ is in fact
congruent in many ways to the idiom ‘getting physical.’”34 For his own part,
Gershwin reveled in the “freedom” of Folly Beach, writing in a letter to Emily
Paley that he, Botkin, and Mueller “go around with practically nothing on, [and]
shave only every other day.”35 (Of course, as a Jewish man Gershwin could not
go totally naked/native; while he might “black-up” above the waist, the telltale
mark of the male Jew was, of course, located below the waist.)
The most significant moments of this trip came when Gershwin actually had
contact with local Gullahs on James Island. A story recounted in a New York Times
HAROLD CRUSE’S WORST NIGHTMARE • 105
article on Porgy and Bess in early October of 1935, and told more fully by Heyward
in a piece published in Stage, furnished an interpretation of Gershwin’s sojourn
in South Carolina that has formed the heart of the Gershwin Porgy and Bess
legend. In Heyward’s version, Gershwin’s trip to James Island was “more like a
homecoming than an exploration.”36 The crucial mystical moment in Heyward’s
account came when he and Gershwin observed a “shout,” a religious form which
combines vocalization, handclapping, and movement; Gershwin could not
remain a spectator, and began to “shout” with the Gullahs. To the “huge delight”
of the participants, Gershwin stole the show. Heyward concludes that Gershwin
is the “only white man in America who could have done it.”37
This anecdote carried—and continues to carry much rhetorical weight.38
Heyward’s article was first published almost simultaneously with the New York
debut of Porgy and Bessy and has been republished and cited extensively. The
arguments in Heyward’s piece quickly lost the appearance of being arguments,
just as Heyward must have wished. Instead, Heyward’s insights have come to act
as givens in the reception of not only Porgy and Bess, but indeed Gershwin’s
whole career. Typical of this process is the conclusion of one Gershwin biographer,
who suggests that Heyward’s story clearly demonstrates “Gershwin’s empathy
with the music of the Gullahs.”39 But the careful design of Heyward’s chronicle
makes it clear that he was trying to authorize Gershwin as composer of “black”
music for his own “black” story. Heyward, as a Southern white man, did not
need such validation, ostensibly because of the geographic access he had to the
African Americans who populate his story. Heyward’s journalistic account/
advocacy piece may have been inspired by the fact that Porgy and Bess was a
shaky proposition commercially; it did not have much success until an early
1940s revival after the death of both Gershwin and Heyward, and a major
contemporary public relations effort pitched it as both high art and the authentic
yield of African American folk music.
A central tenet of the cultural work surrounding the Jewish composer’s
relationship to African Americans was that Gershwin really had become one of
them. A good friend of Gershwin recounted that after experiencing the
excitement of African American churches and schools the composer would walk
around Folly Beach singing spirituals. The reporter Gilbreth wrote that during
his visit Gershwin sat at the piano to play “I Got Rhythm” and before long
“two black servants, back in the kitchen, were beating time.” The performance
ended with “30 or 40 people—mostly servants from nearby cottages”
gravitating toward Gershwin’s playing.40 Kay Halle, another Gershwin friend,
provided the white Negro capper: “George had become so deeply identified with
the black life around Folly Beach and Charleston” that he began to find whites
drab and unemotional. Gershwin, speaking about the characters in Porgy and
Bess but obviously making a broader point as well told the reporter from the
News and Courier that he found whites “dull and drab,” but was impressed that
with “the colored people there is always a song.”41 Gershwin’s white Negroism
had a life beyond Folly Beach, and the rehearsals for Porgy and Bess vouched
106 • JEFFREY MELNICK
Notes
Portions of this essay have been adapted from my book A Right to Sing the Blues:
African Americans, Jews, and American Popular Song (Cambridge, Mass.:
Harvard University Press, 1999).
1. Harold Cruse, The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual: A Historical Analysis of the
Failure of Black Leadership (1967; reprint New York: Quill, 1984), 102–3.
2. Ibid., 183.
3. Hall Johnson, quoted in Joan Peyser, The Memory of All That: The Life of George
Gershwin (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1993), 248–49; Hollis Alpert, Porgy
and Bess: The Story of An American Classic (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1990),
118; Charles Schwartz, Gershwin: His Life and Music. New York: Da Capo,
1973), 245. Matthews’s review, which calls Gershwin’s work less accomplished
than Green Pastures, is in the Baltimore Afro-American, October 19, 1935, p. 8.
Hall Johnson’s opinion is cited in the New York Times, April 3, 1983; clipping
found in the Harvard University Theatre Collection file on Porgy and Bess.
4. See also Peyser, Memory of All That, 251; Alpert, Porgy and Bess, 121; and
Schwartz, Gershwin, 245.
5. For Morrow quotations, see Mark Tucker, Ed., The Duke Ellington Reader (New
York: Oxford University Press, 1993), 115; see also Rudi Blesh, Shining Trumpets:
A History of Jazz (1946; 2d ed. New York: Alfred A.Knopf, 1955), 204–5.
6. Cruse, Crisis, 221.
7. Ibid., 152.
8. Barry Singer, Black and Blue: The Life and Lyrics of Andy Razaf (New York:
Schirmer, 1992), 79.
9. Harold Cruse, Plural but Equal: A Critical Study of Blacks and Minorities and
America’s Plural Society (New York: William Morrow, 1987), 137.
10. Cruse, Crisis, 515.
11. David Levering Lewis, When Harlem Was in Vogue (1981; reprint New York:
Oxford University Press, 1989), 10.
12. Walter Benn Michaels, Our America: Nativism, Modernism, and Pluralism
(Durham, NC.: Duke University Press, 1995), 139.
13. I borrow the term “omni-Americans” from Albert Murray’s book The Omni-
Americans: Black Experience and American Culture (1970; reprint New York:
Vintage, 1983).
14. Cruse, Plural but Equal, 138.
15. Ibid., 138.
16. Cruse, Crisis, 108.
17. Terry Waldo, This is Ragtime (New York: Hawthorne, 1976), 112–13; Walter
Rimler, A Gershwin Companion: A Critical Inventory and Discography, 1916–
1984 (Ann Arbor, MI: Popular Culture, Ink, 1991), 239–41; Peyser, Memory of All
That, 105; Kenneth Kanter, The Jews on Tin Pan Alley: The Jewish Contribution to
American Popular Music, 1830–1940 (New York: Ktav/Cincinnati: American
Jewish Archives, 1982), 125. Judith Grant Still, the daughter of the composer,
corroborated her mother’s claim, adding that her father spoke often of how
Gershwin used to come up to Harlem to get ideas; see Peyser, Memory of All That,
43. Duke Ellington also suggested that Gershwin based a passage of his Rhapsody
108 • JEFFREY MELNICK
in Blue on the song “Where Has My Easy Rider Gone?” Ellington, quoted in
Tucker, Ed., Duke Ellington Reader, 115.
18. See Edward Berlin’s account, originally published in 1991 as “Scott Joplin’s
Treemonisha Years,” American Music 9, no. 3 (1991): 260–76, esp. 267–68. This
fine detective work is also incorporated into Berlin’s 1994 biography King of
Ragtime: Scott Joplin and His Era (New York: Oxford University Press, 1994),
210–12.
19. Scholarly work has only begun to be undertaken on how heavily the movie and
music industries relied on adaptations of “blackness” in the early decades of the
twentieth century. A good introduction to what he calls the “surplus symbolic value
of blacks” can be found in Michael Rogin’s “Blackface, White Noise: The Jewish
Jazz Singer Finds His Voice,” Critical Inquiry 18, no. 3 (1992): 417–53; “Making
America Home: Racial Masquerade and Ethnic Assimilation in the Transition to
Talking Pictures.” Journal of American History 79, no. 3 (1992): 1050–77; and “‘The
Sword Became a Flashing Vision’: D.W.Griffith’s The Birth of a Nation,” in The
New American Studies: Essays from Representations, Ed. Philip Fisher (Berkeley
and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1991), 346–91. Even less
attention has been paid to the music business; one excellent exception can be found
in Robert Dawidoff, “Some of Those Days,” Western Humanities Review 41, no. 3
(1987): 263–86; the article is about Sophie Tucker, Jean-Paul Sartre, and a number
of other things as well.
20. This letter, dated June 15,1931, can be found in the Gershwin file at the Harvard
University Theatre Collection. See also Peyser, Memory of All That, 114.
21. Carol Oja, “George Gershwin and American Modernists: A Reevaluation.” Paper
presented at the 1993 American Studies Association Conference, Boston.
22. Peyser, Memory of All That, 237; Isaac Goldberg, George Gershwin: A Study in
American Music, supplemented by Edith Garson (1931; reprint New York:
Frederick Ungar, 1958), 41.
23. Alpert, Porgy and Bess, 71. As late as 1933 a columnist in the New York Evening
Post wondered whether the musical version of Porgy would have a Negro
company, “or a white mammy singer, such as Mr. Jolson.” See clipping, November
3,1933, Harvard University Theatre Collection file on Porgy and Bess.
24. DuBose Heyward, “Porgy and Bess Returns on Wings of a Song,” Stage
Magazine, October 1935; reprinted in Merle Armitage, Ed., George Gershwin
(New York: Longmans, Green, 1938), 35. A few years earlier Gershwin had
written to Heyward that he was planning to be in Charleston and hoped to hear some
spirituals “and perhaps go to a colored cafe or two if there are any”; Gershwin,
quoted in Alpert, Porgy and Bess, 79.
25. Eric Lott, Love and Theft: Blackface Minstrelsy and the American Working Class
(New York: Oxford University Press, 1989), 94.
26. For Norman Mailer’s original pronouncements see his “White Negro” (1957), in
Advertisements for Myself (New York: G.P.Putnam’s, 1959), 311–31. For another
important, if neglected, statement of Jewish white Negroism, see Seymour Krim,
Views of a Nearsighted Cannoneer (New York: Excelsior, 1961).
27. I was helped substantially in thinking about what it means to “go native” by
Marianna Torgovnick’s fine study Gone Primitive: Savage Intellects, Modern Lives
(Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1990), 3–41.
28. Alpert, Porgy and Bess, 88; Schwartz, Gershwin, 316 n. 24.
HAROLD CRUSE’S WORST NIGHTMARE • 109
29. Robert Dorman, Revolt of the Provinces: The Regionalist Movement in America,
1920–1945. (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1993), 149–50;
William Stott, Documentary Expression in Thirties America (1973; reprint Chicago:
University of Illinois Press, 1986); Marcus Klein, Foreigners: The Making of
American Literature 1900–1940 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1981),
130–81.
30. Kobena Mercer, Welcome to the Jungle: New Positions in Black Cultural Studies
(New York: Routledge, 1994).
31. Alpert, Porgy and Bess, 88; Edward Jablonski, Gershwin: A Biography (Boston:
Northeastern University Press, 1987), 272.
32. My attention was drawn to these articles by Jablonski, Gershwin, 273; Gilbreth
wrote under the name Ashley Cooper. See Charleston News and Courier, June 19,
1934, 12.
33. Charleston News and Courier, June 29, 1934, p. 9A. When Gershwin came back
through Charleston the next winter, the same paper made a point of noting that the
composer was now several “shades lighter than when he left Charleston.” See
Charleston News and Courier, January 31, 1935, 7.
34. Torgovnick, Gone Primitive, 228.
35. Charleston News and Courier, June 29, 1934, 9A.
36. DuBose Heyward, quoted in Armitage, ed., George Gershwin, 39. The New York
Times article is from October 6, 1935; Harvard University Theatre Collection
clipping file on Porgy and Bess.
37. Heyward, quoted in Armitage, Ed., George Gershwin, 39; see also Jablonski, Ed.,
Gershwin Remembered (Portland, OR: Amadeus, 1992), 99. The shout story
received wide publication at the time (not to mention in the ensuing years); see, for
instance, clippings from the New York Times, October 6,1935, and September 19,
1976, Harvard University Theatre Collection file on Porgy and Bess.
38. See, for instance, Ann Douglas’s uncritical reproduction of it in Terrible Honesty:
Mongrel Manhattan in the 1920s (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1995),
102.
39. See, for instance, Schwartz, Gershwin, 316 n. 25.
40. Jablonski, Gershwin 273–74; Charleston News and Courier, June 19,1934,12.
41. Kay Halle, quoted in Jablonski, Ed., Gershwin Remembered, 100; Charleston News
and Courier, June 29, 1934, 9A.
42. Armitage, Ed., George Gershwin, 43; David Ewen, George Gershwin: His Journey
to Greatness (1956; 2nd ed. New York: Ungar, 1980), 230.
43. Ella Shohat notes, for instance, that in the film High Society (1956) it is the singing
of Bing Crosby that seems to inspire the trumpet playing of Louis Armstrong, and
not vice versa; see Shohat, “Ethnicities-in-Relation: Toward a Multicultural
Reading of American Cinema,” in Unspeakable Images: Ethnicity and the
American Cinema, Ed. Lester Friedman (Chicago: University of Illinois Press,
1991), 226.
44. Gerald Bordman, Jerome Kern: His Life and Music (New York: Oxford University
Press, 1980), 400. For a good account of Robeson’s involvement with Show Boat
and “Ol’ Man River” see Richard Dyer, Heavenly Bodies: Film Stars and Society
(London: BFI-Macmillan, 1986), 105–7, 126–28.
45. Conductor, quoted in Armitage, Ed., George Gershwin 45.
110 • JEFFREY MELNICK
46. Peyser, Memory of All That, 44–45, 132. See also Wilfred Mellers, Music in a New
Found Land: Themes and Developments in the History of American Music (1965;
reprint Boston: Faber and Faber, 1987), 392, 397. Mellers is one of the few
scholars to attempt an extended analysis of Porgy and Bess that integrates
musicology and cultural history; 392–413.
5
The African American Musician
as Intellectual
JAMES C.HALL
In support of his argument that U.S. cultural democracy is nothing more than
pretense, Harold Cruse compellingly reminds us that Duke Ellington was turned
down for a special Pulitzer Prize citation in 1965. Cruse writes that this “turn-
down indicates that the same old, ethnic-group war for cultural supremacy in
American music is still being waged” and that “Ellington could be denied this
kind of cultural recognition only because of the undemocratic way the cultural
machine in America is run.”1 This startling snub of Ellington allows Cruse to
write eloquently about developments (or the lack thereof) in American and
African American cultural criticism that would allow such a judgment to stand
without aggressive rebuttal. The question of Ellington’s reputation—at least as
understood by the Pulitzer trustees—is for Cruse the occasion to develop some
of his most pointed remarks as to the need for informed cultural leadership.
Cruse does quote Ellington’s elegant response to the news—“Fate’s being
kind to me; Fate doesn’t want me to be famous too young”—but, unfortunately,
does not ascribe significant intellectual agency to the composer, pianist, and
bandleader. The significant players in this social drama are the Pulitzer
committee (uninformed arbiters of WASP aesthetics and values) and silent and
not-so-silent Negro commentators. Cruse notes that “Forty years after the 1920
era, Duke Ellington has outplayed, outcreated, and outlasted all the Benny Good-
mans and Paul Whitemans,” but never evaluates the substance of that legacy as it
might pertain to his own arguments (109–10). I want to explore this
complex blind spot in Cruse’s analysis. Most straightforwardly, as regards
“cultural leadership “Cruse privileges a critical discourse that is more often than
not literary in origin and intent. There is a suspicion, perhaps, of the kinds of
choices made in the pursuit of the musician’s art. As a corollary, Cruse
complains of Leroi Jones’s Blues People that it “deals adequately with the
evolution of jazz styles (i.e., the content of jazz and blues modes of expression),
but not enough with the social structure (the nature of the cultural apparatus to
which Negro jazz and its artists are subordinated)” (108). But the related error here
is, I believe, a tendency to separate the evolution of musical styles—or “content”—
from social structure. Cruse lacks an adequate politics of style and
underestimates the consciousness of the African American musician and her
ability to transform that consciousness into an art that often anticipates the
112 • JAMES C.HALL
same time excoriating Porgy and Bess as the grossest perversion of black life
imaginable.2 No African American musical figure is given any significant voice
in the text with the exception of Paul Robeson. No space, however, is dedicated
to a consideration of Robeson’s musical art. Focusing mainly on Robeson’s
relationship to the Communist Party and his efforts with Freedom magazine, Cruse
describes Robeson as “neither very independent nor much of a leader…a close
examination of his views shows that he was not at all an original thinker” (227).
This dialectic (and jeremiad), then, works itself back and forth between the
poles of absolute absence and corrupted presence. This powerful polemic can,
however, distort. His statement that the “serious Negro composer is practically a
nonentity” (70) is hyperbole. Suggestions that to become part of a popular idiom
is by definition to be “whitened” (85) are too sweeping. Again, he is at his
strongest when he utilizes the dialectic to make clear the racist blindness of
American cultural criticism, as when he criticizes Gilbert Seldes’s celebration of
the vitality of Sissle and Eubie Blake’s Shuffle Along for withholding the
designation “art” (98). The absence, however, of any references to blues, rhythm
and blues, soul, gospel, or rock and roll has the impact of making Crisis a kind
of self-fulfilling prophecy. By choosing to disregard what is arguably the largest
“field” or “fields” of African American artistic activity, it is not surprising that
what is left might give the appearance of a “wasteland.”3 The cultural nationalism
that is being shaped is fundamentally middlebrow in orientation. The ideological
formation Cruse is shaping must distance itself from the continuous assaults
upon the American popular imagination by African Americans—especially by the
younger generation. I will return to what I perceive to be the distortions of this
absence and distancing, but first I want to turn to Cruse’s cursory but important
engagement with and perceptions of jazz.
According to Cruse, “in quality the Negro has retrogressed in every creative
field except jazz” (69). As he mentions few musicians in any substantive way,
Ellington must (and not inappropriately so) stand in as the representative of this
quality. One suspects that it is Ellington’s virtuosity and artistic range, if not his
public persona of aristocratic and elegant creativity, that appeals to Cruse. At the
same time, Cruses powerfully acknowledges the “whole history of organized
duplicity and exploitation of the Negro jazz artist” (110). Responsibility for this
exploitation lies with the African American middle class as a whole, and the
failed “creative intellectual” stratum in particular. Of the black bourgeoisie, he
writes, they do “not publish books, [do] not own and operate theaters or music
halls. It plays no role to speak of in Negro music, and is remote from the living
realities of the jazz musician who plays out his nights in the effete and soulless
commercial jungles of American white middle-class café culture” (454). He
complains that Jones did not follow up Blues People with an attempt to “found a
critical Negro jazz publication.” Further, he writes, “Harlem could well use a
jazz institute, a type of foundation that has never existed, to further the creative,
economic, research and educational interests of the jazz musician. The problem
here is that despite Blues People, the white jazz critics are still deciding the
114 • JAMES C.HALL
status and fortunes of Negro jazzmen” (540). In Crisis, then, jazz is the single
example of African American advancement in the arts whereas at the same time
it is compromised by its relationship to white (and notably “effete”)
commercialism. A middle class cultural nationalism is necessary, he argues, but
it is unclear whether the problem is underachievement in the field or some kind
of inevitable future crash.
One difficulty with this analysis is, I think, that Cruse overestimates the power
of (white) critical authority. While the corporate capitalism that produced and
distributed jazz might utilize the statements of white critics as authorizing
gestures within their marketing, the critics were hardly a necessity. (After all, the
most important “critical” jazz publication by the mid-1960s, the Jazz Review, had
a very brief existence.) More important, what is most striking is Cruse’s
inattention to the accomplishments of African American musicians themselves in
acknowledging and struggling against “the soulless commercial jungle” and in
determining and articulating critical standards. Indeed, central to Jones’ model of
the evolution of jazz styles is an ongoing tradition of response, of attempting to
stay ahead of the artistically deadening effects of the market, and the disruptions
and thefts of white (and black) latecomers.
My argument here is that African American musical modernism itself
can constitute a cultural nationalism, a philosophy or musical approach not
completely distant from the issues Cruse saw as crucial. This musical
modernism—as a set of beliefs and practices—often led to associations similar to
those sought by Cruse. Postwar experimentation with musical forms was so
dramatic as to dramatically alter the sociology of the music. No longer primarily
a dance music, jazz began to move toward not only “café society” but also the
concert hall and the university classroom. More important, the first generation of
jazz modernists—Dizzy Gillespie, Charlie Parker, Oscar Pettiford, and others—
were careful “readers” of the cultural scene and developed a music critical of the
very relations and structures that Cruse despised. Not only did these musicians
actively claim for themselves the title of artist, but the music, in its ability to
parody, satirize, and suggest continuity with previous black musics, was explicit
about the existence of a “black oriented and originated” aesthetic practice. The
second generation of modernists (and some first-generation holdovers) began to
imagine new relations and structures within which music might be produced,
distributed, and criticized. Sonny Rollins’ sabbaticals, Charles Mingus’
experiments in form and musical organization, Mary Lou Williams’s attempts at
organizing philanthropic ventures for musicians, Gillespie’ ventures into Afro-
Cuban music, and Billy Taylor’s “Jazzmobile” are all suggestive encounters with
and challenges to white capitalist hegemony in the jazz field.
Paul Berliner’s important book Thinking in Jazz also documents the ways in
which the “jazz community” establishes rites of passages for young musicians
and sees to it that essential knowledge is passed down from generation to
generation.4 (He also acknowledges the important roles played by more
conventional institutional structures like universities and conservatories.) Berliner
THE AFRICAN AMERICAN MUSICIAN AS INTELLECTUAL • 115
on to describe the efforts by Sun Ra and Cecil Taylor, among others, to start
their own record labels, and other innovative practices in marketing and
distribution (like the 1970s New York loft scene), that represent substantive
attempts to alter the relationship between black creativity and the audience.
Arguably the culmination of this modernism (in terms of viable and complex
cultural nationalisms) are the musical collectives of the post-1960 period, one of
which (the Association for the Advancement of Colored Musicians, or AACM)
has proved incredibly resilient. Charles Mingus and Max Roach led a 1960
experiment, the Alternative Newport Festival, which led to the founding of the
Jazz Artists’ Guild. The Black Artists Group in St. Louis (1968), the AACM in
Chicago (1965), the Underground Musicians Association of Los Angeles (1964),
and the Creative Musicians Association of Detroit (1968) all seem very close to
what Harold Cruse had in mind as he theorized the establishment of black
cooperative ventures toward the invigoration and support of black arts. All of these
organizations consciously took up the issue of the relationship of the performer
to the means of production and the question of the direction or content of the
music itself. Ronald Radano’s recent study of Anthony Braxton nicely describes
the complex dynamic at the heart of these collectives.8 Thoroughly a “black
cultural nationalist” organization, AACM, which had an important influence
upon Braxton, organized an ambitious set of social programs, developed a
complex analysis of the economics of creative music, and debated the question
of white membership. Most of this analysis was “performed,” which is to say it
was either worked out democratically within the meetings of the organization, or
(and not secondarily) it was embodied within the music itself. None of these
collectives has been adequately studied, but their existence (and deep roots)
would seem to complicate Cruse’s insistence upon the necessity of a literary
discourse for the vitality and sustenance of black art. The accomplishments of
free jazz players (collectively and individually) represented (and continues to
represent) the most serious challenge to the business as usual of corporate
capitalism’s control and debasement of black music.
This rupture also parallels (and arguably produces) the beginnings of important
developments in African American music criticism by Leroi Jones,
A.B.Spellman, Charles Keil, Ben Sidran, Larry Neal, and others. Cruse’s
consideration of the Harlem Black Arts Repertory Theater and School suggests
that cultural nationalist organizations require a “Negro creative intellectual” class
strata in order to anticipate and deflect incursions by whites and/or black
integrationists. The reverse is also ostensibly true. The lesson of the 1960s
musical scene may be that formal innovation is crucial to the development of a
new order of interpreters. In either case, it seems dangerous to fetishize formal
institutional structures over and against a dynamic politics of style or the
ambition and agency of individual musicians and artists. Cruse rightly critiques
“extremists” who reject all bourgeois conventions and dispense with committing
themselves to long-term conversations about the organization and direction of
vibrant cultural nationalist enterprises. (And a reasonable objection to the free
THE AFRICAN AMERICAN MUSICIAN AS INTELLECTUAL • 117
jazz players is that in its separation once and for all of the tie between jazz and
black dance it dangerously undercuts the social basis of the best of African
American art.) But he errs, perhaps, in perceiving the commitment of the jazz
musician to be located in a kind of socio-cultural underground. On the one hand,
Cruse seems to object to the taint of commercialism that marks pre1960s jazz,
while on the other hand ignoring post-1960s jazz as irresponsibly avant-garde.
African American jazz musicians in the postwar period have been a dynamic
force in working against the assimilatory gestures of American capitalism in the
field of culture. The autobiographies of black jazzmen and—women suggest a
high level of awareness of the impact of the market on the health of the
profession and its artistic aims.9 More cultural historical work is necessary to
fully document the ways in which musicians effectively (or ineffectively)
resisted the hegemony of corporate capitalism, and contributed to the
development of complex nationalist experiments. Most important, we need to
recognize these reflections and actions as intellectual activity, attempts to shape
or change cultural spaces and, on occasion, society at large.10
As important as these accomplishments are, however, it is in the area of
popular musics that the most powerful impact by African American musicians
can be seen in the postwar era.
is a kind of cultural nationalism at work even as Brown is forced to rely upon white
record executives for distribution. (Of course, Brown tried to resist here too by
investing heavily in black radio.) George Clinton’s musical vehicles, Parliament
and Funkadelic, both largely post-Crisis, are similar attempts to reintroduce a
fundamental blackness to the practice of American popular musics. By the
mid-1970s, Clinton had introduced a complex mythology of space travel to his
music, an attempt to “colonize” a new space for black people and black
creativity. While Brown and Clinton are the most conspicuous examples of
sustaining black difference in the field of pop music, similar arguments could be
made for individuals as diverse as Little Richard, Bo Diddley, Marvin Gaye, and
Sly Stone. (The culmination of this process is, of course, hip-hop. Like bebop,
hip-hop is representative of not only particular musical developments, but also
unique assertions of style, language, politics, and, most interesting, technological
mastery.)
Cruse also errs, I think, in not taking seriously the impact of black capitalism
in the field of popular music (or considering its lack). One can begin with Black
Swan Records in the 1920s and work through any number of small rhythm and
blues labels like Duke-Peacock. The early to mid-1960s trajectory of Stax
Records, the stage marked by significant cross-racial cooperation, would
certainly have made an interesting model to which Cruse might have spoken.
(The post-Crisis demise of Stax is certainly important in evaluating Cruse’s
ideas.) Cruse’s analysis would be inevitably complicated by considering the case
of Motown Records. One suspects that it plays no part in his deliberations
because it is either fully compromised because of its unabashed commitment to
the popular arts, or because Cruse perceived its aesthetic and business policy as
determinedly assimilationist. But recent work has suggested that the relationship
of Motown to black aspiration and community consciousness may be more
complicated than noting the prevalence of slick dress, processed hair, and a
mainstream (i.e., white) professionalism.12 The problem of Motown, however, for
the critic-historian of either the cultural-nationalist or radical-pluralist
perspective is, once again, the aquisitory nature of corporate capitalism.
Motown’s success, in whatever terms, made it a target for takeover by corporate
interests, and the inevitable dilution of its product. Still, one perplexing lesson
provided by a consideration of the “blackest’ of American popular musics—
especially when there is significant evidence of black autonomy and self-
determination—is that they always attract a multiracial audience of discerning
listeners looking for the means to declare their independence from the
mainstream.
Ironically, then, the end result of the complex nationalism that I see at work is
a broad, diverse, multicultural audience for black difference in the arts, and
continued syncretism in the cultural mainstream. By complex nationalism I mean
an ideological formation and/or a social organization committed to the forceful
and permanent “presence” of blackness within American culture. At the same
time, however, this formation or organization operates self-consciously of the
THE AFRICAN AMERICAN MUSICIAN AS INTELLECTUAL • 119
social construction of race in the Americas, and often generates as central to its
mission a critique of racial authenticity. At its best, African American popular
music (which is to say most all of American popular music) has pragmatically
engaged, reflected, and represented this complexity, while at the same time
recognizing the necessity of asserting black difference over and against
American mediocrity. African American popular music remains the most
important reservoir of oppositional stances and strategies available to Americans
of a variety of class, race, and ethnic backgrounds.13 One may reasonably be
skeptical of the efficacy of the available opposition, but it is unreasonable to
ignore the breadth of African American accomplishment in popular music.
Conclusion
Cruse’s argument for the importance of institutional space in which African
Americans can exercise self-determination in the development of a substantive
cultural criticism is well founded. There seems to me to be a direct relationship
between significant formal innovation and opportunities for African Americans
to exercise control over the means of production and to develop and articulate
critical standards and context. Without overstating the “oppositionality” of
African American musical accomplishment, it is also to be acknowledged that
there is a relationship—perhaps still to be fully theorized—between effective
resistance and black control. Not surprisingly, as a white critic and historian, I
hope that one of the products of such self-determination is a substantial and largely
non-essentialist race politics that allows for the existence of a variety of
complementary voices.
To best serve his argument, however, Cruse chooses to understate African
American cultural accomplishment. It is true that dynamic cultural experiments
like the Harlem Black Arts Repertory Theater and School (BARTS) were
frustratingly short-lived. On the other hand, almost all radical experiments within
American culture, black or white, have been ephemeral. The conservatism of
corporate philanthropy in the “high” arts and corporate capitalism in the popular
arts has tended to cause both to shy away from the controversial. It is also true
that the democratic polity of groups like BARTS invites fragmentation and
perpetual change. This transience—over and against the seeming permanence of
the cultural spoliation provided by American capitalism—can cause the cultural
critic to feel as if his is a voice in the wilderness. Breadth of vision, however, can
serve to undermine this negative and potentially disabling feeling. Taking
seriously the creativity and ingenuity within the production and distribution of
the popular arts and, most significantly, the specifically intellectual
accomplishment of African American artists themselves will allow for an
enabling reconstruction. Cruse’s inattention to the agency of black music and
musicians is a crucial oversight.
Ultimately, I am seeking to endorse Cruse’s project by encouraging its
ongoing evaluation. Most significantly, we need to continue to produce histories
120 • JAMES C.HALL
of black cultural organizations and actions. We need the stories of Black Swan
Records, Oscar Micheaux, the Umbra Poets, the Liberator, Johnson
Publications, the Spiral Painters, and so on. (It is awe-inspiring and frustrating to
realize, for instance, that Crisis itself remains the only useful secondary source
for information on groups like the Harlem Writers Guild.) We need these stories
to jar us out of our acceptance of American culture as a refuge for mediocrity.
This disruption, after all, is The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual’s greatest
accomplishment. Perhaps the finest of our 1960s jeremiads, it is uncompromising
in its demand for justice and its recognition of the realities of power in American
cultural relations.
Notes
1. Harold Cruse, The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual (New York: William Morrow,
1967), 107; hereafter, page numbers will be cited parenthetically in the text.
2. I would argue that America had produced a “black Gershwin”—James P.Johnson;
or, perhaps more accurately, America produced a white James P.Johnson. Best
known for his contributions to the development of jazz piano, Johnson was a
dynamic experimenter as a composer. He ambitiously pursued projects that
provocatively mixed black and European modes. This seems to me an important
example of Cruse overlooking a notable black accomplishment; like Leroi Jones in
“The Myth of a Negro Literature,” Cruse is overly pessimistic as to the state of the
African American canon in the arts. It is important to document the absence of
African Americans in the American consciousness, but one must be careful not to
grant authority to the critical apparatus that has generated the exclusion—this
despite Cruse’s sensitive defense of Ellington. Of course, this has been the
important accomplishment of African American scholarship in the arts over the past
twenty-five years: challenging the basis upon which entry into the canon has been
granted, and recovering artists who have been lost along the way—writers like
Zora Neale Hurston and Lloyd Brown.
3. Certainly Cruse is welcome to hold to a narrower notion of culture than that which
is clearly behind my own thinking. That should not preclude any examination of
the concept of culture itself; while my focus is somewhat disciplinary (“music”
versus “literature”) it is ultimately Cruse’s framing of what constitutes (African
American) culture that represents my broadest concern.
4. See Paul Berliner, “Hangin’ Out and Jammin’: The Jazz Community as an
Educational System,” in Thinking in Jazz: The Infinite Art of Improvisation
(Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994), 36–59. Cruse is surprisingly silent
on the question of the oral tradition in the nurturing and support of African
American art and artists. While there is no question that in the modern period total
reliance upon predominantly oral and informal cultural gatekeepers and critics is
untenable, their substantial successes through slavery and reconstruction deserve
more attention.
5. See Lott, “Double V, Double Time: Bebop’s Politics of Style,” in Krin Gabbard,
Jazz Among the Discourses, Ed. Krin Gabbard (Durham, N.C.: Duke University
Press, 1995), 243–55.
THE AFRICAN AMERICAN MUSICIAN AS INTELLECTUAL • 121
6. See David Such, “The Economics of Performing Out,” in Avant Garde Jazz
Musicians: Performing Out There (University of Iowa Press, 1993), 75–92.
7. Ibid., 79.
8. Ronald Radano, New Musical Figurations: Anthony Braxton’s Cultural Critique
(Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1993). Radano’s consideration of Braxton’s
career seems to me to be an incredibly elegant challenge to Cruse. By describing
the simultaneity of Braxton’s immersion within the European musical avant garde
and the free jazz communities, Radano allows for a complex cultural nationalism to
emerge while at the same time recognizing that Braxton’s musical and intellectual
goals and his relationship to audiences may challenge the borders of that
nationalism.
9. See, for instance, Billie Holiday, Lady Sings the Blues (New York: Penguin, 1984),
Hampton Hawes, Raise Up off Me (New York: Da Capo, 1979), and Charles
Mingus, Beneath the Underdog (New York: Alfred A.Knopf, 1971).
10. Important new work in musical biography is leading us in this direction. See, for
example, Radano, Figurations, and Michael Harris, The Rise of Gospel Blues: The
Music of Thomas Andrew Dorsey in the Urban Church (New York: Oxford
University Press, 1992).
11. Nelson George, The Death of Rhythm and Blues, (New York: Pantheon, 1988).
12. See Gerald Early, One Nation under a Groove: Motown and American Culture
(New York: Ecco Press, 1995).
13. On black popular music and opposition see Paul Gilroy, The Black Atlantic
(Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1993), especially “‘Jewels Brought
From Bondage’: Black Music and the Politics of Authenticity,” 72–110. Also
significant is the work of George Lipsitz; see, in particular, “‘Ain’t Nobody Here But
Us Chickens’: The Class Origins of Rock ‘n’ Roll,” in Class and Culture in Cold
War America: A Rainbow at Midnight (New York: Praeger, 1981). Cruse’s evasion
of the question of black popular music may have something to do with Lipsitz’s
assertion that it often represents a site of interracial working-class exchange and is
potentially a site of class solidarity.
122
Part 3
The index to The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual contains nine page references
for “Catholicism and Catholics,” six for “Christianity,” four for “Finland and the
Finns,” seven for “Indians (American) one for “Irish” and none for “Jews.”
“Jews and Negroes,” however, yields thirty-eight references. Two entire chapters
of the book are devoted to this relationship, the only ethnic or religious group to
enjoy such treatment. What is this fixation about? Cruse’s treatment of Jews in
all these pages is certainly negative but not exclusively so, a blend of resentment,
admiration, and bitterness. I believe his complex feelings about Jews and his
fixation on them stems from the same roots: Jews and blacks have indeed been
more deeply intertwined in the United States than any other two groups, and
their relationship is full of complexity and ambiguity. From cultural production
to political action to economics, blacks and Jews have competed for and in the
same spaces. Furthermore, the grounds for Cruse’s indictment of Jews lie
squarely in the nationalist moment of the late 1960s. One way of understanding
Cruse’s attitudes toward Jews, or more properly toward black-Jewish relations, is
to examine the nature of those relationships historically, and to place Cruse’s
observations and conclusions in the context of the 1960s critique of liberals and
liberalism.
Cruse recognizes the long and deep role Jews played in the leftist and liberal
civil rights struggle from the early days of the National Association for the
Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) through the 1960s. As a nationalist,
he must critique any nonblack contribution in order to strengthen black
control of its own institutions and agendas. But more is at stake than just pulling
black people from their erstwhile allies. Jewish involvement, Cruse claims, was
pernicious. Not only did Jews (and other whites) naively mislead blacks into
believing an impossible dream, but worse, they deliberately manipulated the
movement for their own ends. He argues that Jews sought to control the civil
rights movement and the communist Left in order to promote themselves and
their interests. For example, he claims that Zionist Jews feared that black
nationalism would promote a White Anglo-Saxon Protestant (WASP) right wing
nationalist backlash, which would be bad for Jews. So they advocated black
assimilation (integration) while they opposed it for themselves.1 Communist
126 • CHERYL GREENBERG
Jews, Jews involved in cultural production, and others similarly used African
Americans and their struggle for equality to enhance their own standing, and did
so by denying to African Americans the cultural and economic nationalism Jews
had utilized to foster and protect their own rise. Ironically, Cruse notes,
American Jews faced no real problems in this country (since anti-Semitism
proved no barrier to economic advancement) and were nonetheless able to
mobilize along nationalist lines while black people, who did face real problems,
were prevented from doing so.2 In other words, although Jews managed to
achieve their ascendancy by promoting their own ethnic solidarity, they
prevented African Americans from doing so in turn. They closed the door behind
themsleves, hypocritically proclaiming an integrationist or assimilationist
ideology they had rejected for themselves. Cruse argues that Jews did so in order
to maintain the high position they had attained. Both “arrogant and paternalistic,”
they appointed themselves spokespeople for black interests so that they could
control the agenda, fend off black competition, and protect their hard-won
position part way up the ladder. All this created a dynamic whereby liberal
whites, especially Jews, dictated the process of civil rights and how to solve
“Negro issues.”3 Black intellectuals, who should have recognized this, were
nonetheless so captivated by the chimeric promise of full equality and equal
opportunity through integration (“they have sold their own birthright for an
illusion called Racial Integration,”) that they could not see their manipulation,
and therefore did not challenge either the message or the messenger.4 As Cruse
notes,
Instead of being able to essay his own solutions, the Negro intellectual has
been transformed into a problem by the white liberal, who prefers to keep
him in that position. The white liberal problem-solver has been
institutionalized as an organic part of the entire civil rights movement, and
is the emasculator of the creative and intellectual potential of the Negro
intelligentsia…. The interpretation of the Negro is predominantly a white
liberal affair, an alliance between white Christian and Jewish reformism.
Within the scope of this alliance, the resulting ideology is predominantly
of Jewish intellectual origin. In fact, the main job of researching and
interpreting the American Negro has been taken over by the
Jewish intelligentsia to the extent where it is practically impossible for the
Negro to deal with the Anglo-Saxon majority in this country unless he first
comes to the Jews to get his “instructions.”5
Meanwhile, Cruse argues, average black people had a very different relationship
with Jews, one based generally on economic exploitation. That was in part
because Jews, for all their protestations of victimization, nevertheless managed
to rise within the American system to enjoy both economic and political power
well beyond their numbers. Thus, every insincere plea from Jews that they
shared the plight of blacks fell on deaf ears: “the average Negro is not going to
HAROLD CRUSE ON BLACKS AND JEWS • 127
buy the propaganda that Negroes and Jews are ‘brother-sufferers’ in the same
boat.” Jews exploited blacks economically, culturally, and politically, and worst
of all, they would not acknowledge they were doing so but instead postured as
generous and altruistic allies.6
In this way, Cruse both explains the deep Jewish involvement with blacks and
civil rights and criticizes it. Yet this is not simple anti-Semitism. Cruse is
admiring of Jewish ability to succeed within a system he acknowledges resisted
that success. Like Marcus Garvey, he calls upon African Americans to take a
lesson from Jews’ cultural and economic nationalism, and to organize as
effectively in the political arena as Zionists did in mobilizing American support
for Israel. “Much more important than developing a critique on Jews, is the
challenge of learning the methods and techniques that the Zionists have
developed in the art of survival against all kinds of odds.”7 If there is anti-
Semitism in his arguments, it lies in an unfortunate tendency to assume that one
Jew speaks for all, that all Jews who act do so in concert or at least with a unified
sense of “Jewish interest” in mind, and that Jewish economic success suggests
there is no concrete reality to American anti-Semitism. But his critique is
otherwise based as much in fact as it is in distortion, and makes sense viewed
from the vantage point of late 1960s nationalist thought. Jews, as the
representatives of white liberal ideology, as the closest allies to moderate black
civil rights organizations, came for Cruse to embody all the limitations and evils
of liberal integrationism. If, to summarize Cruse’s argument in a sentence,
whites and co-opted black intellectuals have constrained black cultural and
artistic expression (a crucial form of black self-definition), and white capitalists
and bedazzled black integrationists have undermined economic and political
nationalism, Jews have served as intermediates and facilitators in every case.8
A look at the historical record suggests that Jews did have a great deal of self-
interest in promoting a civil rights movement based on integration, and they did
indeed turn away from the movement in the 1960s as their self-interest
increasingly conflicted with it. On the other hand, Jewish self-interest was not as
narrowly understood and selfishly implemented as Cruse claims. Furthermore, the
disillusionment of many Jews with the movement by the late 1960s occurred for
many complex reasons. Certainly, Jews had gotten what they needed in terms of
civil rights victories, and certainly they had succeeded in transcending their
disadvantage. But both had happened before the black-Jewish political
relationship had soured. Rather, Jews fled the civil rights coalition as the
movement turned from integration to embrace more nationalist and seemingly
radical goals, goals that flew in the face of the liberalism Jews continued to
endorse. The new movements of the 1960s claimed a nationalism that embraced
Palestinians and excoriated Israel, posited an unbridgeable racial divide that
placed Jews alongside white Protestants in the category of oppressor, and argued
for group-based remedies and fixed identities, both of which denied the
individualist approach of liberal pluralism and reminded Jews of their own
history of discrimination based on group identity.9 All this ensured that
128 • CHERYL GREENBERG
and Klansmen to Cossacks), Jews did mold their behaviors to fit local custom,
particularly around issues of race. As Everard Hughes of Wilberforce University
argued in the pages of HUC [Hebrew Union College] Monthly in 1943, “The Jew
has almost divorced himself from identity with the Negro as a minority fellow
traveler. The stigma of race in America has caused the Jew to betray the Negro in
an effort to solidify his own status and thus free Jews from racial stigma.” Every
poll of the time revealed Jews as less racist than their white Christian neighbors,
but no white group could escape some racist feeling, and Jews were no exception.10
This fact, coupled with Jews’ relative powerlessness and political weakness in
the early years of this century, meant that the liberal Jewish defense
organizations remained virtually silent on the question of black civil rights. The
ADL’s founding charter promised “to secure justice and fair treatment to all
citizens alike” but with the exception of several active individuals like Rabbi
Stephen Wise, Justice Louis Brandeis, and Lillian Wald, or those involved with
the Communist or Socialist Parties, Jews as a community did not involve
themselves formally in any civil rights struggle until the NCJW voted to support
a federal antilynching law in 1935. Most Jews, as the ADL’s Philip Frankel put
it in 1942, were reluctant to become involved with a people “whose difficulties…
are even more deplorable than our own” and were considered even more to be
outsiders than Jewswere.11
Instead, Jewish agencies spent most of the first third of the century fighting the
anti-Semitism that constrained their economic and social choices, and advocating
pluralism as an antidote to “100 percent Americanism” and similar pressures to
abandon their own ethnoreligious culture. This pluralism advocated public
equality for individuals and private celebration of cultural difference. Deeply
liberal in its commitment to individual rights and freedom of choice, it was also
assimilationist in its faith that beneath the worthy differences among cultural and
religious groups lay a fundamental unity of belief in democracy, brotherhood,
and liberal moral values. This commitment to pluralism allowed Jews to support
public equality for black people as well as for themselves, but it did mask the
fierce ethnic nationalism of most Jews with a public rhetoric of
cosmopolitanism.12
To improve their economic condition, many immigrant Jews turned
to entrepreneurship and civil service, two of the few avenues to success open to
them in an openly anti-Semitic era. Where their numbers warranted, they formed
trade unions to improve their condition. More willing than other whites to live
near black people, they maintained their businesses as blacks moved into their
neighborhoods, and more readily accepted black coworkers into Jewish-led
unions. German Jews had already moved into retail niches in the South as well as
the North. Newly middle-class Jewish housewives hired black domestic workers
in northern cities. Ironically, then, Jewish economic involvement with African
Americans arose because they were less racist than other whites, but the relations
between the two were almost always hierarchical and therefore created tensions
that would not otherwise have existed. And many of these Jewish store owners,
130 • CHERYL GREENBERG
teachers, labor leaders and landlords, more racist than their public rhetoric
implied, were exploitative and distrustful of black people. To take one
remarkably candid example, during a meeting of Jewish Harlem merchants
called by the ADL in 1943 to help soothe tensions between blacks and Jews, one
merchant insisted, “Negroes wouldn’t go into a business if they couldn’t steal
from us.” Another agreed. “The solution [to black grievances] is education of the
Negro…. A landlord in Harlem has to charge more rent because he can’t get
responsible tenants.”13
In the south, these tensions were particularly acute. Jews there, fearful of anti-
Semitism, made every effort to fit into the local, racist culture. As Harry Golden,
Jewish writer and longtime southern resident noted, “Primarily the Jews of the
South reflect to a large extent the mores, the hopes, the politics, and even the
prejudices of the society around them.” This extended quite naturally to business
relations. A 1945 Carolina Times story lambasting Jewish racist and unfair
business practices concluded that Jews did so “to impress that they are one in
intent and spirit with the Southern white in denying Negroes the chance to spend
their money on a basis of equality.” The ADL’s Committee on Labor Relations
put it bluntly: “As far as the [southern] Negro is concerned, Jews represent
exploitation.” Even after northern-based Jewish organizations joined the civil
rights struggle, southern Jews continued to treat black customers and employees
according to the dictates of Jim Crowism.14
If rank-and-file Jews did not shift their views appreciably on the race question,
the same was not true of their defense agencies. In the 1930s, the threat of
Nazism motivated organized Jewry to rethink its strategies. Fearful of offering
anti-Semites a platform, Jewish groups had worked quietly and behind the scenes
to challenge discrimination and bigotry. Unwilling to go public or to take on the
problems of others, they had resisted coalitions although African American civil
rights organizations—the National Urban League (NUL), the NAACP, and the
National Association of Colored Women (NACW), among others—had long
been fighting similar problems. With the exception of black and Jewish women’s
groups, whose history of cooperation dated back to the teens and twenties, the
mainstream organizations of the two communities had not yet worked together in
any sustained way, although their battles had certainly overlapped. But
the rescue of European Jewry and the danger of Hitler-like demagoguery in this
country were both greater challenges than the Jewish community could take on
alone. As the Left had already done, they reached out to potential allies. African
Americans, engaged in their own campaign to promote racial justice at home,
saw this as an opportunity. In response to a Jewish request in 1938 to support the
rescue of Jewish refugees, Walter White of the NAACP telegraphed Secretary of
State Cordell Hull:
system, and hesitated before pressing for federal enforcement of unpopular laws,
preferring to wait for recalcitrant whites to come around. Neither blacks nor Jews
on the whole believed in the desirability of full assimilation in the sense of loss of
private identity, but few save the nationalists in both communities (Nation of
Islam and Garveyites among black folks, Zionists among Jews) considered that
identity one’s fixed and dominant descriptor, endorsed public displays of that
identity, or considered separatism an appealing solution.
By every measure the majority of American blacks and Jews genuinely
believed in this liberalism. Nevertheless, their collaborative political efforts on
behalf of a liberal civil rights vision coexisted alongside the continued economic
tensions between individual blacks and Jews in both the North and the South.
And many Jews who had finally succeeded economically behaved in as racist a
way as their gentile neighbors. After all, liberalism did not require social
integration; one could endorse equal rights for all individuals and still never have
a single equal relationship with a person of a different religion or race. In 1960
Nathan Edelstein of the AJCongress spoke candidly about the persistence of
longstanding black-Jewish tensions:
Even on the elite political level, cooperation was not without its tensions. Jewish
leaders acted in paternalistic ways toward their black colleagues. They often
appointed themselves representatives of or spokespeople for black interests.19 But
there were more structural problems as well. Having made it under the prevailing
system, Jews were far more loath to challenge the status quo than were many
blacks. With the image of Hitler ever in their minds, they distrusted mass
movements and leaders who motivated their followers through rhetoric. They
therefore feared the more confrontational of civil rights tactics, and tried to keep
their distance from all but the most moderate of black leaders. For example, most
Jewish (as well as other white and sometimes even black) liberals opposed
A.Philip Randolph’s 1948 call for draft resistance and the proposal to seat the
Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party in place of the traditional delegation at
the 1964 Democratic National Convention; they avoided involvement with Paul
Robeson or even Adam Clayton Powell Jr. Jewish organizations counseled
against the 1947 Journey of Reconciliation (as did the NAACP) and several
initially thought the sit-in efforts misguided. The ADL’s report on the latter,
HAROLD CRUSE ON BLACKS AND JEWS • 133
subtitled, “The Negro Revolt,” began with a warning about the “increasing
militancy, the threat to replace the NAACP as the leading Negro organization”
and the likelihood that “some actions to be taken by Negro organizations and
people…will be distasteful to some segments of the white community.” Despite
its conclusion that “ADL has a responsibility to do what it can to accelerate the
drive toward equality,” the report revealed the ADL’s unease and its fear that the
movement had been taken over by radicals.20
And there was far less need for Jews to employ such dramatic tactics. Anti-
Semitism had retreated to the margins of society, and for most Jews, once formal
barriers to race and religion were dismantled it was relatively easy to pass.
Racism, however, was not marginal, and passing was not an option available to
most black people. If civil rights strategies to that point had not produced equal
opportunity for black people, it was time to consider new approaches. Groups
like Student Non-violent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) and the Congress of
Racial Equality (CORE) began experimenting with more confrontational
methods, and while young Jews flocked to these organizations, their more
moderate parents in Jewish organizations cringed. Still, in the early 1960s even
SNCC and CORE remained firmly liberal in their goals, devoted to individual
opportunity and to integration fully realized, eager to join rather than to
dismantle the American political and economic system.
By the mid 1960s it appeared to many that these liberal efforts had either
failed or succeeded on paper without bringing any real change for black
American life chances. In 1964 Freedom Summer brought white people into
Mississippi because the media covered whites, not blacks. In other words, the
very premise of the summer revealed the limits of the existing system. During
those months tensions emerged between college-educated, northern white
students with no experience and local black activists. In searching for the bodies
of missing white activists Andrew Goodman and Michael Schwerner (along with
their black partner James Chaney), the FBI dredged up scores of black bodies
from nearby rivers whose murders had never been investigated. And the
culmination of that summer, a delegation of the Mississippi Freedom Democratic
Party intent on replacing those delegates elected in a white-only primary, were
denied their seats, a decision supported by civil rights groups’ traditional white
(and even some black) allies. Once again, the political system had proven
impervious to black demands. Liberals had betrayed them.
When the civil rights struggle moved north to meet fierce white resistance,
when SNCC and even Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC) and
Martin Luther King Jr. came out against the Vietnam War and alienated white
liberals who still supported Johnson’s policies, and as the War on Poverty and
similar programs lost funding and support, the division between liberals and civil
rights activists hardened. Groups like the National Urban League continued to
press for liberal change, aided by Jewish civil rights organizations. But most
black activists had moved on. Emboldened by the confrontational, nationalist
rhetoric of people like Malcolm X, Stokely Carmichael, Huey Newton and
134 • CHERYL GREENBERG
others, and frustrated by the inability of civil rights victories to bring any real
change to their lives, black ghettos burned, SNCC and CORE expelled whites,
and the Black Panther Party armed its followers with guns, breakfasts, black
history, and militancy.
It was not just liberals, but liberalism that these activist nationalists found
flawed. Liberalism was a failed ideology, and integration not only unachievable
but undesirable. As Malcolm X insisted, “the real criminal is the white man who
poses as a liberal—the political hypocrite…. You are not poor accidentally. He
maneuvers you into poverty…. There is nothing about your condition here in
America that is an accident.”21 Carmichael reminded his audience that black
liberals were as much at fault as whites, and insisted that the liberal goal of
integration must be repudiated and nationalism embraced in its place. Black and
white integrationists, he argued, labored under the misapprehension that “in the
context of present-day America, the interests of black people are identical with
the interests of certain liberal, labor, and other reform groups.” This belief was a
myth. Carmichael and Hamilton commented, “The values of this society support
a racist system; we find it incongruous to ask black people to adopt and support
most of those values. We also reject the assumption that the basic institutions of
this society must be preserved. The goal of black people must not be to
assimilate into middle-class America for that class—as a whole—is without a
viable conscience…. The values of that class do not lead to the creation of an
open society…. Black people must redefine themselves, and only they can
do that”.22
The rejection of liberalism included a rejection of its individualist focus.
Protecting individual rights would never be sufficient to overcome discrimination
long enshrined in the essentialized categories of the racial state. Institutionalized
racism and the devotion of white people to a group identity that protected them
and excluded those of non-European descent meant that racism could only be
overcome by remedies that addressed that group identity explicitly. In the words
of Supreme Court Justice Harry Blackmun, “in order to get beyond racism, we
must first take account of race.”23 Running directly counter not only to liberalism
but to pluralism, this argument for group identity and community-based
remedies, including reparations and numerical quotas, fed nationalist sentiment
and posited the primacy of one’s fixed and single racial identity. In other words,
it privileged race over other identities such as gender, sexuality, class, or politics;
repeated the arguments of white racists that one black ancestor made one fully
and exclusively black; and insisted that a fixed and unbridgeable gap separated
all whites from all nonwhites. If such was the case, and white actions to that point
had certainly suggested it might be, then the only hope for black people was a
retreat inward, to build a powerful base from which to make demands of the
white power structure. This base had to be economic because in a capitalist
system only economic independence guaranteed power and freedom from
control, but it also had to be social and cultural, a means of self-definition that
did not begin from the premises of the oppressor. Without a clear identity
HAROLD CRUSE ON BLACKS AND JEWS • 135
defined from within, the community could not articulate or even imagine what
those demands to be made of the power structure might be.
It is into this moment of despair, nationalism, and rage that Cruse wrote his
book. It grounds his repudiation of liberalism and the white Left, his
commitment to group rather than individual rights, and his conviction that only a
full nationalist program could solve black people’s problems.24 And his views of
Jews, or more properly, his view of the relationship between blacks and Jews,
must similarly be understood as a product of this tumultuous period. Jews, once
allies in the struggle for civil rights, had left the coalition—moderates because
they were alienated by its radicalism, leftists because they had been radicalized
to see their own oppression and had moved to the antiwar, women’s and student
movements.25 Furthermore, the victories that coalitions of liberal blacks and
Jews had won seemed empty and their goal of integration suspect. Jews thus
became both betrayers and false prophets, the embodiment of the failed liberal
promise. Finally, because Jews had benefitted from civil rights successes and the
decline of overt and legal discrimination but had not brought African Americans
with them, their role in the movement was reconceived as one motivated purely
by a manipulative self-interest. After all, while African American and Jewish
American elites and intellectuals struggled for their liberal ideals, on the ground
Jews displayed little more sensitivity to the needs of black people than did other
whites, concerning themselves only with protecting their class and social
status.26 By this reading, Jews had betrayed their ostensible allies and their own
rhetoric of equality, and black intellectuals had betrayed their people.
The “golden age” of a black-Jewish alliance never existed. Nevertheless,
political collaboration among the liberal and leftist organizations in both
communities did produce substantial victories for legal equality. Those victories
fell far short of the creation of a truly egalitarian society, and clearly aided some
individuals and some communities more than others. Blacks and Jews who
labored in those coalitions obviously had a spacious understanding of self-
interest that presumed that only by securing the equality of all groups could
one’s own rights be assured. Nevertheless, this was still self-interest, and when it
ran counter to prevailing civil rights sentiments—be they liberal, nationalist, or
radical—self-interest won out. Jews thus could build an ethnic base,
stress intragroup unity, and still espouse integration and reject nationalism. They
could embrace a civil rights rhetoric and act as white members of a racist
society. And black activists could support the creation of the state of Israel when
it represented the right of an oppressed people to self-determination, and
withdraw that support when it represented the white hand of imperialism
oppressing nonwhite people. They could admire Jews’ ability to triumph over a
restrictive system, and criticize their collusion with it. To the extent that
liberalism still exists, the coalition of liberal black and Jewish organizations
continues to operate, albeit currently engaged chiefly in fighting a rearguard
action. To the extent that economic and cultural nationalism continue to appear
the best hope to many in a devastated black community, Jews will continue to
136 • CHERYL GREENBERG
represent the enemy in all its manifestations. Both the truths and the distortions of
Cruse’s observations about “Jews and Negroes” remain salient in our own time.
Notes
1. See, for example, Harold Cruse, The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual (New York:
William Morrow, 1967), 484.
2. See, for example, Cruse, Crisis, 168–69. And in addition “One cannot deny the
horror of the European Jewish holocaust, but for all practical purposes (political,
economic and cultural), as far as Negroes are concerned, Jews have not suffered in
the United States” (483, emphasis in original). Cruse objected further that Jews
should not complain about anti-Semitism if they were themselves racist. Cruse’s
presumption that given economic advancement Jews’ fear of persecution was
unfounded displays a lack of understanding of the real and lasting power of anti-
Semitism.
3. See, for example, Crisis, 109, 260–61, 497, 516 (control of black life); 137–38, 152
(Jews in Communist Party and retention of nationalism); 147–48,158–63 (the
Communist Party and Jewish control). For “arrogant,” see 148; For “Negro issues,”
see 169. Elsewhere, oddly, Cruse demonstrates his claim that Jews distanced
themselves from blacks and civil rights concerns by describing Jewish non-
involvement in issues of concern to blacks from the nineteenth through the early
twentieth century, then skipping directly to Norman Podhoretz’s 1965 anti-civil
rights article as if nothing had happened between those two dates (478–80).
4. Cruse, Crisis, 111. Cruse is primarily arguing from a nationalist perspective; his
central point here is that without an ethnic identity, these integrationist black
intellectuals had no basis for defending black cultural production. This chapter’s
focus on black-Jewish relations prevents much discussion of Cruse’s scathing
critique of black intellectuals. For Cruse, the point of delegitimizing Jews’ role in
black cultural and political life was precisely to liberate black intellectuals from the
integrationist prison he believed they were in. He blamed Jews (and whites
generally) for manipulating black people less than he did black intellectuals who
acquiesced in their own exploitation. That is, it is crucial to remember that for
Cruse, if not for this chapter, an analysis of the Jewish role in black life was not an
end in itself.
5. Cruse, Crisis, 260, emphasis in the original. He said the same for Jews and African
Americans in the Communist Party: “American Negroes never achieved, or were
not allowed to, what other organized national groups achieved within the
Communist Left…. But they allowed Jewish leaders…to become experts on the
Negro problem in America” (57).
6. See, for example, Cruse, Crisis, 477, 488–89, 495–97. For “sufferers,” see 483.
According to Cruse these pleas were insincere not only because Jews were really
interested in promoting themselves but also because Jews themselves admitted they
had “made it” and were social and economic insiders in America. He cited Rabbi
Arthur Hertzberg’s analysis in 1965 that American Jews “were no longer among
the ‘have-nots’ but associated with the ‘haves’” (480). Certainly the vast majority of
Jews had made it into the middle class and beyond by the 1960s, although they
continued to support liberal causes and Democratic candidates long after their
HAROLD CRUSE ON BLACKS AND JEWS • 137
pocketbook interests suggested they shift toward conservatism and the Republican
Party. See, for example, Nathan Glazer, “The American Jew and the Attainment of
Middle-Class Rank: Some Trends and Explanations,” in The Jews: Social Patterns
of an American Group, ed. Marshall Sklare (Glencoe, Ill.: Free Press, 1958),
138–46; Sidney Goldstein, “American Jewry 1970: A Demographic Profile,” in
American Jewish Yearbook 1971, Ed. Morris Fine and Milton Himmelfarb
(Philadelphia: American Jewish Committee, 1971). In earlier years, most Jews who
lived and worked in black neighborhoods, while better off than those they served,
were certainly not among the well-to-do; primarily this was a case of the near-poor
servicing (and sometimes exploiting) the poor. See below.
7. Cruse, Crisis, 490. Of course, Cruse had just spent a good part of those previous
490 pages developing such a critique.
8. Of course, most of Cruse’s blame is on these black intellectuals; since he theorizes
that The relationship between groups in America “are actuated by the power
principle, not by morality and compassion for the underdog classes” (494), he
cannot blame Jews for using their power. It is black intellectuals’ fault they allowed
Jews to get away with it. Nonetheless, he is also criticizing Jews here, who, he
alleges, couch their interest in civil rights in altruistic terms but are in fact coldly
political and self-interested in their commitment to it.
In terms of art, for example, “more often than not, it is a collaboration between
WASPs and Jews, on high levels, against the Negro” (105), See also 515. Cruse
spends a great deal of time exploring Jewish exploitation of African Americans in
the arts—“In 1967 the Negro entertainer is still being used, manipulated, and
exploited by whites (predominantly Jewish whites),” (109)—but since Jeffrey
Melnick in this volume discusses black-Jewish relations in cultural production I
will not consider it further here. Instead, I will focus on the liberal Jewish
establishment and its relationship with civil rights. The vast majority of Jews in the
twentieth century identified themselves in terms of liberalism (particularly during
the era of the Red Scare) and liberal Jewish agencies were the largest organizations
in the community. Generally driven by membership, they tried hard to reflect the
attitudes of their constituents, and so are good reflections of public Jewish
sentiment on these questions. As for the communist Left, again Cruse criticizes Jews
in part because blacks and Jews competed for the same space as “the two most
prominent groups involved in [Communist Party] politics.” (161). While Jews did
appoint themselves in some sense mentors or spokespeople for African Americans,
a problematic and arrogant positioning (as Cruse notes, for example, on 57–58,
147–51, 158–70), this also demonstrates that Jews showed more interest in black
people than other white communists generally showed at all. As with Jewish
economic involvement in black neighborhoods, Jews’ greater commitment to
questions of race left them vulnerable to criticism on how they handled that
commitment.
9. The United States was to be a “nation of nations” (565), Cruse explained, and that
is how every white group has risen in this country—through ethnic nationalism. But
the United States retreated from that promise, and the twentieth-century civil rights
movement bought into those changed terms, claiming America’s highest ideal was
the protection of individuals. Thus black nationalism, or indeed any community-
based organizing, was thereby rendered illegitimate, which undermined the
possibility for true black equality. No other group succeeded without some form of
138 • CHERYL GREENBERG
nationalism, yet blacks were being asked to do so, and black intellectuals never
even noticed. And Jews were hypocritical in their use of nationalism for their own
rise, and their subsequent insistence on individualism and rejection of nationalism
when it came to black civil rights, both in the Communist Party and in the liberal
civil rights movement.
For Anti-Israel sentiments, see 487, 490; Cruse argued, correctly, that American
Jews identified closely with Israel. But his criticism of Israel came out of a
radicalized, internationalized left in the 1960s that had embraced the liberation
struggles of “third world” peoples because of their belief of the unity of experience
of all people of color. This leftist embrace of the Palestinians was matched by a
Cold War-inspired Republican embrace of Israel, America’s most staunch and
reliable Mideast ally. This helped drive Jews from the Left, and open the possibility
of an at least occasional and strategic alliance with the Right. Further intensifying
the divisions between blacks and Jews, then, was their commitment to opposing
sides in the Arab-Israeli conflict. Cruse’s criticism of Zionists and Israel came
directly from this international left sensibility regarding the unity of oppressed
nonwhite peoples suffering under the domination of imperialist whites.
10. Everard Hughes, “The Question of the Month: the Negro-Jewish Problem,” HUC
Monthly, April 1943, 9. The fact of this article, and indeed a flurry of interest in the
black-Jewish relationship in both Jewish and black publications in 1943, points to
the shift in thinking among Jewish leadership about the importance of coalition
building (see below) as much as it reveals the lack of such a commitment among
the rank and file. Progressive Jews had been commenting on Jewish racism for
decades. Harry Golden, the Southern Jewish writer, commented in 1956 that “The
Jew tends to reflect the attitudes of the majority, wherever he can” see Golden
AJCongress 1956 National Convention, Panel: “Integration: The Position of the
Jewish Community in the South,” transcript, 73, AJCongress papers, “National
Conventions 54–58,” AJCongress Library, New York. For a more laudatory
evaluation of the early decades of the twentieth century, see Hasia Diner, In the
Almost Promised Land (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1977). For poll data, see,
for example, H.L.Lurie, “Introductory Report of the Study Project of Negro-Jewish
Relations,” December 9, 1943, AJC Vertical File (VF): “Negro Jewish Relations
(NJR): AJCongress,” AJCongress library, New York; “Anti-Semitism among
Negroes,” Editorial, Crisis (June 1938): 177 (which insisted most black anti-
Semitism was based on class resentment); Eleanor Wolf, Vin Loving, and Donald
Marsh, “Some Aspects of Negro-Jewish Relationships in Detroit, Michigan, Part
1,” 1943; report prepared at Wayne State University, with grants from the Detroit
chapter of the NAACP and Jewish Community Council of Detroit, ADL
microfilm, “Yellows 1944: Negro Race Problems” (hereafter Y 1944 NRP), ADL
library, New York; Eleanor Wolf, Vin Loving and Donald Marsh, Negro-Jewish
Relationships, pamphlet, Wayne State Studies in Intergroup Conflicts in Detroit
no. 1, 1944, AJC Inactive VF: NJR; Elmo Roper, “The Fortune Survey,” Fortune,
January 1936, April and November 1939, November 1942, 1943, October 1947;
“Confidential Report…Trend of Semitic Question,” March 1944, AJC VF: Public
Opinion Polls; Earl Dickerson to Walter White, July 5, 1938, NAACP papers, box
I C 208, Library of Congress Manuscript Division, Washington, D.C.; James
Robinson, “Some Apprehension, Much Hope,” ADL Bulletin, December 1957, 4;
HAROLD CRUSE ON BLACKS AND JEWS • 139
ALAN WALD
“The radical Left of the 1940s and 1950s was not a movement of
Anglo-Saxons or their ideology. It was an ethnic movement
dominated by Negroes and Jews, and it was the Jews who
ideologically influenced the Negroes.”
—Harold Cruse, The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual, 1967
of personality that especially fit them for party membership. At one point, in a
line that could have come from Crisis, Lee Gordon declares to Rosie: “You
know, Rosie, you always have the answer. Is it the Jew in you or the
Communist?”8
On the other hand, there are symptomatic divergences. For Himes’s Lee
Gordon, what he views as the “Semitic stereotype” has certain unattractive
physical features, something that Cruse never remotely suggests. Rosie, for
example, is identified as “the picture of the historic Semite” and is said to be
short, fat, with a bald head and “frog-like” body (151). Party functionary Maud
Himmelstein, described as “as Jewish in appearance as the Jewish stereotype,” is
“mannish-appearing,” with a rasping voice and the stub of an arm that jerks
spasmodically (272, 244). Moreover, in arguments with Rosie, Lee Gordon gives
vent to anti-Semitic charges that extend far beyond even the most unpleasant
innuendoes of Crisis. Gordon insists that Jewish greed has confined blacks to
ghettos, Jewish mothers spoil their sons, and Jews are generally more antiblack
than white Christians (152–158, passim).
It is difficult not to be offended by all the ugly statements about Jews that spew
from the lips of Himes’s main character (and the ugly visual images that form in
his mind), and not to be skeptical of the degree of Machiavellian villainy Himes
attributes to the Party.9 Yet The Lonely Crusade ultimately strives to explode
what I call the “group caricature”—the conflation of diverse individuals to a
common behavioral pattern by virtue of ethnicity, “race,” gender, or class—to
which Lee and other characters are held victim.
In fact, as the plot lunges relentlessly through catastrophe after catastrophe,
Rosie steps outside the Jewish stereotype to emerge as the moral center of the
narrative. A devoted party member, Rosie challenges party authority on behalf of
Lee, even though it results in Rosie’s own expulsion. When Lee, facing a police
frame-up for the murder of a racist officer, feels abandoned by all and sinks into
a swamp of despair, Rosie finds him and nurtures him back to life. In the process
Rosie imbues him with the revolutionary Marxist (but non-Communist Party)
philosophy that Lee ultimately appropriates in his own way to allow his
psychological reintegration and his self-determined actions at the climax of
the work.
A parallel evolution occurs in the character of the black communist Luther.
Initially Luther seems to reaffirm two anticommunist stereotypes, that of
the “dupe” and of the cynical manipulator of others. Even worse, Luther’s
appearance, in Lee’s eyes, reproduces the most disgusting white racist
stereotypes that travesty the African American as an “ape” and sex machine (28,
81). However, as the novel gathers steam toward its climax, Luther is revealed as
an individualist first and black nationalist second, with powers of self-control
and native intelligence that outdistance all other characters in the book (318–30).
A strong hint that Lee’s antiblack, anticommunist racist stereotype of Luther is a
naive oversimplification comes earlier in the novel. Luther steps forward to sing
the full text of “Signifyin’ Monkey” before a group of black workers, quelling
146 • ALAN WALD
their disunity and establishing his community links. At the end, he adds on the
significant final statement, “Thass me!” (204).
In sum, the surface narrative of The Lonely Crusade bombards the reader
with ugly, outrageous images of Jews, blacks, communists, and white women.10
But the ideology of the text can be interpreted as a courageous—if highly
problematic—effort to transcend narrow “group caricature,” even while
recognizing the powerful emotional reality of the “dirty hell of race” (369).
Himes depicts Lee Gordon as a black man who successfully transcends the
illusion of finding his masculinity through the sexual conquest of white women.
This transcendence comes about through a combination of bitter experiences,
observation of the actions of his union comrades (especially the heroic Joe Ptak
and the loyal Smittie), and Rosie’s philosophizing, and it occurs in the precise
historical context of the industrialization of the multinational workforce in Los
Angeles. What Lee learns is that authentic dignity and “manhood” can be
acquired by playing a vanguard role in the larger cause of the militant class
struggle, which objectively benefits the short and long-range interests of African
Americans as well.11 In the final scene, the lining of the union against the police
impels every character who identifies with the union, including the racist
president of the local, to unite in protecting Lee from arrest. Even his enemies in
the Communist Party are driven by necessity to join the struggle.
In contrast, Cruse’s Crisis moves in the opposite direction. It commences with
a welcome attempt to render Marxist analysis more sophisticated by shifting
away from mechanistic class explanations toward historical materialist ideas
about the centrality of culture and ethnicity; these latter are adapted from V.F.
Calverton’s refreshing 1920s writings on “cultural compulsives” (cultural
tendencies of collectives) and Milton Gordon’s 1964 Assimilation in American
Life (which views Protestants, Catholics, and Jews as the three main power
groups). Within a short time, however, Cruse reveals himself to be a far greater
prisoner of vulgar “group caricature” regarding the reification of imagined and
exaggerated cultural traits of ethnicities, than the Communist Party ever was in
its reductive use of class analysis.
Moreover, Cruse projects conspiratorial and invidious motives onto his
various targets, who are mainly Jews, Caribbean blacks, and African American
Marxists. Cruse’s view is not merely that “Jews…ideologically influenced the
Negroes” in the Communist Party. In the same paragraph he goes much
further, adding, “Thus the radical Left in America has developed in such a way
that the Jewish ethnic group, one of the smallest in the country, had more
political prestige, wielded more theoretical and organizational power, than the
Negro who in fact represented the largest ethnic minority. Consequently, all
political and cultural standards on the radical Left were in the main established
and enforced by Jews for, and on, Negroes (Crisis, 1967, 516).12
For Cruse’s narrative, the roots of this situation can be traced to the late
1920s. Myriad scholars see the Communist Party in the United States at that time
undergoing a progressive transformation into an increasingly dependent acolyte
NARRATING NATIONALISMS • 147
of Joseph Stalin’s Soviet foreign policy, following the expulsion of the majority
leadership led by Jay Lovestone, who was associated with Nikolay Bukharin’s
“right opposition” political current in the Soviet Union.13 Cruse, instead, sees the
seeds of destruction in the Party planted by its Caribbean-born black party
members, whose group psychological hangups prevented them from developing
political and cultural leadership. This paved the way for Jewish group control.14
secretly favored the victims receiving the death penalty “because nine young
Negroes executed would be far more useful?”18
Cruse then states that the “true indication” of who really benefited from the
Communist Party policy at the time can be seen in the launching in June 1937 of
a modest monthly magazine called Jewish Life. Thus Cruse “proves,” without
any reliable facts, that Jews promoted a pseudo-antiracism in order to procure
money from blacks to promote their own Jewish nationalism. He thereby
establishes the ideological precept to which his narrative becomes captive.
Even when his contentions contradict other, more dispassionate scholarship
available to him, he selects Jews as a group as being the most devious
communists. For instance, he avows, “The only ones who talked
Americanization but did not fall for it ‘culturally’ were the Communist Jews who
never overlooked a single stratagem for the preservation of Jewish cultural
identity” (152). Of course, abundant evidence exists for a range of attitudes
toward Jewish identity in the Communist Party. Six years before Cruse’s study,
Nathan Glazer published an acclaimed book that considered Communist Jews
and African Americans, a work that is not cited by Cruse. Glazer concedes that
Jews were numerically the largest ethnic group in the Communist Party, but
notes, “Once the diversity of the Jews who entered the Communist Party is
realized, any simple interpretation of the relationship between Jews and the
Communist Party fails.”19 Morris U. Schappes, who functioned for decades as a
Jewish Communist Party cultural leader before his expulsion, insisted in 1970
that the dominant view in the Communist Party was never for ethnic group
survival of Jewish Americans, but what he calls, perhaps with some exaggeration,
“national nihilism.”20
Unfortunately, the “simple” interpretation that Glazer avoided is precisely
what Cruse serves up, spiced with conspiratorial innuendoes. Cruse writes that
“the Jews, with their nationalistic aggressiveness, emerging out of the Eastside
ghettoes…demonstrate through Marxism their intellectual superiority over the
Anglo-Saxon goyim. The Jews failed to make Marxism applicable to anything in
America but their own national-group social ambitions or individual self-
elevation. As a result, the great brainwashing of the Negro radical intellectual
was not achieved by capitalism, or the capitalistic bourgeoisie, but by Jewish
intellectuals in the American Communist Party” (158).
Here again, Cruse, the prisoner of “group caricature” runs roughshod over
elemental facts. Most Jews named by Cruse—those who allegedly strived,
from Jewish nationalist motives, to establish “theoretical dominance over the
Negroes in the interpretation of the Negro Question in the United States”—hailed
from backgrounds and upbringings remote from “Eastside ghettoes.” James
Allen (born Sol Auerbach), depicted by Cruse as an ur-villain for his books and
pamphlets on African American history and politics, was a doctoral candidate at
the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia, the city where he was raised.
Herbert Aptheker came from a wealthy New York family and earned a doctorate
NARRATING NATIONALISMS • 149
hypocrisy of cultural institutions in the United States, the sham of the melting
pot myth, the centrality of cultural issues, the need for exacting intellectual work,
and the indispensability of African Americans’ right of self-determination. Thus
there is a temptation to assent to Cruse on other, much more problematic,
matters, especially where contrary evidence is not readily available.31
Additionally, Cruse’s book retains authority because it has secured a niche. It
is one of the few sources illuminating black cultural institutions as being
associated with Communist Party supporters, such as the American Negro
Theater, the Negro Playwrights Company, the Committee for the Negro in the
Arts, the Harlem Writers Club, the Harlem Writers Guild, and the journal
Freedomways. It is also the sole book acknowledging with details the existence
of a substantial post-World War II black Communist cultural presence in many
artistic venues and genres. Moreover, Cruse’s treatment of the Communist Party
raises a crucial problem of leftist history and culture that many subsequent left-
wing scholars of black radicalism have hesitated to address: the problem of
“Stalinism”—generally meaning the ultimate subordination of the Communist
Party to the authority of the Soviet Union, the employment of bureaucratic
organizational methods modeled on the Soviet Communist Party, and relying on
Soviet cultural dictators such as Andrey Zhdanov for literary orientation.
The issue of Stalinism, often used as a club by enemies of the Left as well as
by radical rivals of the Communist Party, has usually been ignored, sidestepped,
or dismissed by those seeking to reclaim the heritage of interracial antiracist
struggle pioneered by the communism movement; some, who have no particular
sympathy for the Soviet Union, would simply like to regard consideration of
Stalinism a dead dog of Cold War anticommunism.32 Cruse, who seems to feel
that a special category is necessary for the Soviet brand of communism, hurts his
own case by never offering an explanation for Stalinism and its influence on the
Communist Party; even worse, he frequently explains the Communist Party’s
bureaucratic methods as an exercise of Jewish power. Cruse makes enough false
steps in his handling of Stalinism to virtually discredit the whole effort. Still, a
more critical analysis of the black Marxist experience than lately prevails must
accompany the welcome celebrations of the heroic “resistance” of black radicals
if their suffering and commitment are to be rendered usable for antiracist cultural
workers and activists of the present.
Fortunately, some already published scholarship effectively contradicts many
of Cruse’s inaccurate allegations about black Marxism. His accusation that
communists were “integrationists,” and his notion that integrationism and
nationalism are necessarily one’s primary categories of analysis, are misleading,
and have been criticized as such.33 But his misconception on this topic persists
due to the dramatic appearance of “black power” in the 1960s, and the
new ultramilitant stance (often accompanied by calls to “pick up the gun”),
which renders it too easy to collapse previous radicalisms into mid-twentieth
century liberalism. However, the liberal idea of integrating African Americans
“equally” into existing socioeconomic structures is significantly different than
NARRATING NATIONALISMS • 153
the Communist Party’s aim of joining blacks (while maintaining their cultural
identity) and whites together in an effort to overthrow the social order and
reconstruct new, egalitarian socioeconomic forms.
The Communist Party’s policy of assigning white members to do political
work in black areas, such as Harlem, and the openness of black communists to
allowing whites to contribute to black radical news and cultural magazines, has
somewhat confused the debate about integrationism. Cruse is possibly sound in
asserting that all-black Communist Party units, and perhaps even all-black
publications, would have been more inviting to potential black recruits, and
might have encouraged more black leadership and autonomy. The presence of
whites, especially if confident, articulate, and bonded together through a
common political analysis, can be intimidating and even stultifying to newly
radicalizing and perhaps younger, less-experienced members of a subaltern
group. However, the equation of integrated political units with a political strategy
of integration, or as necessarily leading to a certain cultural policy (adaptation to
middle-class values), is deceptive and can be refuted by the work of many
writers from the black Marxist tradition.
Not only does the theme of Those Other People recall earlier left-wing
cultural productions such as Salt of the Earth, but the form of this novel also
resonates with features of the radical “collective novel,” much theorized and
heavily promoted in the 1930s.36 To take some examples from the novel: each of
the nineteen chapters of Those Other People is the voice of a different character.
Moreover, the text is designed not only to bestow expression, via these dramatic
monologues, to the thoughts and perspectives of the four teenagers who become
the group protagonist; it also imparts voice to racist and sexist characters who are
allowed to rationalize in their own words their own behavior, and explain how
they formed the opinions they hold about “those other people.”
Those Other People is a text that, although relatively obscure and part of a genre
of mass cultural production that has received little attention as counterhegemonic
practice, actually expresses an extraordinary culmination of six decades of radical
resistance culture revolving around the themes of class, gender, and race. Above
all, it is a book that springs from the legacy of black Marxism in the United States.
Childress was part of the left-wing African American theater community drawn
to communism in the late 1930s; she remained a steadfast supporter, and possibly
even a member, of the Communist Party throughout the Cold War era.37 She was
also one of the “original members of the Harlem in-group” accused by Cruse of
being “pro-integration” (Crisis, 515), and she allegedly “policed” the April 1965
Negro Writers Conference on behalf of Killens’s “leftwing literary elite” (500).
Childress’s remarkable narrative not only carries on a traditional left-wing
view that unity in struggle does not necessarily mean abrogation of self-
determination, but her work also bonds that tradition with contemporary issues.
Moreover, the semiobscured legacy of black Marxist cultural work includes not
only the writing since the 1960s by dozens of subtle and thoughtful artists like
Childress, but at least one extraordinary text of the Cold War era itself, Killens’s
1954 novel Youngblood. Thus Cruse’s shallow indictment of black Marxists as
tools of Jewish communists, who cynically promote integrationism for all but
themselves, has the potential to do injury not only to our understanding of
political practice but also to literary history.
Cruse’s indictment of Youngblood as a dramatization of left liberal
integrationism and as a socialist-realist tract effectively obscures one of the key
documents of the complex double vision of postwar black Marxism. Indeed, one
finds in Youngblood a view of black-white unity far in advance of the version of
nationalism to which Cruse’s “group caricature” led him in 1967, and not
entirely incompatible with some of the “race traitor” and “whiteness” theorizing
of the 1990s.38
The primary focus of Youngblood is on one family in the black community in
Georgia, but Killens understands that a minority alone is incapable
of transforming society. Class allies must be found, so a parallel narrative to the
Youngblood family ordeal develops around a white worker named Oscar
Jefferson. Killens subtly depicts the formation of a burgeoning alternative
psychology in Jefferson;—an outlook based on a negative view of the costs of
NARRATING NATIONALISMS • 155
identifying “white “which will one day break the social construct of the
“cracker” consciousness into which Jefferson is being socialized. This rejection
of W.E.B. DuBois’s famous “wages of whiteness” does not grow out of Oscar’s
altruism, or a sense of noble self-sacrifice, or even pity; Killens locates the
source of Oscar’s potential liberation from the illusions of his white skin
privilege in three other zones.
First, Oscar is bitter that “cracker” behavior has forever ruined his relation to
his mother, who was forced to falsely accuse Oscar’s best friend, the African
American youth Jim Kilgrow, of rape. Oscar has come to see his father’s
patriarchal relation to himself and his mother in the fashion that a class-
conscious worker sees a boss. Thus, when Oscar leaves home and goes to work,
he has the capacity of perceiving white bosses not as his friends, but as people
who will use him as his own father used his mother and himself to frustrate and
warp desire.
Second, Oscar has a reservoir of experiences in ordinary life that contradict
the “cracker” ideology into which his environment is trying to interpolate him.
Many of these experiences stem from his childhood friendship with Little Jim,
where he witnessed everyday behavior among the Kilgrows, especially the
father-son relationship. These experiences, felt but untheorized, go counter to the
racist category of “Nigger” that had been transmitted to him by his father, his
father’s boss, and the church and state authorities. Indeed, the Kilgrow family
comportment was far more attractive than the behavior model his own family
afforded.
The third and final constituent, necessary to shattering the eroding bonds
holding Oscar to the illusions of privilege through his “whiteness “is the example
of black resistance. First, the knowledge that the Kilgrow family had fought back
with arms against racists; second, the sight of Joe Youngblood standing up to his
hated boss, alone and against all odds; and third, the community resistance
demonstrated by African Americans in the town of Crossroads, Georgia, when
they transform the annual jubilee from entertainment bordering on a minstrel
show to a powerful affirmation of black cultural pride.
Here in 1954 we have dramatized a parallel perspective to the political
analysis frequently associated with the Black Trotskyist C.L.R.James, so
influential in recent decades. James’s view, articulated in the late 1930s in “The
Revolutionary Answer to the Negro Problem” and in other essays,39 was that the
African American political struggle serves a vanguard function—by taking the
initiative and setting an example, as it has always done throughout United States
history. The African American vanguard can best win allies by showing others
how to fight, not by subordinating its special interests out of apprehension of
being seen as divisive to the interracial unity obligatory for class struggle.
In the latter part of the novel, Oscar Jefferson sees the Youngblood men affirm
their masculinity otherwise from the abusive method of the “crackers”—by
standing up for the dignity of the oppressed, and by uniting as men with women
and entire families on an egalitarian basis in struggle. He instinctively feels that
156 • ALAN WALD
this is more meaningful, more vital, more beautiful, and more desirable than the
privileges of his white skin color that have brought only self-hate, shame, and
family discord in the past. This growing awareness leads to Oscar’s finding
himself supporting the unionization efforts of the town’s black hotel workers,
and to his walking into the woods to discover that he has joined the armed camp
of black workers defending the wounded Joe Youngblood from white vigilantes.
Youngblood can be criticized in many areas, including, perhaps, its
idealization of the proletarian family as a revolutionary site. But if Youngblood is
to be charged with advocating integrationism or assimilationism, it is integration
into the ordinary culture of African America—not for a moment into an elite,
patriarchal Eurocentric culture.40 Associating Killens with “left-wing
integrationism” misses the profoundly revolutionary implications of his book; it
is white Oscar Jefferson who finds “manhood” and family dignity, and heals the
Oedipal contradictions of his own youth, through his momentary integration into
black resistance culture.
The narrative of the “two nationalisms” in Cruse’s Crisis agonizingly blends
the insightful with the outrageous. For the antiracist political and cultural
movements of the present, however, the stakes are high in regard to whether one
accepts his version as an accurate record of the black Marxist experience. If Cold
War African American leftists are to be tossed into the dustbin as dupes of
Jewish nationalism, much will be expunged from cultural history and political
consciousness. Contemporary antiracist political practice will needlessly proceed
with an impedance, unaware of the resources to be gained from the profound
sense of continuity that might be available to it.
Notes
* This chapter was previously published in Science and Society 64, No. 4 (Winter
2000–2001): 400–423, and is reprinted here with permission.
I am grateful to Robert Chrisman, Patrick Quinn, Mark Solomon, John
Woodford, and the 1997–98 fellows at the University of Michigan Institute for the
Humanities for providing critical feedback and editorial suggestions on a draft of this
essay.
1. Stephen J.Rosen, “African American Anti-Semitism and Himes’ Lonely Crusade,
Melus 20, no. 2 (1995): 47.
2. “There wasn’t a single event in the story that hadn’t actually happened. My
characters were real people….” Chester Himes, quoted in Conversations with
Chester Himes, Eds. Michel Fabre and Robert Skinner (Jackson: University Press of
Mississippi, 1995), 126. Edward Margolies and Michel Fabre state that “[Dan]
Levin served as the prototype of Abe Rosenberg in The Lonely Crusade” in The
Several Lives of Chester Himes (Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 1997),
44. Levin was a procommunist writer who befriended Himes in Cleveland, and
who later helped him settle in Paris. My own research indicates the Los Angeles
Communist Party leader, Bart, is based on Georgia-born African American Pettis
Perry, and the pathological black communist, Luther McGregor, has many
NARRATING NATIONALISMS • 157
Fire: The Making of an American Revolutionary (New York: New Press, 1994);
and James Yates, From Mississippi to Madrid: Memoir of a Black American in the
Abraham Lincoln Brigade (Seattle: Open Hand, 1989).
22. In some cases Cruse simply transforms a half truth into a falsehood through
overkill. In one case he states categorically, “Needless to say, no one in the
Communist Party spoke theoretically for Jews but other Jews” (163). Two party
pamphlets, Anti-Semitism: What It Means and How to Combat It (New York:
Workers Library, 1943) and Should Negroes and Jews Unite? (New York: Negro
Publication Society of America, 1943), the contributors of which include the non-
Jewish Communist Party leader Earl Browder and African American L.D.Reddick,
should suffice to check Cruse’s overzealousness. Cruse could have safely written
“it was rare that anyone” instead of “no one,” but it would have been inconsistent with
the hyperbole of his argument. Another example is his statement, “The privileges
and prerogatives of the lowest rank and file white [in the Party] outweighed those of
the highest Negro Communist leader” (127). In Blacks and Reds, hardly a
procommunist book, Earl Ofari Hutchinson cites Eslanda Robeson, wife of Paul
Robeson, as a source for an incident in which two young black party members had
a long-time party stalwart, a white woman, censured and ejected from a party
meeting because the white woman told them to stop talking during the meeting. See
Hutchinson, Blacks and Reds: Race and Class in Conflict, 1919–1990 (East
Lansing: Michigan State University Press), 231. Hutchinson also gives other
examples of similar incidents of rank-and-file black members punishing white
members.
23. Cruse is undaunted in persisting in this line of argument, in sustained passages as well
as in short references, as if the matter had been proved. In one instance he writes,
“In Negro-Jewish relations in the Communist Left there has been an intense
undercurrent of jealousy, enmity and competition over the prizes of group political
power and intellectual prestige. In this struggle, the Jewish intellectuals—because
of superior organization, drive, intellectual discipline, money and the motive of
their cultural compulsives—have been able to win out” (169).
24. Langston Hughes, I Wonder as I Wander (New York: Rinehart, 1956), 354;
hereafter, page numbers will be cited parenthetically in the text.
25. Cedric Robinson, Black Marxism: The Making of the Black Radical Tradition
(London: Zed Press, 1983); Robin D.G.Kelley, Hammer and Hoe: Alabama
Communists during the Great Depression (Chapel Hill: University of North
Carolina Press, 1990); and Robin Kelley, Race Rebels: Culture, Politics, and the
Black Working Class (New York: Free Press, 1994).
There are several others of note as well. Mark Naison astutely discusses relations
between the Communist Party and Harlem cultural figures in Communists in
Harlem during the Great Depression (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1983).
Haywood’s Black Bolshevik (1978) provides considerable inside information. For
additional bibliographical references, including dissertations, see the footnotes to my
essay “Lloyd Brown and the African American Literary Left,” in Writing from the
Left (London: Verso, 1994). A more recent addition to the literature is Claudia
Rosemary May, “Nuances of Un-American Literatures(s): In Search of Claudia
Jones; A Literary Retrospective on the Life, Times and Works of an Activist-
Writer,” Ph.D. diss., University of California-Berkeley, 1996. In the past year, four
new books—by Mark Solomon, Bill Mullen, James Smethurst and William
160 • ALAN WALD
respects, Cruse’s ‘crisis’ was a sectarian ploy. He wanted to frame the issues of
black intellectual life and politics along a rather simpleminded axis between black
nationalism and integrationism” (8).
34. Alice Childress, Those Other People (New York: G.P.Putnam, 1989).
35. See The Salt of the Earth, ed. Deborah Rosenfelt (New York: Feminist Press,
1978), 94.
36. See Granville Hicks, “Complex and Collective Novels,” in Granville Hicks in the
New Masses, ed. Jack Alan Robbins (Port Washington, NY: Kennikat Press, 1974),
26–33. These essays were originally serialized in The New Masses, the organ of the
U.S. Communist Party, in April and May 1934.
37. Childress worked with the left-wing American Negro Theater for eleven years, and
published her first play, Florence, in the October 1950 issue of the Communist
journal Masses and Mainstream. Her procommunist convictions in the Cold War
era are clear, even if there is some uncertainty about precise organizational
affiliation. In a March 23, 1996 letter, Dr. Annette Rubinstein, a former
Communist Party member, offers her recollection that Childress was a party
member. In a March 22,1996 letter, African-American novelist Lloyd Brown, also
a former Communist Party member, recalls only that “Alice Childress [was] a
talented woman communist writer [who] hoped that not being in the party would
keep her from being labeled….” Extant scholarship on Childress, including La
Vinia Delois Jennings’s Alice Childress (New York: Twayne, 1995), is silent on
the entire subject.
38. See Noel Ignatiev and John Garvey, Eds., Race Traitor (New York: Routledge,
1996); and Mike Hill, Ed., Whiteness: A Critical Reader (New York: New York
University Press, 1977).
39. See Scott McLemee and Paul Le Blanc, eds., C.L.R.James and Revolutionary
Marxism: Selected Writings of C.L.R.James, 1939–1949 (Atlantic Highlands, NJ:
Humanities Press, 1994).
40. It is worth noting that Cruse is accurate in reminding us that Killens published a
hatchet-job review of Ellison’s Invisible Man due to Ellison’s switch to
anticommunism; however, Cruse then proceeds to do exactly the same thing,
judging Killens’s novel through the window of his alleged politics. See Crisis, 235.
162
8
The Crisis of Blacks and Communism
EARL OFARI HUTCHINSON
party. To better understand why Cruse and other blacks were either indifferent to
or hostile toward communists it’s necessary to briefly recount that history.
From its founding in 1919 until the American Communist Party’s final decline
in the 1960s, Party leaders generally understood that they could not attain their
goals of overthrowing capitalism and establishing a workers state in America
without attracting sizable numbers of black workers to their banner. But how?
And there as Cruse correctly contends, lay the root of their crisis.
Party leaders spent the better part of the first decade of their existence trying to
decide whether blacks were merely economically exploited workers ala white
workers. If so, they did not need to formulate any special programs to appeal to
them. They would simply exhort them to join with their white labor comrades
and fight as “exploited proletarians” against capitalism. But was this enough?
White workers were not lynched, denied the right to vote, required to live in
segregated neighborhoods, attend segregated schools, excluded from trade
unions, or relegated to the dirtiest and lowest pay jobs simply because of their
color; blacks were. By 1928, the Communist Party leaders realized that if they
were to have any impact on blacks they would have to change their approach.
Acting under orders from the Soviet-controlled Communist International, the
party began an intense campaign for economic and racial justice for blacks.
During the Depression years, they scored their biggest gains among blacks.3
Communist Party members could rightfully boast that they broke American
shibboleths by supporting social equality, mounting national campaigns against
Jim Crow laws, and lynching as well as running black candidates for every office
from vice president to city council. With their unemployment councils, rent
strike committees, tenant councils, and prisoner defense committees, communists
cast a long shadow over the political life of America during the Great Depression.
But even as they recorded modest triumphs and made slight inroads among
blacks, Cruse notes that by building their organizational house on the Depression
era misery and desperation of blacks they were building on shifting sands.
They failed to recognize the fundamental American racial reality “that America
is a group society, and that next to the Anglo-Saxon Protestant group, the
American Negro is the largest national minority in America.”4
The World War II and postwar decade brought prosperity and worldpower to
America but for communists it brought division, near collapse, and the
abandonment of their lofty pronouncements on civil rights. The heyday of the
Communist Party was over. The 1950s brought the bleak years of McCarthyite
political repression and disarray to the party. The 1960s brought rapid decline to
the party.
Throughout their Sturm and Drang years, communists would always claim
that they undertook their actions in the best interest of blacks. In turn, blacks
would repeatedly ask which meant more to them: Defense of Soviet policies or
social justice in America? communists could not serve two masters. If they did
indeed take their marching orders from the Soviets their intentions toward blacks
would always be suspect.
THE CRISIS OF BLACKS AND COMMUNISM • 165
But there was more to the picture. Blacks hardly sat patiently waiting for
deliverance by the Marxists. The unrelenting hostility of white workers produced
a powerful counter reaction in blacks. Since the labor unions would not admit
them as equals, many blacks got their revenge by breaking strikes and taking
“white jobs.”
Black leaders from Booker T.Washington to the “black power” advocates of
the 1960s argued that the Marxists were guilty of perpetuating illusions about the
common interests of black and white workers. During the 1920s, black
nationalist leader Marcus Garvey even contended that since the capitalists
employed blacks, they were better friends than the labor movement.
Many blacks were more afraid of the communists than white conservatives.
Black businessmen, ministers, and professionals did not want radical change.
They were native sons and daughters who believed deeply that loyalty, patriotism,
hard work and individual achievement were the keys to success. They saw
America as a land of opportunity, where enterprising men and women could pull
themselves up by their bootstraps. They were hardheaded realists who figured
that for better or worse America was their home too, and communists had
nothing to offer them.
Other blacks condemned both capitalism and socialism. They viewed them as
European political and economic systems intended for whites only. Black leaders
from A.Phillip Randolph to Malcolm X implored blacks to be their own
advocates. They urged them to form their own organizations and devise their
own programs and philosophy. No matter what differences they had among
themselves, they agreed on one thing: whites, especially Marxists, could not do it
for them.
Former black communists such as writers Richard Wright and George
Padmore believed that the final conflict would not be between capitalists and
proletarians, but rather between nonwhites and the rich white West. American
Marxists challenged them. They claimed it was suicidal for blacks to try to go
it alone. Only the solidarity of black and white workers could lead to the socialist
land of milk and honey.5
How realistic was this, black scholar W.E.B.DuBois asked? Wasn’t America a
nation whose very premise was built on ethnic pride (and division)? Didn’t white
ethnics doggedly use their culture, traditions, history, and values, as a ladder to
march out of the ghettos, shantytowns, and Little Italys of America?
More than a few blacks noted that Communist Party members as late as the
1930s bragged about being Finns, Germans, Italians, and Irish before being
Marxists. Black newspaperman Cyril Briggs, who joined the Communist Party in
1921 and stuck it out for more than forty years constantly picked and nagged at his
party comrades to see that race was as important as class. Cruse contemptuously
notes that even as communists stubbornly refused to make any ideological
adjustment, many black leaders caved in and did not challenge the orthodoxy of
the political line of “black and white unite and fight” According to Cruse, “It was
166 • EARL OFARI HUTCHINSON
the white Communist leaders who actually laid down the line, but the Negro
leaders followed it without deviation.”6
In later years, the struggle for racial justice would have the same meaning for
communists like James Ford, Harry Haywood, Angelo Herndon, Ben Davis, and
Angela Davis. Thousands of blacks would admire them as individuals. They
would also support them as leaders.
Impressed by what the “Reds” said and often did in the battle against racial
oppression, many blacks would wear the Red label with pride. In time, many
more would discard it. They would become casualties to the Red dream deferred.7
There is certainly room for many views of what went right and what went
wrong in black-communist relations in the 1930s. And Marxists put their twist on
history. They see the 1930s as the first time since the Reconstruction era in the
south that they were able to make white Americans face up to their racism.
Communists take credit for putting the issues of segregation and racial violence
firmly on the nation’s agenda. Old timers who fought in the Communist Party
battles of the 1930s always speak fondly of the days when Reds did make a
difference. They have every right to be proud of their contributions; they were
real.
As I have stated before, Cruse is dead wrong to minimize the racial gains that
were made or to ridicule the sincerity of many Communists who fought hard for
those gains. In fact, during the 1930s, the National Association for the
Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) and the National Urban League
worked with the communists on campaigns to get Congressional antilynching
legislation, freedom for the Scottsboro Boys, and the National Negro Congress.8
The alliance was short-lived. These small triumphs couldn’t paper over the
differences and dissolve the tensions that arose when communists refused to
recognize or worse opposed the quest by black leaders for cultural identity and
independent organizing. Cruse’s judgment on this point is harsh but for the most
part accurate: “The Communist Party assumed that neither the American Negro
at large nor his Negro brethern in the ranks of the party had any real cultural identity
to defend.”9
While Cruse is guilty of downplaying the contribution communists made to
the fight for equality in the 1930s, some former communists are equally guilty of
overplaying and over romanticizing that struggle. They view the past through an
idyllic prism; they don’t mention the 1940s and the downplaying of civil rights
by communists; nor are they willing to reflect on why they failed to influence
black groups from Marcus Garvey’s Universal Negro Improvement Association
to the National Urban League and the NAACP. They also don’t admit they erred
badly when they branded black leaders and organizations that did not agree with
their aims and tactics as traitors, lackeys, and “Uncle Toms.” The Communist
Party made enemies of many blacks who were not socialists, but who also were
neutral toward communists.
Cruse was not surprised that relations between the communists and the black
moderates would degenerate into name calling and finger pointing. He warned
THE CRISIS OF BLACKS AND COMMUNISM • 167
that this pattern would repeat itself continually over the next forty years in their
relationship. Even after the McCarthyite repression and mass defections during
the 1950s reduced the Communist Party to a shell of its former self, and it tried
to revive itself by riding the tide of the civil rights movement in the 1960s, it still
did not adapt to changing times and rid itself of the ambivalence and hostility
toward independent black organizing. The two best examples of this continuing
failure was their approach to the Nation of Islam and the Black Power
movement.
Party leaders completely failed to understand why black nationalism could stir
and attract large numbers of poor urban blacks. Cruse noted that the historic
blinders on communists were still wrapped painfully tight when it came to
recognizing new trends among blacks: “The old Communist Party doctrine did
not include the Northern ghetto in this scheme as the black power exponents do.
Moreover the communists did not envision any separatist black party movements
as part of self-determination.”10
With the Nation of Islam, communists were faced with a vibrant new
movement unwilling to compromise with the white left. In 1961, party leaders
prepared to fight back. As secretary of the party’s Negro Commission, Claude
Lightfoot had to develop a strategy for attack. At first he dismissed the black
Muslims: “the Moslem movement is divisive of Negro-white unity and will lead
not to Negro freedom but to just the opposite.” But Lightfoot quickly realized
that the Muslims were not fading, they were gaining in strength.11
Party leaders scrambled to find a position that would not feed the anti-Muslim
hysteria of the mainstream press nor endorse the Muslims. Lightfoot tried to
walk the tightrope: Muslims, he claimed, were “not the main danger” to the
freedom struggle. “The bankers, industrialists, and big brass that support the
racists,” he declared, were the real “enemy of the people.” He quickly added that
the party could not approve of the Muslims’ “go-it-alone policy.”
Excluding whites from the black struggle, he insisted, would “only throw them
into the lap of the common enemy.”12
With Malcolm X steadily drawing more press coverage, the Nation of Islam
rode higher on the crest of their publicity. By 1962, thousands of blacks had
flocked to the organization. Lightfoot’s criticisms had done nothing to blunt their
appeal. At a party forum in February, 1962, he admitted, “The Muslim
organization is a phenomenon which must be examined and assessed from the
point of view of its impact in meeting the major problems of the Negro people.”
While Lightfoot stretched his analysis to the limits of party dogma, he did not
cross the line: “Nationalism as expressed today in the United States, unlike in
Africa, and other places, is an obstacle in the path toward freedom.” He
concluded that the only hope for blacks was “a movement which would actively
seek and promote Negro unity in the context of an alliance with labor.” In July
1963, the National Committee of the Communist Party notified its district
committees to be on alert against the “sharpening danger of the counter-
revolutionary role being played by the Muslim organization.”13
168 • EARL OFARI HUTCHINSON
“For the Communists then, and forever more,” insists Cruse, “trade unionism
was of paramount importance.”14 They still buried their heads deep in the sands
and refused to recognize that the battle among blacks was for power and cultural
identity. To Cruse this was the ultimate proof that Communists were hopelessly
trapped in a time warp and that Marxist dogma was bankrupt.
The black power movement also drew an equally hard threshold that whites
could not cross. The white Left especially took the rejection hard. It was one
thing for blacks to browbeat white liberals for their patronizing attitudes. Now
communists and white radicals, much as Cruse warned would happen and
delighted at, were coming under fire too. In his first public statement on black
power in 1967 Stokely Carmichael taunted white radicals for their “paternalistic
attitude.”15
Carmichael’s shrill words grated on the ears of party leaders. If blacks did
indeed want to do things for themselves, as he and the black militants
proclaimed, where did that leave Communists? Black power was hardly
compatible with the party’s plan for a Negro-labor alliance. Party leaders needed
to come up with a quick response to the new challenge. They realized it was
fruitless to hurl invectives at Carmichael and Student Non-Violent Coordinating
Committee (SNCC) since they clearly had the ear of black students and the
ghetto poor.
Party leaders made a feeble attempt to stay in step with the times by spinning
off a national network of W.E.B.DuBois Clubs in June 1964. Designed to draw
young black and white activists into the party, the clubs were largely a flop.
Young black activists were more excited by Malcolm X, Africa, and dashikis
than Marxism—which many considered outdated and even racist.
While it was harsh and unfair to brand all communists as racists and denounce
their motives as purely selfish and opportunistic, Cruse applauded and hailed the
bitternesss that the black activists expressed toward Marxism and Marxists. He
even went a step further, noting that “it has become mandatory today that every
pro-nationalist tendency within the Negro movement take stringent steps to ban
all Marxist-Communist influences from controlling positions within the
movement.”16
Cruse was pretty much beating a dead horse. By the close of the 1960s the
party was clearly on its dying legs. During the 1970s it would draw some national
and international attention with its campaign to free Angela Davis; it would rally
much black support for her. But blacks did not rally to the Communist Party
banner. They supported Davis because they viewed her as a black woman under
attack from the white establishment, not a Communist.
Yet even as the prodemocracy movements triumphed in Eastern Europe and
the Soviet Union, party leaders tried to maintain the political status quo. They
deluded themselves that they could still be major players among blacks. In 1990,
a prominent party leader still insisted “that the American Communist Party
didn’t go out of business in the 1940s and it will remain an important institution
in the 1990s among blacks.”17
THE CRISIS OF BLACKS AND COMMUNISM • 169
This was pathetically wishful thinking. A year later, the Soviet Union would
dissolve. And democratic governments would replace communist regimes in
Eastern Europe. By the end of 1991, the American Communist Party had broken
up into competing factions with the old guard still refusing to concede that times
had changed and democracy had won out.
Perhaps with the passage of even more time those who still call themselves
American communists will honestly confront their racial past—both the bad and
the good. If they do they will find that during this century many Communist
Party members believed deeply in racial equality. And as accurate as Cruse’s
critique of Marxist failings on race is, it is wrong to suggest otherwise. Their
campaigns against segregation, political repression, and economic equality
resulted in many landmark decisions that advanced the cause of civil rights and
racial justice in America.
But despite their efforts, black leaders have repeatedly asked Communist
leaders two questions: First, did they fight for black freedom because they
sincerely believed in it? Second, given the volatile mix of racism and anti-
communism in America, could blacks afford to be Red too?
Black leaders such as W.E.B.DuBois, A.Phillip Randolph, Marcus Garvey,
Martin Luther King Jr., Roy Wilkins, Malcolm X, Stokely Carmichael, the Black
Muslims and blacks in general have not been satisfied with the answers
communists gave to either question. Cruse, however, never had any doubt that
the answer was a resounding no to both questions. But then again, how could
communists satisfactorily answer those questions?
With the exception of one short moment in American history, the Depression
years, Marxists have never had the type of mass following that would allow them
to offer blacks an iron clad assurance of their sincerity, or their security. Cruse felt
that that inability colored Marxist attitudes toward blacks and led to many
duplicit actions by them: “American Marxists have for over forty years,
misled, disoriented and retarded Negro intellectuals.”18 And by extension they
sought to control and subvert all independent movements by blacks for political,
and economic power and cultural identity.
So while blacks could at brief times throughout recent history applaud them for
their civil rights efforts, and even rally behind black communist leaders when
they were under fire, they could never really embrace the Reds. It’s been that
way because wherever the two groups have met there has been a clash of race
and ideology that more than a near century of struggle has not resolved—and
now perhaps never will.
It definitely couldn’t resolve it for Cruse who argued that the reason that race
and class conflict could never be resolved was not because of flawed individuals
but the flaw in the ideology of Marxism that could not come to grips with the
American ethnic dynamic: “They have never understood—have in fact refused to
understand—the native American social dynamic. They have misinterpreted
America and the American Negro’s social role in America and misinterpreted the
Negro to himself.”19
170 • EARL OFARI HUTCHINSON
Put simply, African Americans are among America’s oldest native sons and
daughters. They have been totally shaped by American ideals and values. If it
weren’t for the great stumbling blocks of racism and economic exclusion, blacks
would have gladly trod the same path to assimilation as the European
immigrants. Marxism and Marxists did not understand this, and Cruse’s major
contribution on the issue of class and race was that he did.
Notes
1. Harold Cruse, The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual, (New York: William Morrow,
1967), 150.
2. Cruse, Marxism and the Negro Struggle, (New York: Pioneer, 1963), 6.
3. See David A.Shannon, The Decline of American Communism (New York:
Harcourt, Brace, 1959); and Robert L.Allen, Reluctant Reformers (Washington
D.C.: Howard University Press, 1974), 207–47.
4. Cruse, Crisis, 150.
5. For a broad view of the roots of the cleavage between and the Marxist Left, see
Tony Martin, Race First (Westport, CT.: Greenwood Press, 1976); and Thoedore
G.Vincent, Ed., Voices of a Black Nation (Berkeley: Ramparts Press, 1973).
6. Cruse, Crisis, 151.
7. See Wilson Record, Race and Radicalism, (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press,
1964), 84–131.
8. See Theodore Draper, American Communism and Soviet Russia (New York:
Viking Press, 1960).
9. Cruse, Crisis, 148.
10. For background on the Black Power movement, see Floyd B.Barbour, Ed., The
Black Power Revolt (Boston: Porter Sargeant, 1968); and Robert L.Allen, Black
Awakening in Capitalist America (New York: Doubleday, 1969). For background
on the deteriorating economic plight of urban blacks during the 1960s, see Daniel
R.Fusfield, The Political Economy of the Ghetto, (Carbondale: Southern Illinois
University Press, 1984); Hollis R.Lynch, The Black Urban Condition (New York:
Thomas Y.Crowell, 1973); [Fortune magazine editors], The Negro and the City
(New York: Time, 1968); and Cruse, Crisis, 547.
11. C.Eric Lincoln, The Black Muslims in America (Boston: Beacon Press, 1963);
E.U.Essien-Udom, Black Nationalism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press,
1962); and Claude Lightfoot, “The Negro Liberation Movement Today,” Political
Affairs 39 (1961): 90.
12. Claude Lightfoot, “An Open Letter to the Negro People” (Negro Commission,
CPUSA), June 1961, 3–4; Dorothy Healey Papers, California State University at
Long Beach.
13. Lightfoot, “Negro Nationalism and the Black Muslims,” Political Affairs 41 (July
1962): 4, 13, 20; “To All Districts,” CPUSA, 11 July 1963, CP File—1963.
14. Cruse, Crisis, 547.
15. Stokely Carmichael and Charles V.Hamilton, Black Power: The Politics of
Liberation (New York: Random House, 1967), 86–120; Black Power: SNCC
Speaks For Itself (Ann Arbor, Mich.: Radical Education Project, 1966), 5;
THE CRISIS OF BLACKS AND COMMUNISM • 171
Carmichael gave his first public explanation of the idea of Black Power in a speech
at the University of California-Berkeley on October 29, 1966 (New York Times,
October 30, 1966); Carmichael, “Toward Black Liberation,” Massachusetts Review
7 (1966), 639–51; Stokely Carmichael, “Power and Racism,” in Barbour, ed., Black
Power Revolt, 69.
16. Cruse, Crisis, 263.
17. Charlene Mitchell, interview with the author, December 18, 1989.
18. Cruse, Crisis, 262.
19. Ibid., 262.
172
Part 4
insistence that Robeson must be examined “as a Negro symbol purely within the
context of American race relations.”5 Here, race and racism are not products of
global processes at the heart of the shaping of the modern world, but exclusively
an American dilemma.
But if this was ironically in keeping with dominant liberalism, Cruse was not a
liberal. In his reading of U.S. politics as competing ethnic nationalisms, Cruse
could only make race a purely American issue by equating internationalism with
communism and then dismissing the former as irrelevant. Cruse’s explicit move
toward American exceptionalism is outlined in his introduction to the 1968
collection of essays, Rebellion or Revolution? In a cryptic intellectual
autobiography, Cruse sought to explain why, in the period from 1945 to 1952, he
“was such a glaring intellectual misfit—an incomprehensible gadfly to some, and
a pretentious neophyte to others, those whose politics I criticized.”6 As Cruse
charged that his former allies were treating the “postwar era with intellectual and
critical tools more applicable to the vanished world of the thirties,” his laudable
attempt not to blame outsiders but to locate American social ills in American
history crossed over into an exceptionalism in which the rest of the world didn’t
matter. Indeed, typifying the silences and lacunae of many American anti-
Stalinist leftists while claiming to possess the critical tools most relevant to the
postwar world, Cruse ignored emergent global power relations and was
particularly indifferent to African and Asian anticolonial and national building
projects, expressing bafflement in The Crisis that Freedom newspaper “roamed all
over the world—to China, Africa, British Guiana elections, the war in
Korea….”7 Thus while Cruse did not explicitly endorse U.S. global hegemony, he
implicitly accepted a bipolar reading of global politics. And here Cruse, like
much of the U.S. anti-Stalinist Left, was right on anti-Stalinism but wrong on
everything else. Their anti-Stalinism, however warranted, blinded them to the
displacement of democratic projects by empire. Such an anti-Stalinist position
led to a fundamental refusal to foreground the consolidation of U.S. dominance at
the very moment of the rise of new African and Asian nations.
Cruse’s systematic misconceptions about Robeson appear further layered with
oedipal irony. Robeson’s politics, and specifically the anticolonialism that eluded
Cruse, constituted precisely the independent black radicalism that
Cruse appealed for in his text and found, in his version of history, sorely lacking
in the black past. Moreover, his dismissal of Robeson’s politics and his ultimate
blindness to global power relations appear even more strange when one
considers Cruse’s own forays into internationalism. Cruse traveled to Cuba in
July 1960 with Robert Williams, the National Association for the Advancement
of Colored People activist who had organized armed militias to fight the Ku Klux
Klan in Monroe, North Carolina; the novelist Sarah Wright; painter Ed Clark,
and the radical writer Julian Mayfield.8 In Cruse’s influential 1962 essay,
“Revolutionary Nationalism and the Afro-American” (reprinted in Rebellion and
Revolution? and in Black Fire in 1968) he not only embraced “revolutionary
nationalism” but did so in a language reminiscent of the left internationalists of
THE COLD WAR SEDUCTION OF HAROLD CRUSE • 177
the 1940s and ’50s, asserting “the bond between the Negro and the colonial
peoples of the world….”9 Thus, for at least a short time, Cruse applauded a new
generation looking to the former colonial world for its leaders and insights.10 In
fact, the assertion of bonds between black Americans and colonized peoples that
Cruse attacked Western Marxists “for failing to understand” had constituted the
core of Robeson’s politics, as well as that of a generation of intellectuals and
activists Cruse had written off as Communist dupes. Here Cruse appears to have
needed to kill off the father, so to speak, to assert himself as the originator of
revolutionary nationalism. And by the time of the publication of The Crisis in
1967, even those who he had championed in “Revolutionary Nationalism and the
Afro-American” were accused, like Robeson, of inappropriately attempting to
apply “foreign ideologies to the United States.”11
Thirty years after Cruse consigned Robeson to the dustbin of history, the
contours and fate of Robeson’s anticolonial politics offer a window into the
political dynamics obscured by Cruse’s tendentious reading of internationalism.
During World War II, as the collapse of European hegemony was applauded by
an international black press, African American anticolonial activists argued that
their struggles in the U.S. against Jim Crowism were inextricably bound to the
struggles of African and Asian peoples for independence. Ever since World War
I, nationalists and Pan-Africanists had trenchantly debunked myths of white
supremacy and the civilizing mission, and challenged the political and economic
order on which they rested. Significantly, in The Crisis, Cruse insisted that
contemporary nationalism “stems from a tradition dating back to the period of
World War I,” but he located this primarily in Garveyism, slighting the leftist
nationalists who had challenged Garvey. Also absent from Cruse’s account was
the wide sweep of black American support of Asian and African nation-building
projects in the decades following Garvey. In the 1930s, the scholarship of C.L.
R.James and W.E.B.DuBois had placed black peoples at the center of world
events. And as the weakness of colonial powers opened up an unprecedented
array of challenges to colonialism, these ideas took on a new urgency and
meaning as anticolonial movements gathered momentum. Activists in
organizations such as the Council on African Affairs (CAA), founded by Max
Yergan and Paul Robeson and also led by W.Alphaeus Hunton, Eslanda
Robeson, Charlotta Bass, and DuBois; the National Association for the
Advancement of Colored Peoples (NAACP), led by Walter White; and the
National Council of Negro Women, led by Mary McLeod Bethune not only
supported anticolonial efforts in Africa and Asia; they also argued that the
independence of new Asian and African nations would help black Americans in
their struggles for political, economic, and civil rights.
To place Robeson in the world of anticolonial politics, it is critical to
appreciate, as his biographer Duberman has pointed out, that the CAA “was the
one organizational interest among many with which he was identified that was
closest to his heart.”12 Chaired by Robeson, the CAA was founded in 1937 as
the International Committee on African Affairs. The early ICAA represented a
178 • PENNY M.VON ESCHEN
Americans and the economic devastation against which he fought, and which
indeed he was prescient in grasping. Evidently at home with empire, Cruse
blamed the messenger—in this case Robeson, along with later internationalists.
Were there alternatives during that very repressive era to accepting the terms
of the Cold War, or to the despair engendered by an acceptance of those terms?
The historian Thomas Borstelmann has aptly observed that for most of the
peoples of Africa and Asia, “the Cold War and the supposed dangers of
communism were merely distractions from the historic opportunity provided by
World War II for ending the European colonialism that had long dominated the
lives of most of the world’s people.”20 As the administration of Harry S Truman
chose to interpret international, national, and even local politics in terms of a
fundamental struggle with the Soviet Union, Robeson, along with other
anticolonial activists, tried to shift the terms of the debate to colonial people’s
and working people’s control of their labor, their land, and their resources.
Following the fragmentation of anticolonial alliances and the split of the
Council on African Affairs in 1948, remaining CAA leaders such as Hunton,
Robeson, and DuBois continued their work on Africa. The organization
increasingly focused on direct support of African liberation movements as well
as on monitoring American corporate initiatives in Africa. The CAA’s African Aid
Committee, chaired by DuBois, raised money in 1950 to support striking coal
miners at Enugu, Nigeria, and the Nigerian National Federation of Labor.
Hunton followed the activities of Edward R.Stettinius Jr., the former secretary of
state who, Hunton argued, controlled virtually the entire economy of Liberia
through his Liberia Company. Alarmed by these efforts, colonial powers sought
to undermine the CAA’s visibility in Africa. By 1950, the CAA’s New Africa was
banned from the mails of the Union of South Africa, Kenya, and the Belgian
Congo.21
As the historian Sterling Stuckey has argued, Robeson’s efforts on behalf of
the liberation of African and Asian peoples intensified in the period after 1949.22
The Marshall Plan and new American corporate involvement in Africa and Latin
America deepened Robeson’s critique of the relationship between imperialism
and Jim Crowism and his sense of connection with black peoples in
the Caribbean, South America, and Africa. For Robeson, “The Marshall Plan
means enslavement of our people all over the earth, including here in the United
States on the cotton and sugar plantations and in the mines of the North and
South.” Moreover, again linking the violence of imperialism with the violence in
the U.S. South, Robeson argued that the new U.S. foreign policy was—and could
only be—backed by militarism. The Atlantic Pact gave “legal sanction for
sending guns and troops to the colonies to insure the enslavement and
terrorization of our people. They will shoot our people down in Africa just as
they lynch us in Mississippi.”23
Despite Robeson’s unequivocal grounding in projects of black liberation,
Cruse, seduced by bipolarism, lamented in a parochial American definition of
“nationalism” that Robeson and his allies “never, but never, had a single
182 • PENNY M.VON ESCHEN
about the ramifications of the passport case, and were also dismayed by the
repercussions of Robeson’s criticism of American intervention in Korea.
In 1951, Roger P.Ross, a U.S. official in Accra, Ghana, wrote to the State
Department soliciting a disparaging letter about Robeson that could be
distributed in Africa. His request led to the publication of an article of this
precise description in the November 1951 Crisis, the official NAACP organ—
and the distribution of this article in West Africa. The article, “Paul Robeson—
The Lost Shepherd,” was written by Robert Alan, identified only as “the pen-
name of a well known journalist.” Ross had insisted that in order to be effective,
the story of Robeson must be presented as “a tragedy,” paying homage to his
talents as an artists and then treat his political views as “spiritual alienation from
his country and the bulk of his people.”34 Whatever the authorship of the article,
by publishing the piece in The Crisis, the NAACP participated in this
discrediting of Robeson (something else Cruse ignored when he charged that
“Robeson also blasted the NAACP”). Moreover, that Cruse himself chooses to
call Robeson’s story a “tragedy” speaks to the hegemony of a liberal rejection of
politics in a form of “the end of ideology” (and perhaps as well to the
embarrassingly predictable lack of originality generated by Cruse’s oedipal
fixation.)35
Ironically, if Cruse was convinced that Robeson and his allies followed a
communist line, U.S. officials knew much more was at stake. In addition to
attempts to discredit Robeson in Ghana, after the revocation of Robeson’s
passport, the Council on African Affairs faced two different sets of charges by
the U.S. attorney general. In 1952, the attorney general’s Subversive Activities
Control Board charged the CAA with communist domination and with failing “to
register with the Attorney General as provided in Sec. 7(b) of the Internal
Security Act of 1950.”36 However, evidence for the case rested not on CAA
support of the Communist Party, but on its work on Africa and on its opposition
to American intervention in Korea. Asserting the integrity and independence of
anticolonial politics, the CAA’s chief line of defense was to demonstrate the
breadth of work in support of African liberation movements.37 Not only was
it precisely this work on Africa that the government interpreted as communist
inspired, but indeed, the next year the CAA was charged directly for its support
of African groups. In a 1953 memo to J.Edgar Hoover, assistant attorney general
Warren Olney III implied that the attempts to link the CAA to the Communist Party
had been “a mere fishing expedition” and outlined a new case against the
council. Evidence that “the subject is acting as ‘a publicity agent’ for a foreign
principal” and “soliciting funds for a foreign principal” rested on the CAA’s
support of the African National Congress (ANC) of South Africa, the Nigerian
mine workers, and the Kenya Africa Union. Olney subpoenaed CAA
correspondence with the ANC and South African Indian Congress, hoping that
“an examination of the subject’s books, records and correspondence will reveal
the necessary evidence to establish an agent relationship.”38 The FBI further
stepped up its surveillance.39 The case against the CAA never reached closure
THE COLD WAR SEDUCTION OF HAROLD CRUSE • 185
Notes
1. Harold Cruse, The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual: A Historical Analysis of the
Failure of Black Leadership (1967; reprint New York: Quill, 1984), 227.
2. Sterling Stuckey, Slave Culture: Nationalist Theory and the Foundations of Black
America (New York: Oxford University Press, 1987); Martin Bauml Duberman,
Paul Robeson (New York: Alfred A.Knopf, 1988); Penny M.Von Eschen, Race
against Empire: Black Americans and Anticolonialism, 1937–1957 (Ithaca, N.Y.:
Cornell University Press, 1997); Brenda Gayle Plummer, A Rising Wind: Black
Americans and U.S. Foreign Relations, 1935–1960 (Chapel Hill: University of North
Carolina Press, 1996.)
3. This point has been further developed in Von Eschen, Race against Empire. See
especially chapter 7, “Remapping Africa, Rewriting Race,” and chapter 8, “No
Exit: From Bandung to Ghana.”
4. Significantly, Cruse attacked the anticapitalist versions of “the end of ideology,”
taking issue with Daniel Bell’s critique of “mass cultural democracy” where, by
ignoring what Cruse saw as intergroup cultural competition, black America was
invisible and “the black social movement is not even worth mentioning.” On the
terrain of American politics, Cruse was absolutely correct in his critique. But while
rejecting homogenizing assumptions of “end of ideology” theorists, Cruse fully
accepted their American exceptionalism. See Cruse, Crisis, 460–65.
5. Ibid., 289.
6. Harold Cruse, Rebellion or Revolution? (New York: William Morrow, 1968), 13.
7. Cruse, Crisis, 236–37.
8. Robin D.G.Kelley and Betsy Esch, “Black like Mao: Notes on Red China and
Black Revolution,” forthcoming, unpublished manuscript. On Cruse and Mayfield,
see Kevin Gaines, in this volume.
9. Cruse, “Revolutionary Nationalism and the Afro-American,” in Black Fire: An
Anthology of Afro-American Writing, Ed. LeRoi Jones and Larry Neal (New York:
William Morrow, 1968), 63. Cruse’s disclaimer is less interesting for the
unelaborated claim that he no longer agrees with all of the articles’ conclusions
than for his curious assertion that it was “the first theoretical attempt to deal with
Afro-American nationalism after World War II.”
10. Kelley and Esch, “Black Like Mao.”
THE COLD WAR SEDUCTION OF HAROLD CRUSE • 187
34. Roger P.Ross, Public Affairs Officer, American Consul, Accra to Department of
State, Subject: USIE, Request for a Special Story on Paul Robeson: Jan. 9, 1951;
Department of State, RG 59: 511.45K21/1–951; National Archives; Robert
Alan,“Paul Robeson—The Lost Shepherd,” Crisis, November 1951, On the
Crisis’s publication of this article and other attacks on Robeson including Walter
White’s “The Strange Case of Paul Robeson,” published in Ebony, see Duberman,
Paul Robeson, 395. See also “Paul Robeson: Right or Wrong: Right: says W.E.B.Du
Bois: Wrong: says Walter White,” Negro Digest, March 1950, 8–18.
35. Cruse, Crisis, 286.
36. Herbert Brownell Jr., Attorney General of the United States, Petitioner; Council on
African Affairs, Inc., Respondent: On petition for an order requiring the Council on
African Affairs, Inc. to register with the Attorney General as required by Section 7
(b), (c) and (d) of the Internal Security Act of 1950. Papers of W.E.B.Du Bois,
microfilm, Reel 69, Frames 692 and 693. FBI report NY 100–19377, June 3, 1952:
Papers of W.E.B.Du Bois, U. of Amherst, Box 377, Folder 136. On the charges see
also Horne, Black & Red pp.187–188 and Lynch, Black Americans Radicals, p.50.
37. Outline of proposed testimony, W.A.Hunton, October 23,1953, Hunton papers,
Box 1, Folder 19.
38. Warren Olney III, Assistant Attorney General, Criminal Division to the Director of
the Federal Bureau of Investigation, File 146–28–376, 1953. The Papers of
W.E.B.DuBois, Special Collections, W.E.B.DuBois Library, University of
Massachusetts at Amherst. Group 2/3, Section 23, Box 379, Folder 60, 1–3.
39. On survellience of CAA support for the Kenya African Union and Jomo Kenyatta
see, To: SAC NY 100–19377 from Director, FBI, 100–69266, July 19,1954.
W.E.B.Du Bois Papers, Amherst, Group 2/3, Series 23, Box 376, Folder 31.
40. Carl T.Rowan, “Has Paul Robeson Betrayed the Negro?” Ebony, 12, no. 12
(1957): 33.
41. Cruse, Crisis, 545. Rowan, “Has Paul Robeson Betrayed the Negro?” 41.
42. Cruse, Crisis, 301.
10
The Crisis of Historical Memory
Harold Cruse, Julian Mayfield and African American
Expatriates in Nkrumah’s Ghana, 1957–1966
KEVIN GAINES
In 1968, Harold Cruse’s classic study The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual
became an immediate best seller, capitalizing on the popular mood of militancy,
black power, and angry disenchantment with the gradualism and limitations of
the reforms achieved by the 1960s-era social contract between corporate
liberalism and the civil rights establishment.1 Cruse’s text presented itself as
bolder and more radical than other approaches to African American liberation
popular in black intellectual discourse of the day.
In retrospect, however, it would appear that the book’s reception actually
benefited at least as much from Cold War liberalism as it did from the popular
mood of militancy. Cruse singled out the previous generation of black leftist
intellectuals—Paul Robeson, W.E.B.DuBois, Richard Wright, Lorraine
Hansberry, and others to support his contention that black militants had hitherto
failed to make an independent social and historical analysis of African American
oppression within the United States. Cruse’s indictment of the black Left
remained strikingly silent about the negative impact of the Cold War and U.S.
racism on African American radicalism. Instead, his book is a sustained polemic
against many of the most prominent black leftist intellectuals of the postwar era,
whose international political outlook and support for national liberation struggles
abroad, Cruse felt, had led them into debilitating compromises with the white
left and failed integrationist politics.
But as Penny Von Eschen has argued, the disputed reputation of these
intellectuals, and the demise of the radical anticolonial politics they
espoused after World War II, were to a large degree the result of a campaign
against them led by the U.S. government and anticommunists.2 Julian Mayfield,
the Harlem-based novelist and actor, and one of the radical internationalist
intellectuals named in Cruse’s indictment, castigated Cruse for pursuing personal
vendettas through his “spiteful” assault on black leftist intellectuals. Mayfield’s
review of Cruse’s book for Negro Digest elicited an acrimonious response from
Cruse, unenlightening on political and ideological questions and saturated with
innuendo regarding Mayfield’s activities while in exile in Ghana as an adviser to
its head of state, Kwame Nkrumah.3
This heated exchange between Mayfield and Cruse has long been
overshadowed by the influence Cruse’s text has exerted on generations of black
190 • KEVIN GAINES
scholars and activists. Mayfield, who was teaching at Cornell University at the
time, saw himself engaged with Cruse’s text in a contest over the minds of black
students. Mayfield reminded his audience that DuBois, marginalized by Cruse
for having embraced both exile and communism, had been a stalwart
indispensable champion of black liberation. And Mayfield proudly defended his
participation in left-wing causes and campaigns during the late 1940s and ’50s.
But Cruse prevailed with ease over Mayfield’s invocation of historical memory.
For many black activists who had experienced white paternalism, Cruse’s jibe of
integrationism contained more than a kernel of truth. His text also caught the
cresting tide of black-power ideology, one tendency of which privileged
separatism and local control of black communities over cosmopolitanism and
coalition building. The tension between insular and expansive notions of black
identity persists, and to a great extent we see narrow exclusionary expressions of
“authentic” blackness prefigured in Cruse’s unrestrained prejudice against Afro-
Caribbeans and Jews.4 However valid Cruse’s critique of the paternalism of the
white-dominated Left, his conflation of the black left internationalism of
DuBois, Robeson, and others with the suspect category of integrationism
effectively consigned much of the independent black radical activist tradition to
the dustbin of history, at least on American campuses. By rearticulating the Cold
War’s marginalization of the black Left in the minds of many of his readers,
Cruse might well be understood as an unwitting soldier in the Cold War. Cruse’s
avowed commitment to historical analysis fell victim to his seductive assertion
of a more authentically grounded—and thus, all the more misleading—black
nationalist intellectual praxis.
Cruse’s magnum opus maligned many of those artists, activists, and
intellectuals whose political commitments thorughout the Cold War era
contributed to their ambiguous legacies: Wright, Robeson, Hansberry, James
Baldwin, Mayfield, and others. (Mayfield wondered why Cruse devoted
considerably more space to his attack on Hansberry than to any discussion of
DuBois.) These radical intellectuals and their internationalist solidarity with
emergent African nations, articulated in such journals as Freedomways and the
Liberator, were, by Cruse’s reckoning, out of touch with the needs of
black communities in Harlem and the United States. According to Cruse, this
generation of intellectuals was “deeply impressed by the emergence of the
African states, the Cuban revolution, Malcolm X, and Robert Williams himself.
They were witnessing a revolutionary age of the liberation of oppressed peoples.
Thus they were led to connect their American situation with those foreign
revolutionary situations. They did not know, of course, that to attempt to apply
foreign ideologies to the United States was more easily imagined than
accomplished.”5
For Cruse, then, the exile from the United States taken after World War II by
Wright, Baldwin, Chester Himes, and other black writers seeking an intellectual
and personal freedom unavailable under Jim Crow conditions had been a failure.
Mayfield’s own flight into exile to Ghana, to escape arrest for his involvement
THE CRISIS OF HISTORICAL MEMORY • 191
South, intended to counter official Myrdalian rhetoric that the United States was
well on its way to resolving its racial “dilemma.” For American audiences,
Mayfield gave Nkrumah’s anti-imperialism and his radical vision of development
the fair hearing that they seldom received in the Western press. After Nkrumah’s
ouster, Mayfield found himself without a political platform for his activist
journalism. With the escalating demands for Black studies programs and
curricula on college campuses, Mayfield was exiled to the classroom. Upon his
return to the United States, Mayfield was unsuccessful in his attempts to publish
three separate manuscripts of his analysis of Ghana under Nkrumah.15 It is telling
that his only published account of Ghana in those years is a work of
autobiographical short fiction, “Black on Black: A Love Story,” in which events
in the fictional African nation “Songhai” were largely based on his experiences
in Ghana. The story concerns the relationship between a Ghanaian politician and
an African American woman that is undermined by popular suspicion of the
African American community as a threat to the nation’s stability in the wake of
assassination attempts on the head of state. Although Mayfield’s legacy was
certainly not helped by his untimely death in 1984 in Washington D.C., the
obstacles he faced in his repeated attempts to publish suggests the persistence of
Cold War limitations on black oppositional thought and politics and the culture
industry’s commodification of African American intellectual dissent, a process
that shaped the distribution and reception of Cruse’s best-selling text.16
Mayfield’s accounts of his work in Ghana, read against his surviving
correspondence from that period with other expatriates and colleagues back in
the States, attest to the complexity of the expatriate experience. For those who
voluntarily moved to Ghana, as opposed to those who were political exiles, the
enabling condition of exile enjoyed by most of Ghana’s expatriates brought forth
a critical and largely overlooked perspective on the origins and legacy of black
popular movements of the 1950s and ’60s. The ambiguities of their location in
Ghana—being of African descent, yet socially and culturally foreign; remote
from the racial controversies of the U.S. scene, yet situated at the center of
international anticolonial projects; being sympathetic to the politics of African
liberation, yet marginal, as junior partners of Pan-Africanism, so to speak,
within Nkrumah’s Ghana—all provided expatriate intellectuals a unique critical
perspective from which to reflect on events both near and distant.
Still responding, more or less, to Cruse’s polemic, Mayfield’s retrospective
account of “our crowd” in Ghana, while suffused with a blend of nostalgia and
disillusionment, nonetheless sketched a genealogy of the formation of his cohort
of black intellectuals. For Mayfield, the crisis of the Negro intellectual was
defined by the pressures of U.S. racism, segregation, and Cold War hysteria. “As
Afro-Americans [in Ghana] we were testing the parameters of the Western world,”
he noted. “Our heroes, inevitably, were…Paul Robeson, the still incredible Jack
Johnson, Malcolm X, and most of all, W.E.B.DuBois, who was still alive, and
who lived just around the corner…. All of these men had been international in
their thinking. They had recognized long ago something that we had to work out
THE CRISIS OF HISTORICAL MEMORY • 195
War anticommunism but also the Cold War ideology underlying the civil rights
establishment as early as the 1950s. In doing so, Mayfield’s analysis complicates
narratives that locate the emergence of militancy, indeed, of “black power,” later
in the 1960s with the emergence of Malcolm X, black nationalism, and the
antiwar movement. Mayfield described his position in the 1950s as one of active
dissent from King’s status as the preeminent civil rights leader, and the evolving
movement’s tactical emphasis on nonviolence. With black people and organizers
in the rural southern towns terrorized by segregationists, Mayfield pointed out
that nonviolence held a limited appeal for many in that region.
As Mayfield recalled their arrival in Ghana, “Most of us were leaving
something unpleasant behind.” Surely this understatement referred to the
indignities of U.S. racism. For Mayfield it also alluded to the circumstances of
his exile. Mayfield had gotten involved with the armed self-defense movement
led by Robert Williams, an NAACP leader in Monroe, North Carolina. In
Commentary Mayfield argued the case of Williams—who, though dismissed
from the organization, posed to Mayfield a stark challenge to middle-class black
leaders incapable of responding effectively to the boycotts, sit-ins, and other
forms of black mass protest from below. Before being suspended from the
association by leadership fearful that he was a liability, Williams had rescued the
local chapter of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People
(NAACP) that had been decimated by white intimidation after the Brown v.
Board of Education decision. He organized a black paramilitary force to thwart
resurgent Ku Klux Klan attempts to harass black professionals suspected of
supporting the NAACP. Mayfield applauded Williams’s efforts to turn the Cold
War (and the second amendment to the U.S. Constitution’s Bill of Rights) to his
advantage, putting pressure on the federal government by subjecting antiblack
violence to world exposure. Holding black working-class insurgency as the
unknown variable in civil rights struggles, and emboldened by the recent
revolution in Cuba, Mayfield argued that the legalistic and passive resistance
strategies of the black leadership class failed to address their needs. Mass-based
leaders such as Williams, “who have concluded that the only way to win a
revolution is to be a revolutionary,” would then rise to the fore.28
Pressured by the FBI to provide information about Williams, Mayfield left the
country, reaching Ghana in 1961. He reflected on his close call with U.S.
authorities in a letter to John Henrik Clarke, suggesting the persistence of the
Cold War culture of betrayal and ostracism, putting friendships and loyalties to
the ultimate test: “People who thought I was on my way to jail…are feeling their
way back. They dropped me cold in September. Well, brother, once burned is
enough for me.” Mayfield’s initial response to Ghana was complicated. Mayfield
declared himself no longer able to live in the United States, and held mobility (for
those fortunate enough to have it) necessary for his development as an
intellectual. He enclosed photographs of the Ghanian “outdooring” of his
newborn son, Emiliano Kwesi. Born in Greer, South Carolina and raised in
Washington D.C., Mayfield conveyed the turbulent emotions sparked by leaving
THE CRISIS OF HISTORICAL MEMORY • 199
the poisonous Cold War atmosphere of racism and distrust, and exchanging the
status of a member of a persecuted minority for solidarity with Ghana’s black
majority society.29
In Ghana, Mayfield served as a speechwriter and journalist for Nkrumah. He
maintained later that his was a limited influence on the Ghanian president.
Expatriates gathered frequently at the home of Mayfield and his wife, Ana Livia
Cordero, a physician from Puerto Rico who ran a public clinic for women in
Accra.30 Through a conversation with Ghanian journalists, Mayfield
inadvertantly sparked a corruption scandal, replete with screaming newspaper
headlines. He had mentioned a report in a Nigerian paper that the wife of Krobo
Edusei, a prominent Convention People’s Party official, had purchased a gold-
plated bed in London for three thousand pounds.
Mayfield’s activities paralleled the deterioration of relations between Ghana
and the United States as Nkrumah, along with other radical new states such as
Guinea, under Sekou Touré, pursued a policy of nonalignment. By seeking trade-
and-aid agreements with Soviet bloc countries, in effect playing the Cold War
antagonists against each other, Nkrumah seemed to confirm the worst fears of
anticommunists. As Basil Davidson has written, “that sort of non-alignment has
become an everyday affair: when Nkrumah embarked upon it, [westerners] saw
it as a hostile challenge or a dastardly betrayal.”31 For Nkrumah’s information
bureau, Mayfield edited a volume on nuclear disarmament, The World without the
Bomb, culled from presentations at a conference held in Accra.32 Mayfield also
worked as West African correspondent for Middle East News, a press agency
with bureaus in New York, Cairo, London, and throughout Europe, and as a
frequent contributor to the Accra Evening News. His articles also discussed
Nkrumah’s program of African unity and nonalignment across the continent.33
Ghana’s strategic importance for the U.S. is further glimpsed in the vigilant
concern among the expatriates—found in Mayfield’s correspondence and
writings—with identifying African Americans deemed unfriendly to the cause of
independent Ghana. This too was an abiding legacy of the Cold War, during
which government informants were paid to provide names of real or imagined
subversives to the authorities. Among the more immediate causes for Mayfield’s
and the expatriates’ suspicion was the crisis in the former Belgian Congo,
sparked by the secession of the resource-rich Katanga province, and the
assassination of the independent Congo’s prime minister, Patrice Lumumba. The
overthrow of Lumumba sparked outrage among African American intellectuals,
including James Baldwin and Lorraine Hansberry. In response to the defining
moment of Lumumba’s death, black radicals articulated an independent position,
critical of innuendoes by Adlai Stevenson and numerous press observers that
dissent was instigated by communists. The West’s vilification of Lumumba,
unapologetically slandered in a British newsreel as a “red agitator” killed, to be
sure, “at the hands of the Congolese” imparted to his death the sense that a
lynching had taken place.34 In a New York Times essay, Baldwin warned whites
that they were dangerously mistaken in perceiving black Americans’
200 • KEVIN GAINES
the flawed policies of Ghana’s first republic, disclosures since the coup have
confirmed Mayfield’s suspicion of U.S. attempts to destabilize Ghana.38
Although widely understood at the time as an advancement in the struggle,
declarations of black power in the United States ultimately reflected the
fragmentation of African American politics. Before this fragmentation, the latter
careers of King and especially Malcolm X had been transformed in the
internationalist image epitomized by Ghana. They had attempted to broaden the
civil rights agenda, linking antiracism to struggles for economic democracy.
They had argued that inequality at home was inseparable from the escalation of
the war in Vietnam. Black power rhetoric notwithstanding, the deaths of these
martyred leaders virtually enforced civil rights as the normative black political
discourse.
From the mid-1960s onward, radical black politics were effectively
neutralized by a combination of state repression and increasingly unaccountable,
undisciplined leadership that abandoned the movement’s strategies of mass
mobilization.39 What remained was in large part a highly rhetorical popular
conception of black power, or the new black aesthetic. This new articulation of
black power was depoliticized, anti-intellectual, and ineffectual, despite its
inflated revolutionary pretensions.40 Although from exile Nkrumah managed to
publish several perceptive critiques of neocolonialism in Africa, black-power
rhetoric in the U.S. tended toward the sort of bourgeois nationalism that Frantz
Fanon had identified as the Achilles heel of independent African states.41
Undeniably, black solidarities were fragmented from above. In 1957, Vice
President Nixon had framed African independence movements within Cold War
geopolitics. A decade later, President Nixon demonstrated anew the U.S.
political establishment’s vested interest in imposing its own vision of freedom on
black Americans. For Nixon, Black power was best expressed through promoting
small business enterprises in inner cities.42
Cruse’s slighting of Mayfield and the internationalist black Left cannot be
wholly explained by personal animosities. The failure of the civil rights and
African liberation movements to deliver on their revolutionary promise and
potential suggests another explanation for the influence of Cruse’s text. Cruse
tapped into the widespread discontent borne of unfulfilled demands for social
transformation. Moreover, Cruse echoed E.Franklin Frazier’s Black Bourgeoisie,
influential in its own right for its portrayal of a self-absorbed and politically
quiescent elite lulled by its own platitudes of racial uplift. Whereas Frazier’s
critique, its excesses aside, heralded an insurgent critique of liberalism (his
concern, after all, was linking the disengagement of the black bourgeoisie to
Cold War pressures), Cruse’s narrative reinforced dominant narratives of Cold
War anticommunism. This perception of Cruse’s text, while exposed by
Mayfield and others, was obscured by its cathartic display of racialism. In this
manner Cruse capitalized on the parvenu status of a generation of emerging
middleclass students, activists, and intellectuals. By projecting these anxieties
onto something called the “integrationist black left,” the scapegoat for the failure
202 • KEVIN GAINES
of black social movements, Cruse offered readers an irresistible remedy for their
own class anxieties. Cruse’s argument also benefited from the vogue of
revolutionary rhetoric and an altogether misplaced faith among student radicals
and activists in grand social theory. All one needed, it was routinely asserted,
was the correct ideology. These circumstances and assumptions placed Mayfield,
himself associated with Nkrumah’s “failure,” at a disadvantage in countering
Cruse’s influence.
Cruse reaped the benefits of the destruction and failures of postwar black
radicalism. To be sure, black expatriates in Ghana, and Nkrumah himself,
underestimated the myriad obstacles to the realization of a Pan-African
revolutionary vision. Mayfield’s retrospective accounts strongly suggest that the
role and influence of African American expatriates within independent Ghana
was severely restricted by the complex political realities established by Nkrumah’s
policies. Inhibited in thought as well as action by their marginality, the Ghana
expatriates were vulnerable to charges of naïveté in failing to perceive the
manifold contradictions of “African socialism” as practiced by Nkrumah.43
It can also be said, however, that the largely ad-hominem style of Cruse’s
writing and his self-serving penchant for toppling straw men precluded any
serious reflection on Ghana and the independent black left activism that had
flourished there. The emergence and downfall of Nkrumah and Ghana cannot be
explained by Cruse’s thesis of the black Left’s subservience to the Communist
Party. Expatriate sympathizers of Nkrumah and other writers remain convinced
that his military overthrow was not a purely internal matter, but was in fact
orchestrated in large by Western powers, including the United States.44
Whatever one’s analysis of the Pan-Africanism represented by Mayfield and the
African American expatriates in Ghana, it appears Cruse’s influence often has
been the opposite of what he claims to have intended in penning The Crisis of the
Negro Intellectual. By falsely conflating internationalism with the suspect
category of integration, the work’s legacy for future generations has been one of
discontinuity and confusion rather than that of advancing his avowed project of
critical inquiry into the history of independent black politics.
Long after Nkrumah’s fall, the appearance of Cruse’s obfuscatory text and
Mayfield’s passing, Ghana still retains its significance, even as its former
prominence in the African diaspora’s political imagination is largely forgotten.
Recently, the nation has been advertised as an economic success story, the
showcase for the International Monetary Fund’s structural adjustment programs—
despite its declining exports and the erosion of real incomes and living standards
for most Ghanaians.45 But in the late 1950s Ghana and all it stood for potentially
debunked for African Americans the racial myths—both imposed and
internalized—that trapped them in what Mayfield called “minority thinking”;
myths that prevented them from defining and pursuing an independent vision of
human freedom. Ghana’s avowedly socialist project offered African American
expatriates, however briefly, a radical vision that countered the perennial problem
of the relationship of African Americans to the white-dominated Left. With the
THE CRISIS OF HISTORICAL MEMORY • 203
Notes
1. Harold Cruse, The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual (New York: Quill, 1984).
2. Penny Von Eschen, Race against Empire: Black Americans and Anticolonialism,
1937–1957 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1997).
3. Julian Mayfield, “A Challenge to a Bestseller: Crisis or Crusade?” Negro Digest,
June 1968, 10–24. Amid his defense against Mayfield’s charges that personal
animosity informed Cruse’s assessments of Paul Robeson and Lorraine Hansberry,
Cruse calls for Mayfield to be more forthcoming about his own romantic pursuits in
Harlem, Cuba, and Ghana: “But, damn, Mayfield, here you are sittin’ on all that
fantastical experience about black writers in love (and also exile) with your poor
readers thirsting for knowledge, literary exaltation, and a bit of honest, healthy
titillation…. Give us the livin’ lowdown on what went down in Ghana.” For Cruse,
exile was reduced to sexual adventurism. This particular response to Mayfield
seems more revealing about Cruse’s personal preoccupations than anything else.
See Harold Cruse, “Replay on a Black Crisis: Harold Cruse Looks Back on Black
Art and Politics in Harlem,” Negro Digest, November 1968, 25.
4. So eager were Cold War liberal critics to endorse Cruse’s dismissals of the black
Left that they forgave Cruse for his numerous and egregious expressions of bigotry
toward West Indians and Jews. For criticism of Cruse that breaks the silence on this
matter, see Alan Wald, “Narrating Nationalisms: Black Marxism and Jewish
Communists through the Eyes of Harold Cruse,” in this volume: and Winston James,
Holding Aloft the Banner of Ethiopia (London: Verso, 1998, 262–91. James has
provided one of the most extensive and detailed rebuttals to Cruse’s attacks on
West Indian radicals.
5. Cruse, Crisis, 354.
6. See Michel Fabre, From Harlem to Paris: Black American Writers in France,
1840–1980 (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1991); Michel Fabre, The
Unfinished Quest of Richard Wright (New York: William Morrow, 1973); Ernest
Dunbar, The Black Expatriates (New York: E.P.Dutton, 1968); the fictional
treatment by John A.Williams, The Man Who Cried I Am (New York: Signet,
1968); Tyler Stovall, Paris Noir: African Americans in the City of Light (Boston:
Houghton Mifflin, 1996), and Gerald Horne, Race Woman (New York: New York
University Press, 1998) are among the growing list of works that address the black
expatriate experience after World War II in either Europe or new African states
such as Ghana.
7. Cruse’s attack on black leftist internationalism is at its most meanspirited in his
discussion of the late Lorraine Hansberry. Taking his cues from the anti-
integrationist movement, Cruse dismisses her play Raisin in the Sun as an exercise
in bourgeois integrationism, and denounces its author as not only cliquish and
middle-class in her interpersonal relations, but also as the owner of slum property.
See Cruse, Crisis, 267–84. In an analysis of the assassination of Hansberry’s
204 • KEVIN GAINES
reputation by both white liberals and black nationalists, Hansberry’s widower and
literary executor calls Cruse’s accusation that she owned slum property “an
outright lie.” See Robert Nemiroff to Julian Mayfield, August 24, 1979, in the
folder “Correspondence re: Lorraine Hansberry,” Julian Mayfield Collection,
Schomburg Center for Research in Black Culture, New York Public Library.
8. Cruse was favorably reviewed by Christopher Lasch on this basis; the review is
reprinted in Lasch, The Agony of the American Left (New York: Vintage, 1970). On
the belief that the New Left was compromised by foreign ideologies, see John P.
Diggins, The American Left in the Twentieth Century (New York: Harcourt Brace
Jovanovich, 1973). Sadly, Cruse remains the only introduction for many readers to
Robeson, Hansberry, and other African American radical intellectuals.
9. See, for example, the virtually forgotten essay by James Baldwin, “A Negro Assays
the Negro Mood,” New York Times Sunday Magazine, March 12, 1961, 25, 103–4,
penned in the aftermath of the protest by Afirican American activists at the United
Nations after Lumumba’s death.
10. Notable exceptions to this silence include Cedric Robinson, Black Marxism
(London: Zed, 1983); Manning Marable, From Kwame Nkrumah to Maurice
Bishop (London: Verso, 1987); Jan Carew, Ghosts in Our Blood. Malcolm X in
England, Africa and the Caribbean (Chicago: Lawrence Hill, 1994); and Von
Eschen, Race against Empire.
11. Although it generally does not address the experiences of African American
expatriates, much of the literature on the civil rights movement addresses the
conflict between black activism and Cold War perceptions and policy. See
Clayborne Carson, In Struggle: SNCC and the Black Awakening of the 1960s
(Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1981); Taylor Branch, Parting the
Waters: America in the King Years, 1954–1963 (New York: Simon and Schuster,
1988); Manning Marable, Race, Reform and Rebellion: The Second Reconstruction
in Black America, 1945–1982 (Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 1988); and
Godfrey Hodgson, America in Our Time From World War II to Nixon (New York:
Vintage, 1976). On federal surveillance of black intellectuals and activists, see
Kenneth O’Reilly, Racial Matters. The FBI’s Secret File on Black America (New
York: Free Press, 1989).
12. Cedric J.Robinson, Black Marxism: The Making of the Black Radical Tradition
(London: Zed press, 1983); Penny M.Von Eschen, Race Against Empire: Black
Americans and Anticolonial Politics (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1997).
13. Kenneth O’Reilly, with David Gallen, Eds. Black Americans: The FBI Files (New
York: Carroll and Graf, 1994); Clayborne Carson, Malcolm X: The FBI File (New
York: Carroll and Graf, 1991); O’Reilley, Racial Matters.
14. Lorraine Hansberry, “A Challenge to Artists” Freedomways, 3, no. 1 (winter
1963): 31–35.
15. Mayfield’s unpublished manuscripts are preserved in Box 14, Ghana Manuscripts,
in the Julian Mayfield Collection, Schomburg Center. The first, “The Lonely
Warrior,” written immediately after the coup, is divided between a political
biography of Nkrumah, and an analysis of the coup. Journalistic and anecdotal, it
presents a balanced assessment of Nkrumah’s flaws and failed policies within a
critique of the continued dominance of foreign economic interests in
postindependence Ghana. The second, “When Ghana Was Ghana,” is a revised
version of the first manuscript, maintaining the validity of Nkrumah’s project of
THE CRISIS OF HISTORICAL MEMORY • 205
African unity while seeking to strengthen this analysis with more documentation
and research. The final manuscript, “Tales of the Lido,” was evidently written
between the late 1970s and Mayfield’s death in 1984. In its surviving fragments,
this memoir of Mayfield and the Ghana expatriates abandons the scholarly tone of
the previous works, interspersing historical and political analysis with a more
informal, gossipy, and sexualized remembrance of Ghana.
16. Julian Mayfield, “Black on Black: A Political Love Story,” in Ten Times Black,
Julian Mayfield (Toronto: Pathfinder, 1972, 125–49; “Julian Mayfield, Novelist
and Actor, Dies at 56,” Washington Post, October 23, 1984, B-6.
17. Julian Mayfield, “Tales of the Lido,” unpublished manuscript, Box 14, Julian
Mayfield Collection, Schomburg Center.
18. Von Eschen, Race against Empire; W.E.B.DuBois, The Autobiography of
W.E.B.DuBois (New York: International, 1968).
19. Harold Isaacs, The New World of Negro Americans (New York: Viking, 1963).
20. On the Cold War repression of black American anticolonial politics, see Von
Eschen, Race against Empire; On official claims that African Americans took no
interest in new African and Asian states, see Paul Robeson, Here I Stand, (Boston:
Beacon Press, 1971), 86–88; On the various degrees of African American
identification with Ghana and African affairs, see Marguerite Cartwright, “African
Odyssey: Ghana,” Negro History Bulletin 20, no. 8 (1957): 175–78; Phaon
Goldman, “The Significance of African Freedom for the Negro American,” Negro
History Bulletin 24, no. 1 (1960): 2, 6; Shirley Graham DuBois, “The African
Personality,” Political Affairs 39 (1960): 13–19; and Horace Mann Bond, “Howe
and Isaacs in the Bush: The Ram in the Thicket,” Negro History Bulletin 25, no. 3
(1961): 66–70.
21. For black expatriates’ memoirs, see Maya Angelou, All God’s Children Need
Traveling Shoes (New York: Vintage, 1984); Leslie Alexander Lacy, The Rise and
Fall of a Proper Negro (New York: Macmillan, 1970); and Mayfield, “Tales of the
Lido.”
22. Richard Mahoney, JFK: Ordeal in Africa (New York: Oxford University Press),
34–35.
23. E.Frederic Morrow, Black Man in the White House (New York: McFadden, 1963),
126–27.
24. James Baldwin, “They Can’t Turn Back,” reprinted in The Price of the Ticket:
Collected Nonfiction, 1948–1985 (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1985), 228.
25. Ernest Dunbar, The Black Expatriates: A Study of American Negroes in Exile (New
York: E.P. Dutton, 1968), 69–109.
26. Kwame Nkrumah,/Speak of Freedom (New York: Praeger, 1961).
27. An account of the demonstration is given in Ronald Walters, Pan-Africanism and
the African Diaspora (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 1993), 119–20.
28. Julian Mayfield, “Challenge to Negro Leadership: The Case of Robert Williams,”
Commentary, April 1961, 297–305. The photocopy in the Mayfield papers at the
Schomburg Center carries a 1971 note with instructions to have sixty copies of the
piece made for Mayfield’s students, indicating Mayfield’s commitment to
acquainting younger generations with prior, forgotten, struggles.
29. Julian Mayfield to John Henrik Clarke [1962], Julian Mayfield folder, John Henrik
Clarke Papers, Schomburg Center.
30. Angelou, All God’s Children.
206 • KEVIN GAINES
31. Basil Davidson, Black Star: A View of the Life and Times of Kwame Nkrumah
(London: Allen Lane, 1973), 172.
32. Mahoney, JFK: Ordeal in Africa, 180.
33. Julian Mayfield, “What Nkrumah Means by a United Africa,” Egyptian Gazette,
July 22,1964; Julian Mayfield, “Ghanaian Sketches,” in Young Americans Abroad
(New York: Harper and Row, 1962), 176–204; Mayfield, “Congo is a Lesson for
the Apologists,” Muhammed Speaks, March 19,1965), 11; Mayfield, “Malcolm X:
A Tragic Loss,” Ghanaian Times, February 24, 1965, 6.
34. Riot at U.N., 1961 newsreel produced by British Pathé Film Company, in author’s
possession. I am indebted to Ron Gregg for making this film available to me.
35. James Baldwin, “A Negro Assays the Negro Mood,” 103–4; Julian Mayfield, “And
Then Came Baldwin,” Freedomways, Spring 1963,143–55.
36. Mayfield, “Uncle Tom Abroad,” Negro Digest, June 1963, 37–39.
37. On Busia’s testimony, see Davidson, Black Star, 174
38. For a detailed analysis of the political and economic strategies that contributed to
Nkrumah’s downfall, see Bob Fitch and Mary Oppenheimer, Ghana: End of an
Illusion (New York: Monthly Review Press, 1968). Mayfield to John Henrik
Clarke, February 1, 1967, in Julian Mayfield folder, John Henrik Clarke Papers,
Schomburg center. On the role of the CIA station in Accra in the coup, see John
Stockton, In Search of Enemies (New York: W.W.Norton, 1978); for a general
discussion of CIA interventions in Africa, see Ellen Ray, editor Dirty Work 2: The
CIA in Africa (Seacaucus, NJ: Lyle Stuart, 1980).
39. Clayborne Carson, “African American Leadership and Mass Mobilization,” Black
Scholar 24, no. 4 (1994): 2–7.
40. Jennifer Jordan, “Cultural Nationalism in the 1960s: Politics and Poetry,” in Race,
Politics, and Culture: Critical Essays on the Radicalism of the 1960s, Ed. Adolph
Reed (New York: Greenwood Press, 1986), 29–60.
41. Kwane Nkrumah, Class Struggle in Africa (New York: International Publishers,
1970); Frantz Fanon, The Wretched of the Earth (New York: Grove Press, 1963).
42. On Nixon’s co-opting of black power, see Daniel Schechter, Michael Ansara, and
David Kolodney, “The CIA as an Equal Opportunity Employer,” in Ray, et al.,
Eds., Dirty Work 2, 50–69.
43. These contradictions are detailed in Fitch and Oppenheimer, Ghana: End of an
Illusion.
44. On the role of the CIA station in Accra during the coup, see Stockton, In Search of
Enemies; for a general discussion of CIA interventions in Africa, see Ray et al.,
Eds., Dirty Work 2.
45. Lareef Zubair, “Ghana I.M.F.Program Drains the Country,” letter, New York
Times, November 2, 1994, A22.
Part 5
Christian religious life continues to reflect an essential part of the social and
political dynamics of most African American communities. Therefore, Christian
intellectuals bear significant responsibility for constructively influencing this
communal religious life, and their leadership represents a crucial element for
cultivating progressive social change. In particular, the contributions of black
Christian intellectuals are essential for creating a climate that respects the dignity
and human rights of women within black communities. In this essay I focus upon
the role of black Christian ministers as “practitioner intellectuals” and of selected
black religious writers as “academic intellectuals,” and explore the ways they
help to nurture and/or transform Christian traditions that reinforce the sexist
treatment of women. As I pursue this inquiry, it is my presupposition that the
disavowal and relinquishment of Christian church traditions that foster women’s
subordination are crucial for the safety and well-being of black women.
To function as a Christian intellectual uniquely entails a commitment to
thoughtful discernment about matters of faith in God; promotion of the
wholeness, dignity, and worth of persons in a manner that emulates the Christian
Gospel; trying to positively influence church life (the primary base for practicing
and sustaining Christian traditions). These commitments contain powerful
ingredients for shaping ideas about black women within local community
subcultures. They especially impact individuals directly involved with black
churches1 but can also affect the conditions in black women’s daily lives
regardless of their religious participation.
study ancient texts but also to define social realities that confront the people they
serve. Ministers thus occupy a vital position in the community because they are
continually called upon to respond to the combined mental, spiritual, and
emotional needs of those searching for religious guidance in order to make good
judgments. In helping people to develop and utilize their own mental and
spiritual resources for identifying meaning and purpose in life, ministers are not
just engaged in intellectual work but in an inherently political task as well.
Through their preaching, teaching, and counseling roles, ministers have the
opportunity to engender thinking and action that is both critical and oppositional
toward the broader culture.
With regard to women in particular, the unfortunate reality is that black
ministers (who historically have overwhelmingly been male) too often function
as purveyors of repression. Using the institutional power of the church, these
leaders have typically engendered both repressive beliefs about women and
discriminatory treatment of them. These subjugating ideas and actions include:
church traditions that legitimate or promote women’s subordination and
obedience to men as a Christian value; condemnatory theological language and
teachings that associate female anatomy and sexuality with shamefulness; and
practices that deny women full access to positions of church leadership and
authority. Yet in most black churches, sexist practices are hardly even
acknowledged as problematic. The resulting injustices that black women
encounter, while varying in degree and form, are rampant across denominational
lines, congregational settings, and regions of the country.
Focusing our attention on these gender issues makes the search for
transformative intellectual practitioners among black clergy somewhat bleak.
Reflection by most black ministers on religious texts and social mores related to
women has meant reinforcing a host of discriminatory practices toward them. In
too many black churches, when these practices occur, they include explicit
policies, as well as accepted patterns of insensitive or prejudicial treatment that
may not be based on formal church rules.2 For some, black women’s church
experiences of mistreatment based on their gender may appear difficult to
identify. The fact that black women overwhelmingly comprise the majority of
most local congregations may blur recognition of the gender issues women
encounter. Their sexist experiences are not uniform in nature and often consist of
“casual” individual incidents with circumstances that appear to be unique to that
one church context. Stories of insensitive and discriminatory behavior toward
women tend to be part of well-known, communal lore, yet remain poorly
documented in scholarly literature.
Sexist incidents are also often dismissed by the members of black Christian
communities (including women) as simply routine behavior or as trivial
concerns. Additionally, the offensive behavior may remain uncontested because
it is thought to be based upon Christian traditions interpreted by leaders as
immutable or attributed to idiosyncrasies that male pastors are seen as having the
right and authority to express. In black churches, autocratic behavior can be viewed
RELIGIOUS INTELLECTUALS, SOCIAL CHANGE, AND WOMEN’S BODIES • 211
as an entitlement of male clergy and dissent against it, a heretical denial of the
obligatory veneration due him from the laity. Black churches can also inculcate a
staunch deference to a kind of officious formality that commends the
appropriateness of patriarchal attitudes toward women. To reinforce respect for
men’s authority over women may be seen as supporting their “proper treatment
of the ladies.” Nonetheless, rampant discriminatory church practices against
women cause emotional and spiritual damage to individual women and have a
cumulative subjugating impact.
We must remember that practice and theory are joined together in the
intellectual work of ministers as they continually reflect on religious ideas and
implement concrete practices which manifest those ideas. Based on this
awareness, we could compose a formidable list of the guises in which unjust
church practices based upon reactionary ideas about women present themselves.
In black churches there can be various restrictions on women’s leadership
authority as preachers, pastors, ordained clergy, bishops, and in other official
positions (outside of the area of educational ministries). Women’s freedom of
movement within the worship space of the church and their choice of apparel,
especially for church worship services, may also be limited on the basis of
gender. Though they usually serve as the principal fundraisers, women are
frequently denied membership and/or leadership roles in the decision-making
bodies of the church that manage the money and property. The structure of male
deacons as administrators and female deaconesses as direct service providers
that exists in several Baptist churches formalizes this kind of division of power.
Women church members and women assistant ministers may also be subjected to
sexual harassment by male clergy. Further, women parishioners are too
frequently counseled by clergy to remain with battering spouses and to “forgive
and forget” incidents of sexual abuse by male relatives.3
However, such a catalog of offensive practices not only insufficiently yields a
depth of insight about the nature and consequences of these actions but also
contributes to an inadequate understanding of the reflection-practice intellectual
work of ministers. Instead, we will pay particular attention to church practices
that sanction the circumscribing of women’s bodies. This emphasis allows for a
more intricate yield of analysis on the reflection-practice work of ministers in
several ways. It challenges the traditional Western notion that intellectual work
constitutes an engagement of ideas in some distinct way that is quite
separate from physical matters related to the body. Attention to some of the
“body experiences” of women in the church assists us in recognizing how
strongly the body, mind, and spirit are linked together in the intellectual work of
ministers. Moreover, starting from these body experiences garners a deeper
comprehension of precisely how certain practices are oppressive. It also helps to
reveal some of the necessary tasks and possibilities for transformative
intellectual work by clergy.
212 • TRACI C.WEST
Bodies Matter
The politically repressive direction of the reflection-practice intellectual work by
some black male ministers is especially highlighted in the ways women’s bodies
are treated as objects to be controlled. This problem is often exhibited in the
struggle over women’s rights to assume preaching and/or pastoral leadership in
churches. Women seeking leadership roles confront many deeply held sexist
communal traditions. For example, the preaching/pastoral role is often viewed as
a province of social authority and status to which black males are solely entitled
because of white racism. Even contemporary scholars C.Eric Lincoln and
Lawrence Mamiya seem to legitimate this view in their landmark study of the
black church. They explain: “Hence, the roadblocks to preaching for black
women were further compounded by the complex problem of black male identity
in a racist society. If the ministry was the only route to even a shadow of
masculinity, the inclusion of women seemed very much like a gratuitous defeat
for everybody.”4 Here they acknowledge the historic, sexist exclusion of women
from taking on the authority and position of “the preacher” in black churches.
Yet in this formulation the authors fail to challenge the prevailing assumption
that the fulfillment of black masculinity, and the inclusion of females in church
leadership, must be viewed as competing agendas. Nevertheless, this description
by Lincoln and Mamiya does expose the crucial moral content of intellectual
work by black church leaders on issues of gender. Through symbolic language
and specific practices, preachers and pastors help blacks sort through and
embrace American cultural ideology about such notions as masculinity and
femininity. Utilizing avenues of authority established by the church, they teach
the community important ideas about black women’s status and role, and attach
sacred meaning to those lessons.
In some churches, the weight and shape of a woman’s body may be raised as
an issue that relates to her ability to become an ordained minister. The shape,
size, and mere femaleness of black women’s bodies have sometimes been
publicly derided and defined as a liability for those hoping to take on pastoral
authority. For example, a black female Methodist candidate for ordination
described a conversation with her pastor where he spoke discouragingly to her
about her chances for ordination.5 He let her know that she could not succeed in
her attempt to be ordained unless she earned his approval and support. He then
informed her that her “large and loud presence” would be a problem. She
found it humiliating to be told that the fact that she was a “large” woman would
impede her ability to be ordained.
Similarly, the issue of accepting women as preachers can be used as an
opportunity to make women’s bodies the focal point for exercising male power
over women. Cornel West cites the black Christian tradition of preaching as one
of the two organic intellectual traditions of African American life.6 As he
describes, it is an intellectual tradition that is “oral, improvisational and
RELIGIOUS INTELLECTUALS, SOCIAL CHANGE, AND WOMEN’S BODIES • 213
histrionic.” But it should be noted that in its content the improvisations and
histrionics by black preachers can sometimes be ignorant and debasing of others.
Nancy (not her real name), a Baptist woman candidate for ordination
recounted to me how the pastor who introduced her to the congregation as she
was about to give her trial sermon did so with a “joke” about her size.7 The
“joke” was about his trip to buy a clerical robe as a gift for Nancy. The pastor
told the congregation that he had described Nancy to the store salesperson by
exclaiming: “I need the biggest size you got!” The salesperson had then informed
him that the last “lady minister” like that “we couldn’t get through the door.”
The punchline of this “joke” that the minister related to the congregation was
that he was happy to report that they were able to get Nancy through the door. As
she retold this experience to me, Nancy proudly described the anger on her
behalf by her family members and friends who were in attendance at the event.
But she did not articulate her own anger.
This pastor also included in the introduction of Nancy a statement about why
she was preaching at the podium rather than from the pulpit. The podium had
been moved directly in front of the pews in the midst of the service. He
vehemently pointed out that Nancy was not permitted to preach in the pulpit that
night or on any other occasion “until I license her, until I decide if I want her or
not.” In Nancy’s case as well as that of the candidate for ordination cited above,
each woman experienced in a single encounter: a tacit threat from a male
authority about how her chances for further official power in the church are
dependent upon her ability to please him; and being shamed about the weight and
size of her body.
It is not coincidental that each male preacher in these two examples asserted
his power and control over the woman’s access to power in the church at the same
time as degrading statements were made about the women’s bodies. The
humiliation of the women is a weapon of control. When women’s access to the
power and authority vested in ordination or licensing are at stake, the deprecation
of their bodies is useful for discrediting them.
In some instances, women laity may be subjected to explicit verbal
instructions about their apparel from the pulpit. They may be berated by their
male pastors about the impropriety of wearing dresses that are “too short” or
wearing pants to Sunday worship. In these admonitions, the male pastor assumes
the authority to review, discuss, contest, and limit the public presentation of
women’s bodies in the church.
In a striking example of this kind of control, I remember how a black male pastor
of a large independent black church in California once boasted to me about the
fact that he does not allow women to sit on the front row of “his” church. He said
that a line of men are designated to sit on the front pew, creating a visible barrier
between the pastor and the women. This pastor explained to me that he instituted
this policy because previously, women sitting in the front rows crossed their legs
in a sexually suggestive manner, attempting to distract him during the service.
Obviously, I was appalled by such a blatant policy of discrimination against the
214 • TRACI C.WEST
women. And I also had immediate doubts about his claim that it was the
women’s fault rather than his own, that he was distracted from his duties as
worship leader and preacher when women cross their legs within the range of his
eyesight.
Such restrictions on the display of women’s bodies in church settings not only
reinforces the stigmatizing of femaleness but represent a process of “knowledge
production” about the female body. They illustrate how a biblically informed
cultural stereotype of woman as sexual temptress may be taught and upheld by a
policy limiting her access to seating in the sanctuary. What we “know” about
women makes this kind of policy “necessary.” Note that such a policy applies to
pews in the church where women hold their membership—that is, where women,
usually in the majority, give their money, time, energy, and presence to sustain
the organization. Obviously, the worth of women’s bodies and their sexuality is
demeaned by such practices. Their spiritual capacities and needs are devalued as
the appropriateness of reducing women to sexualized objects that must be
controlled and restricted is taught.
Sometimes in black churches women are prohibited from entering the pulpit
area of the worship space. In a pioneering article, womanist theologian
Jacqueline Grant related her experience of being stopped at a session of a church
conference that she attended in a Chicago Baptist church. Grant explains that “as
I approached the pulpit to place my cassette tape-recorder near the speaker,
Walter Fauntroy, as several brothers had done, I was stopped by a man who
informed me that I could not enter the pulpit area. When I asked why not, he
directed me to the pastor who told me that women were not permitted in the pulpit
area, but that he would have a man place the recorder there for me.”8
In this instance, women’s femaleness is seen as desecrating the portion of the
worship space reserved for the male preacher. In a related fashion, women report
incidents like theologian and African Methodist Episcopal minister Annie Ruth
Powell mentioned in a presentation that she gave for female seminarians.9
Powell shared an experience that she had when attending a worship service with
a black male colleague. The two of them introduced themselves to the
congregation, announcing the fact that they were both clergy. Powell was then
conspicuously and publicly ignored by the black male pastor officiating at the
service. He responded to them by inviting Powell’s male colleague to come
forward to the pulpit since he was visiting clergy. The male friend declined the
invitation, in part as an act of solidarity with Powell. Thus, in some black
churches, either it is made clear that clergywomen’s bodies are unwelcome in
pulpit space or that all women’s bodies are mandatorily forbidden from entering
it. It seems that part of the sacredness of the pulpit is achieved by the mere
presence of male anatomy. Female anatomy is not merely deemed incapable of
assuming that sacred quality, but is seen as somehow desecrating the
pulpit space.
These examples of church regulation of women’s bodies offer evidence of a
distinctive pattern of social regulation. Yet they additionally indicate the type of
RELIGIOUS INTELLECTUALS, SOCIAL CHANGE, AND WOMEN’S BODIES • 215
upon the black church to lead the society in racial reconciliation and sincere
engagement of interracial fellowship and cooperation.
Some black liberation theologians such as Major Jones denied the legitimacy
of offering any critique of the church’s liberatory role in black communities.
Jones took Cone to task for his critiques of the church and asserted that the black
preacher and the black church have an endemic and longstanding historical
tradition of playing a key role in the liberation struggles of black people.19
Religion historian Joseph R.Washington combined an appreciation for the
historic mission and message of freedom offered by the black church with
pointed criticism of the contemporary black church. Washington believed that
ministers and “churchmen” needed to be awakened to the fact that they must play
a greater role in supporting social action to bring about the freedom of black
people.20 Were these authors concerned with the freedom and liberation of
women within black churches and communities? Not really. When the lens of
women’s “everyday” church experiences of being humiliated, controlled, and
restricted on the basis of their female anatomy is used to examine this rhetoric
about the church as an agent of liberation, the gaping inadequacy of black
theology’s ecclesial vision becomes quite apparent.
Among these black religious scholars, Cone is the most candid and self-
conscious about the development of his thought on the topic of sexism as a
social problem. In more recent writings, he admits to a failure within his early
expositions of black theology to examine issues of sexism in the black
community.21 Cone specifically describes his uncertainty about what to say
about “the limitation of the Black Church in dealing with the oppression of the
Black Woman.”22 He writes, “When I first recognized the limitation of the Black
Church and Black Theology in this area, I did not know what to say about it.”23
This ended in 1976 when he was asked to address sexism as a theological issue
at a black women’s conference that students at Garrett Evangelical Seminary
held on “New Roles in Ministry: A Theological Appraisal.” Again, it seems to be
the embodied presence of women actively demanding to be included in the
ecclesial vision of religious thinkers that stimulates change in the production of
scholarly knowledge about the church.
Yet the intent of liberation theology extends beyond the ordinary production
of ecclesial theology. It endorses the cultivation of “public religious
intellectuals.” Its goal is to produce scholarship that not only critically evaluates
oppressive social conditions and institutional realities of the church but also
offers a vision for progressive, Gospel-mandated social change. Cone
concertedly incorporates the issue of sexism within his embrace of this public
intellectual role for black theologians. Perhaps his most self-revealing and
adamant statement incorporating antisexist work as a task of black liberation
theology is found in his autobiographical work, My Soul Looks Back.24 He
admits that originally he viewed the struggle against sexism to be “a joke or as an
intrusion upon the legitimate struggle of black people.”25 He also owns up to his
complicity in the silence of black theologians on the issue of the oppression of
RELIGIOUS INTELLECTUALS, SOCIAL CHANGE, AND WOMEN’S BODIES • 219
women. Cone points out the significant error that liberation theologians have
made in their avoidance of this subject, asserting, “I do not see how we can keep
our credibility as ‘liberation’ theologians and remain so unliberated in our
dealing with sexism.”26 He also challenges church practitioners, contending that
the arguments by black male ministers that are used to justify the subordination
of women are comparable to those of white racists to justify their privileged
position.27 The quality of Cone’s public confessions about his sexism are
laudable and unique among black male liberation theologians guilty of the same
omissions (or, for that matter, among white male theologians too!). He boldly
acknowledges that “unfortunately the Black church is one of the most sexist
institutions in the black community.”28
However, at the end of the twentieth century, for many black theologians
(even Cone) the issue of sexism remains at the periphery of black liberation
theology projects. Integration of gender concerns into the central paradigms of
black theology remains inchoate. There are nonetheless, a variety of burgeoning
approaches. For instance, in his Martin and Malcolm and America, Cone does
offer a section that pointedly critiques the sexism of each leader.29 But if that
analysis was blended into the body of his material on Martin Luther King Jr. and
Malcolm X, it would significantly affect the overall interpretation of these
leaders. If each figure’s personal relationships to women and treatment of the
women involved in the movements in which each participated were more
thoroughly interrogated throughout this text the breadth of insight about sexism
and about the leadership of these men would be fundamentally deepened.
From the vantage point of another discipline, Cain Hope Felder, a black
liberationist biblical scholar, criticizes black church traditions that deny women’s
right to leadership roles. For instance, in Felder’s Troubling Biblical Waters, his
section on “Family” offers alternative approaches to “simplistic” “literalistic,” or
“prooftexting” interpretations of scripture that deny black women leadership
authority in the church. He explains how the Bible “shows a remarkable,
progressive spirit in improving the social position of women and securing them
greater recognition, expanded leadership roles, and more human rights. Perhaps
today we are only catching up with the first-century attitudes of Jesus and the
earliest Christians in accepting the unique leadership that Black women ministers
can exert in God’s family, the Church.”30 This challenge to the scriptural basis
for excluding women is sorely needed in black churches. Felder urges an
appreciation for the unique contributions that black women ministers can and do
make to the black church so that it may authentically constitute “God’s Family.”
Yet even this adamant disavowal of biblically based sexism seems to miss a
crucial point. He appears to underestimate the degree to which revoking black
patriarchal male leadership would require a broad restructuring of the black
church.
Dwight Hopkins, one of the second generation of black liberation theologians,
initiates another method in the corrective task of making black theology
inclusive of women. He emphasizes the value of poor black women’s spirituality
220 • TRACI C.WEST
restrictions from publicly viewed, sacred worship spaces are placed upon them
(in the form of sexist, personal slights). In other words, by vocation these women
may have been practitioner or academic intellectuals with formal credentials
verifying their knowledge and abilities, but at the moment when restricted, they
are understood merely as intrusive female bodies. Their encounters may seem to
some like individualistic, even ordinary incidents that are peripheral to the
primary role of the religious intellectual seeking to “liberate” the black
community. Yet as I have argued, these kinds of incidents so clearly reveal the
need to specifically locate reflection practice understandings of religion that form
the basis of communal knowledge, indeed to do so even in relation to the body
experiences of women. It is precisely this “embodied” emphasis on interlocked
personal and communal justice concerns that womanist and black feminist
religious scholars contribute to the goals of politically transformative
intellectual work.
Just as the roots of black theology were influenced by the black power
movement and the simultaneously burgeoning “third world” liberation
theologies, womanist theology was initially cultivated by contemporary social
and theological trends. It was birthed by the advent of black theology and
feminist theology as well as the social movements with which each was
intertwined. The omissions and misrepresentations of black women in black and
feminist theologies spurred the creation and growth of womanist religious
studies. Of course not all of the emerging religious scholarship on black women
is subsumed under the label womanist.34 Also, there are a wide variety of womanist
authors in ethics, church history, theology, homiletics, and biblical studies.
Included below is a selective focus on the work of a few womanist intellectuals
during the late twentieth century, and only on the themes in their work that most
relevantly exemplify religious intellectual strategies for unseating sexist
practices in black churches.35
The term womanist has been adopted from its initial presentation by Alice
Walker in her collection of essays In Search of Our Mother’s Gardens. Walker
explains that, among other qualities, a womanist is a black woman who loves
music, dance, the Spirit, food and roundness, other women, struggle and
herself.36 Most womanist religious scholars stress that the term enables them to
do women-oriented work that is rooted in black history, religion, and culture.
While anchored in a primary affirmation of black womanhood, religious
womanists are insistent in their commitment to the survival and wholeness of
both men and women in African American communities.
Though many of the writings of Jacqueline Grant primarily focus on
developing womanist Christology, her formulation of black feminist theology
illustrates how religious intellectuals promoting transformative change need to
work in academic and practical arenas. Grant’s arguments about sexism in the
church embody some of the earliest womanist efforts to directly confront
black male liberation theologians and black church practitioners on their
exclusion and devaluation of women. Grant broke this ground in her 1979 article
222 • TRACI C.WEST
“Black Theology and the Black Woman,” in which she provides a basis for a
“revolutionary” black theology centered upon the forms of social oppression
experienced by black women.
In this early formulation of religious black feminism, Grant asserts that a
holistic black theology can only be developed by recognizing all of the ways
“that God is at work in the experience of the black woman.”37 She chides black
male theologians for excluding black women from their interpretation of a
liberating gospel. Indeed, she suggests that one might easily argue “that since
Black women are the poorest of the poor, the most oppressed of the oppressed,
their experience provides a most fruitful context for the doing of Black
Theology.”38 Essentially, Grant wages a struggle for visibility. In an
admonishing and insistent tone, she calls attention to the salience of sexism in
black churches and communities. Her approach appeals to the reader to
understand that though heretofore a neglected issue, the inclusion of women is
key to the success of black liberation.
Like others who espouse black theology, Grant contributes to creating a
tradition of the religious intellectual functioning as community prophet. In her
1991 epistle “What a Womanist Would Want to Say to the Black Church” Grant
focuses on the ordination of women.39 Again, ardently challenging the black
church’s sexist exclusion of women from the pulpit ministry, she airs the
specifics of women’s stories of being mistreated and exposes some of the
unscrupulous behavior by male clergy toward women seeking to be in the
ministry. She argues that ignoring and rejecting women’s leadership constitutes
defective church stewardship of human resources. Grant’s strategy is twofold:
she seeks to uncover the persistent forms of rejection that women face through
the telling of their stories (including her own); second, she explains how it is in
the best interests of the church for the furtherance of its own growth and the
effectiveness of its ministries to embrace the underused gifts of women’s
leadership.
Whether pitched to a more academically oriented theological community or to
church practitioners, Grant’s intellectual voice offers an insider’s vantage point.
Her arguments are made on behalf of improving “our community” and “our
churches” through recognizing and using women’s skills and knowledge. Thus,
to encourage black women’s leadership is to make use of presently underutilized
and thwarted strengths of the black community for its own sake. Stylistically, her
contribution distinctively stands within a protest tradition.
Offering a slightly different example and disciplinary perspective is womanist
sociologist Cheryl Townsend Gilkes, who upholds a more conventional
intellectual role as chronicler of overlooked community realities. Like Grant,
Gilkes highlights the ways that black women represent and enhance the existing
strengths of black communities and churches. However, Gilkes’s emphasis is
framed less by testimony about the sexist exclusion of women than by
appreciation for the degree of power and influence extant in women’s roles.
Where Grant sees women denied power and treated as if they are invisible,
RELIGIOUS INTELLECTUALS, SOCIAL CHANGE, AND WOMEN’S BODIES • 223
Gilkes sees women garnering and exercising substantial power in spite of the
ways they may be restricted by male ecclesial authority. Yet, both of them take
up the task of literally writing themselves and other black women who
participate in church life into the history of Christian theology and tradition.
Their embodiment as scholars literally shifts the space in that history to create an
understanding of black women’s bodies as inhabiting a mind-body-spirit nexus
that thinks.
Gilkes reshapes knowledge about women in black church life by identifying
independent, “powerful” leadership networks even within the sanctified
denomination of the Church of God in Christ (perhaps the staunchest of all the
black denominations in its opposition to women’s ordination).40 She points out
the longstanding traditions of women within these sanctified churches fulfilling
leadership roles as evangelists, revivalists, and church education leaders.
According to Gilkes, women have developed unique and autonomous styles of
leadership that have “been the most significant historical factor in the survival of
denominations within the Sanctified Church.”41
The veneration accorded to “church mothers” and the influence that they wield
within Baptist and Methodist traditions are also flagged by Gilkes.42 The
tradition of “Women’s Day” first presented by Nannie Helen Burroughs in 1906
at the National Baptist Convention continues across denominations today, in
many black congregations.43 Gilkes explains that “Women’s Day” was initiated
as a deliberate strategy to promote women’s leadership in a denomination that
denied women access to ordination. She maintains that even under restrictive
authority systems of male hierarchical power, the ways that women carve out their
own space, thrive, and influence the institutional church must be given more
credence in feminist assessments of women’s power in the church.
Gilkes’s method may be understood as contributing to the tradition of
intellectual participation in social change by offering a modified lens that the
community can use to better understand itself. Her work magnifies the centrality
of woman-centered culture in black churches and the imaginative ways male
domination has been circumvented. However, even when we recognize the
rejection of sexist constraints implicit in these black church women’s leadership
efforts, it should not be forgotten that simultaneously, blatant institutional
sanctions supporting the notion of women’s inferiority are tolerated. Also,
inherent in this approach is a deemphasis on the aspects of woman-centered
black church culture that are in need of feminist critique.
Womanist theologian Delores Williams stresses black women’s oppression as
well as their resourcefulness, but then urges her audience to enlist every
available avenue to reconstitute black church practices in a liberative mode. She
emphasizes the direct confrontation of sexism that will ignite a radical
transformation of church doctrines and practices. Williams calls for “a serious
women’s movement within denominational churches—a movement to free
women’s minds and lives of the androcentric indoctrination and the exploitative
emotional commitments that cause many women to be used as tools of their own
224 • TRACI C.WEST
oppression and that of other women.”44 She helps us to see that an awakening
must first take place among men and women, and then the resulting new
consciousness channeled into concerted, focused action.
Enacting the role of intellectual as community poet-prophet, Williams calls for
theological inventiveness. She suggests an overhauling of the doctrinal
affirmations of African American churches to reflect resistance instead of the
upholding of “inherited” Eurocentric forms of Christianity and “female-exclusive
doctrine formulated centuries ago by male potentates.”45 She recommends
regularly practiced resistance rituals to implant resistance doctrine within African
American faith communities. These resistance doctrines are to be comprised of
African cultural sources, biblical traditions, and of black people’s experiences. Yet
these sources must be “’decoded’ of all androcentric, gender, homophobic, class
and color bias” in order to be useful.46
As is suggested by Delores Williams, for the dismantling of the sexism in
black churches one must identify and transform the multiple ways that scripts of
domination saturate church doctrine and practices. Strategies for naming both the
existence of sexism and the valuable contributions by gifted women in black
churches proposed by male black liberation authors and womanists constitute
important tools. Obviously, without any acknowledgement of the rampant sexism
in the church that is found in biblical sources and rules about leadership, there
can be no progress toward change. Too many black congregations have yet to
take the elementary step of recognizing sexism as a serious problem. Without
question, the kind of vociferous dissent offered by some of these scholars is
necessary to shake congregations awake. Similarly, without concentrated
attention to the particularity of black women’s experiences, the important roles
of women (who comprise the majority of churches), and the specific work that
they do, we are doomed to reinforce the idea of women’s inferiority.
However, it is most crucial that religious intellectuals not be bound by
established structures and traditions when launching their critiques. Such a
limited approach would fail to also unmask the ways that the culture of the
church circumscribes women’s inferiority. The meaning of womanhood in the
church context needs to undergo decontamination. Within a contaminated system,
neither the shifting of power to women or the broadening of our understanding
of women’s power will provide more than, at best, a partial remedy.
It is a daunting task for both academic and practitioner intellectuals to help
others recognize discriminatory conditions that black women face in church life
as constituting a crisis; understand black women’s freedom as a primary
ingredient of black liberation; and create practices that concertedly unseat the
andro-centric norms and locus of power in the black church. This work will not
necessarily be the unifying process for black churches and communities that
some think necessary for black liberation to occur. But it will be a life-giving
process—fostering health in mind, spirit, and body—especially for black
women.
RELIGIOUS INTELLECTUALS, SOCIAL CHANGE, AND WOMEN’S BODIES • 225
Notes
33. Robert Michael Franklin, Liberating Visions: Human Fulfillment and Social Justice
in African American Thought (Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress, 1990), 4.
34. For example, I do research on black women in the area of Christian social ethics.
Though I have been mentored in fundamental ways by womanist scholars and am
greatly dependent upon their work to inform mine, I prefer to identify myself
primarily as a black feminist. Thus my emphasis here on womanist scholarship is
not meant to negate or minimize the contributions of those who identify themselves
as black feminists white feminists or any scholars doing pioneering and
constructive work on black women in the field of religion who may not assume the
particular mantle of womanist or even of black feminist.
35. Examples of religious womanist scholarship on individuals are found in Katie
Cannon’s constructive work on womanist ethics in Katie’s Canon: Womanism and
the Soul of the Black Community (New York: Continuum, 1995); Karen Baker
Fletcher’s study of the intellectual, educator and social reformer Anna Julia
Cooper, A Singing Something: Womanist Reflections on Anna Julia Cooper (New
York: Crossroad, 1994); Emilie Townes’s study of antilynching advocate and
journalist Ida B.Wells-Barnett in Womanist Justice, Womanist Hope (Atlanta:
Scholar’s Press, 1993). Examples of thematic constructive theology and ethics
include Douglas, The Black Christ; Cheryl Sanders, Ed., Living at the Intersection:
Womanism and Afrocentrism in Theology (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995); Joanne
Marie Terrell, Power in the Blood? The Cross in the African American Experience
(Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1998); and Emelie Townes, Ed., A Troubling in My Soul:
Womanist Perspectives on Evil and Suffering (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1993):
109–29. A few of the earliest biblical approaches include Clarice Martin,
“Womanist Interpretations of the New Testament: The Quest for Holistic and
Inclusive Translation and Interpretation” Journal of Feminist of Feminist Studies in
Religion 6 (1990): 41–61; Renita Weems, “Reading Her Way through the Struggle:
African American Women and the Bible,” in Stony the Road We Trod: African
American Biblical Interpretation, ed. Cain Hope Felder (Minneapolis: Fortress,
1991): 57–77.
36. Alice Walker, In Search of Our Mothers’ Gardens: Womanist Prose (New York:
Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1983). For a range of womanist essays that discuss
Walker’s description and the definition of womanist Christian theology, see Cheryl
J.Sanders, ed., “Roundtable Discussion: Christian Ethics and Theology in
Womanist Perspective,” Journal of Feminist Studies in Religion 5 (1989): 83–112.
37. Grant, “Black Theology and the Black Woman,” 335.
38. Ibid., 332.
39. Jacqueline Grant, “What a Womanist Would Want to Say to the Black Church,”
AME Church Review 106, no. 342 (1991): 49–58.
40. Cheryl Townsend Gilkes, “Together and in Harness’: Women’s Traditions in the
Sanctified Church,” Signs 10, no. 4 (1985): 678–99.
41. Ibid., 695.
42. Cheryl Townsend Gilkes, “The Roles of Church and Community Mothers:
Ambivalent American Sexism or Fragmented African Familyhood,” Journal of
Feminist Studies in Religion, 2, no. 1 (1986): 141–59.
43. Cheryl Townsend Gilkes, “The Politics of ‘Silence’: Dual-Sex Political Systems
and Women’s Traditions of Conflict in African-American Religion” in African
228 • TRACI C.WEST
American Christianity, Ed. Paul E.Johnson (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University
of California Press, 1994), 104–5.
44. Delores S.Williams, Sisters in the Wilderness: The Challenge of Womanist
God-Talk (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis, 1993), 215.
45. Ibid., 217.
46. Ibid.
12
Where are the Black Female Intellectuals?
BEVERLY GUY-SHEFTALL
In their introduction to the 1984 edition of Harold Cruse’s The Crisis of the
Negro Intellectual, Bazel Allen and Ernest Wilson III place this pioneering text
within a grand tradition of landmarks in African American intellectual history—
W.E.B.DuBois’s The Souls of Black Folk, Alain Locke’s The New Negro, Carter
G. Woodson’s The Mis-Education of the Negro, and E.Franklin Frazier’s Black
Bourgeoisie. Included within this roll call are other distinguished black male
writers/thinkers—Richard Wright, Ralph Ellison, James Baldwin, Amiri Baraka,
and more recently William J.Wilson and Thomas Sowell. Conspicuously absent
in this litany of pioneering and provocative landmarks are any works by African
American women, an oversight that is inexcusable in 1984 given the emergence
in the 1970s of a Black feminist movement, one of whose major objectives has
been reconstructing a black female intellectual tradition too long obscured by all
the men being black and all the women being white.
After reading the 1984 introduction to The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual in
preparation for these comments, I remembered my first response to reading
Cruse in the late 1960s while a student at Clark Atlanta University. It was simply
this—that there was a major oversight in an otherwise incisive analysis of the
failures in black leadership over the preceding three decades or so. Though the
women’s movement was in its embryonic stages and though Toni Cade’s
pioneering text The Black Woman was not to be published until three years later
(1970), I recall being disappointed at the invisibility of African American
women—except for Lorraine Hansberry, who is mostly vilified in
Cruse’s massive tome on black intellectuals. I was attempting to do a master’s
thesis on William Faulkner’s treatment of women in his major novels without the
benefit of feminist literary criticism, but I was beginning to understand how
important a gender analysis would be in fresh interpretations of the “masters.” I
wondered to myself why it would not also have occurred to Cruse that a
comprehensive discussion of black intellectuals should not have been an
exclusively male discourse. Eventually I finished the Cruse text and the thesis,
got a teaching job, and embarked upon (with a colleague) the arduous task of
making visible to my students at Spelman College the forgotten tradition of black
women writers, having discovered that my students’ knowledge of the black
literary tradition focused entirely on men. I thought about the Cruse text during
230 • BEVERLY GUY-SHEFTALL
those years Roseann Bell and I were working on Sturdy Black Bridges: Visions of
Black Women in Literature, a corrective, we hoped, to the notion that only men
had written anything worth reading in our communities. Many years later I was
to be reminded by Alice Walker, who was a sophomore at Spelman when I was a
freshman, that she had not heard of Zora Neale Hurston until after college, a
situation that my colleague and I teaching freshman English at Spelman hoped
none of our students would replicate.
I thought deeply about the Cruse text again after the Women’s Research and
Resource Center was founded (1981) and I was planning a symposium on the
black female intellectual tradition. Two black women intellectuals who had
written pioneering texts were invited to speak—Paula Giddings, author of When
and Where I Enter: The Impact of Black Women on Race and Sex in America,
and bell hooks, author of Ain’t I a Woman: Black Women and Feminism; they
would join Gloria Wade-Gayles and myself, professors at Spelman, in a standing-
room-only crowd of students throughout the Atlanta University Center who were
eager, it seemed, to learn about a subject we suspected would be fairly new to
them. This was confirmed by what happened at the beginning of our
deliberations. Before she began her formal presentation, hooks asked the
students to name some black women intellectuals. To our astonishment, there was
absolute silence. I’ve repeated this question, on occasion, at the beginning of
talks I give throughout the country on Anna Julia Cooper, one of the most
important nineteenth-century black women intellectuals, and I continue to be
astonished when I sometimes get no response. This happened a few months ago
and I thought again about the Cruse text and the difficulty of conceptualizing
black women as intellectuals. We can think of black women as mothers, church
women, activists à la Harriet Tubman and Sojourner Truth, teachers, even
writers—but almost never as intellectuals.
As I reread Cruse’s profoundly patriarchal text, I was reminded that while
there are insights that are relevant for an analysis of contemporary black leaders
(male), The Crisis is also in many ways outdated. The overarching paradigm that
posits two paths for black progress—integration and nationalism—is overly
simplistic at the beginning of this new century. The assumption that the black
community is an undifferentiated mass with respect to gender is also passé. We
must be as vigilant about understanding sexism and its impact on black women
and men and our communities as we are about understanding racism and
classism. In other words, we must struggle to eradicate the sexist oppression of
women as we continue to struggle to eradicate the twin evils of racism and
poverty. Gender must become as important as race as an analytic category in our
analyses of the work of black intellectuals, male and female. A gender analysis
of the work of Lorraine Hansberry by Cruse would have rendered her a more
exciting figure, particularly with respect to her use of feminist themes in A Raisin
in the Sun. We will continue to distort the intellectual history of African
Americans if we fail to include the work of the womenfolk who have
consistently provided some of the most passionate and insightful analyses of
WHERE ARE THE BLACK FEMALE INTELLECTUALS? • 231
what it means to be black and female in this patriarchal, capitalist, racist culture.
Black feminist scholars are not the only ones who have written about the erasure
of the intellectual discourse of black women, however. Manning Marable’s How
Capitalism Underdeveloped Black America underscores the critical importance of
such a paradigm shift in the writing of African American intellectual history: As
Marable notes, “The sexist critical framework of American white history has
been accepted by Black male scholars; the reconstruction of our past, the
reclamation of our history from the ruins, has been an enterprise wherein women
have been too long segregated…. To understand the history of all blacks…
special emphasis is required in documenting the particular struggles, ideals and
attitudes of black women…black male liberationists must relearn their own
history, by grounding themselves in the wisdom of their sisters.1
Another paradigm shift we must make in subsequent analyses of black
intellectuals is moving away from the assumption that the experiences of black
men can represent the condition of black people in general. Black male
experience is the norm in Cruse, so that black men become the representative
intellects. This masculinist bias renders invisible a host of important intellectual
women—Jessie Faucet, Margaret Walker, Anna Julia Cooper, and Ida Wells-
Burnett, to name a few. What is worse it perpetuates the erroneous belief that
important political ideas have sprung from the brains of men only.
Though contemporary black intellectuals face a host of challenges not
anticipated by Cruse—a devastating drug and violence culture within and without
our communities; the ascendancy and high visibility of black neoconservatives;
the impact of mass media, including rap music, on youth culture; a war between
the sexes; homophobia and silence about AIDS; and confusion about appropriate
strategies for empowerment in the post-Civil Rights era, it is important to
remember Cruse’s final warning: “Those who cannot remember the, past are
condemned to repeat it.” As we ponder the future for African Americans, we
need all our sages, male and female. We must not repeat the mistakes of
yesteryear by silencing or failing to listen to those who hold up half the sky. We
must remember Frances E.W.Harper, Anna Julia Cooper, Ida Wells-Burnett,
Amy Jacques Garvey, Eslanda Good Robeson, Sonia Sanchez, Angela Davis, as
well as Booker T.Washington, W.E.B.Du Bois, Frederick Douglass, Marcus
Garvey, Paul Robeson, Martin Luther King Jr., Amiri Baraka, and Stokely
Carmichael. Crisis revisited would certainly be made stronger by such a crucial
paradigm shift.
Note
Harold Cruse is arguably one of the sharpest critical thinkers of the twentieth
century. Among African American intellectuals he is almost in a class by
himself, centered in his own cultural history, steeped in the traditions of
activism, and committed to social, economic, and cultural justice. Frequently an
individual critical thinker may have cultural centeredness but no knowledge or
experience in the activist tradition. In the case of Cruse, he thought out of the
profound experiences of ordinary African people, and this gave him a position on
facts and phenomena that was unlike that of many other contemporary
intellectuals. His insights into the dilemmas of African Americans are so fluid as
to be one with the best interests of the African American community. Perhaps in
our history no social critic—and that is what he called himself—could ever be
more organic to the conditions of the people than Cruse.
I believe his contribution rests in numerous places and at several levels of
philosophical and cultural inquiry. Cruse is concerned with culture, politics,
education, and economics. These are the themes by which he measures the
success or failure of the African American intellectual. By virtue of his concern
with the African American community exercising its own volition in terms of
culture and economics, he is a cultural nationalist. The plea he made in Rebellion
or Revolution? for a radical cultural theory indicates that he was a forerunner of
the Afrocentric idea.1 It is this prophetic appeal that was taken up by a host of
Afrocentric thinkers after the publication of my volume Afrocentricity in 1980,
nearly eleven years after Cruse called for a radical theory. When one reads Cruse it
becomes clear that he saw the issues of culture and society from the standpoint
of African American history and he investigated the various dimensions of the
issues from the standpoint of political maturity and cultural consciousness. When
one reads his principal works The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual, and Rebellion
or Revolution?, Cruse’s concept of the crisis in the African American community
is clear. For Cruse the fundamental question facing the community is a cultural
one, not simply one of singing and dancing, but one concerned with the sum
total of our behaviors—artistic, social, and communal. Whose culture, he asks,
do we uphold, the African-American or the Anglo-American? (48). In posing
this question, the central cultural nationalist inquiry, Cruse established his place
236 • MOLEFI KETE ASANTE
alongside that of Martin Delany, Edward Blyden, Marcus Garvey, and Carter
G.Woodson. To ask the question of whose culture do we uphold is to advance at
once to the very soul of the conflicted African intellectual. What Cruse suggested
in the inquiry was the fact that the African American did have a choice; he could
choose his own culture.
It is my belief that Afrocentrists have answered the question in the manner
Harold Cruse would have expected because the Afrocentrists, among
contemporary scholars, have isolated cultural dislocation as the principal
weakness among African American intellectuals. Indeed, this is a crisis that now
finds its tentacles deeply attached to the work of African intellectuals
everywhere, on the African continent and in its diaspora. I believe that the
cultural crisis is an avenue for weakness in the community. If we are able to
resolve the cultural question we will be able to confront all other issues such as
economic unity, political redemption, and social maturity. In this sense culture
becomes genetic to the intellectual and political achievements of people who
accept and give agency.
Afrocentricity is about African people being agents and actors.2 And in
Cruse’s construction of the problems of our community he saw that we had
either denied, lost, or given away our agency in order to become different from
who we are. Some did not support African American culture because in their
minds it was separatist; they wanted to demonstrate that they were Americans,
meaning that they supported Anglo American culture. This confusion Cruse
recognized before others and sought to explore ways to neutralize this
destructive attitude. With the deftness and directness that only Cruse seemed to
have among all the intellectuals of his generation he writes, “The American
Negro must stand up and fight his way out of the social trap in which Western
civilization has ensnared him” (104).
The message of Harold Cruse is especially important at this time because this
is preeminently the age of “no race” and “interrace” and “fluid cultures.” We are
profoundly affected by this postmodern appeal to forget culture. I am unaware
that this mode of thinking has captured the imaginations of any other group to
the extent that it has afflicted African American intellectuals. Perhaps no group
has been so willing to abandon its cultural identity and historical legacy as
eagerly as the intellectual class among African Americans. For example, I do not
know of this attitude among Chinese Americans, Japanese Americans, Korean
Americans, Anglo-Americans, Italian Americans, or French Americans. This
seems to be a peculiarly African American problem enhanced by the lack of a
strong sense of cultural identity promulgated by Africans who have lost their
sense of cultural ground.
I am convinced that the enslavement was more effective as a maker of slaves—
mental slaves—than we could imagine. As other cultures recognize the value of
their own and in some cases, like the French, continue to legislate ways to
preserve the culture, many African American intellectuals still suffer from
cultural dualism, a split personality, and lean toward the worship of an iconic
HAROLD CRUSE AND AFROCENTRIC THEORY • 237
But this is the crux of the cultural problem. We are African people and when
we landed in America we were Africans—that is, Mandinka, Ibo, Yoruba,
Asante, Fante, Ibibio, Congo, Angola, Wolof, Ijo, and so forth—not African
Americans. We were never made European, though some of us came fairly close
to that impossibility. We were Africans who retained much of Africa even
through the slavery institution and we also were deeply affected by Europe in
America, but we remained Africans. “Wood may remain in water for ten years
but it will never become a crocodile,” goes an old saying in Africa. In respect to
the cultural question, Cruse’s project would have been stronger had he seen that
the real issue was the lack of Afrocentricity in the African. Although we could
not escape our inherent Africanity in the way we talked, walked, danced, or
made music, we did not often consciously choose to be Afrocentric. In fact, what
Cruse really wanted, I believe, was for the African American to choose African
culture over alienation from African culture, to accept the fundamental
prerogatives of our history rather than to abandon them to the wind. The fact that
so many African American intellectuals were ready to capitulate to the
Eurocentric imposition on African culture was a dangerous sign. Therein is the
difficulty with our journey in this country.
Cruse’s lament is that we have not achieved what we should have achieved
culturally given what he sees as our genius in many areas of art. However, he
argues the necessity for a new type of culturalist with specific characteristics. I
have drawn from his analysis three traits that the culturalist should possess (1) a
commitment to cultural agency; (2) the lack of economic or moral fear; and (3)
the willingness to pursue the objective of freedom. What Cruse understood in
this regard was that only artists or just plain humans who were capable of
supporting these ideas could be depended upon for cultural liberation.
The African American community, male and female, continues to be
marginalized in the context of culture and economics. What is the role of the
artists in such a situation? It means that artists should not place their own
personal ambition in front of the masses of African American people. The debate
about individual freedom and community responsibility has often
deteriorated into a lament about the inability of our artists to understand that
culture is the centerpiece of communal rehabilitation. To indulge oneself in
noncommitted art is certainly within the freedom of the individual artist but it is
often socially nonredemptive.
What is significant to understand is that some people stand between Cruse’s
African and Anglo, not knowing who they are or wanting to be someone other
than who they are. A people cannot produce good or great art when they are
confused about identity because art emerges from the soul of the artistic creator.
The best creator is always the person who knows precisely who she is at the
moment of creation. This is self-conscious art, the highest form of creating the
new, and making the innovative. Enslaved Africans could produce the spirituals
because they recognized the existential reality of their situation. They were not
confused about their identity and knew precisely who they were and who the
HAROLD CRUSE AND AFROCENTRIC THEORY • 239
whites were. In order to produce out of the myths and culture of the people, the
artistic creator had to overcome the barriers of anomie and alienation from self
and community.
In the past, racial integration was advanced as a philosophy of social relations
at the expense of cultural nationalism. But some scholars believe that at the
bottom of all issues was the question of culture that flows inexorably toward
human progress despite the waves of integration, economic progress, and social
panaceas introduced to make the “Negro” American. There could not be a
mistake between citizenship and cultural origin and identity. The African
American is an American by nationality and citizenship; this is passport identity.
The African American is also African by continental cultural identity and origin,
which means that he shares in the vast movement of history of the African
peoples. This means that the responses of the African to the last five hundred
years of European domination and white racial triumphalism have been based on
a general, universal, African understanding of what Europe has done to Africa. At
this level, the African in the United States is no different from the African in
Brazil, Jamaica, or Great Britain.
During the last few years and because of the depth and breadth of the
Afrocentric revolution African Americans have begun to reexamine the tenets of
an integration meant to make it possible for whites and blacks to sit next to each
other in schools and public places. Actually the cultural issue has been on the
minds of African American parents who have sent their children to historically
black colleges and universities in record numbers during the past two decades.
Many of these parents believed that racial integration had become an end in itself
and had robbed the African American community of economic, social, and
political power. When one does not appreciate one’s own culture or when one
prefers the culture of others to one’s own this is an attack on cultural
nationalism. Like all ideologies, cultural nationalism carries with it the seeds of
its own problems, but to advance integrationism as a more effective ideology is
to live with the danger of the destruction of one’s culture, particularly where
white culture is intent on creating a situation of dominance. This is the fallacy of
a particular cultural ideology, white racial dominance, parading as a universal
idea. When middle-class African Americans fled the inner cities for the suburbs
during the 1960s and ’70s they took with them various skills, talents, and
professions but most of all they took away from the inner city communities the
spirit of success, the role models, and the class integration of the African
American community. Devoid of these skills and the examples of success
brought by the middle class many of these communities lapsed into what Cornel
West calls nihilistic behaviors. They were, in fact, nihilistic camps, with hope
cast out and despair settled in.
The future of the heterogeneous United States is not one giant amalgamation of
cultures, but rather a multiplicity of cultures without hierarchy resting on certain
political and social pillars that support racial and cultural equality and respect.
This multiplicity of cultural centers revolving around respect and equality is the
240 • MOLEFI KETE ASANTE
future. But for this to work effectively it means that the African American
community must have a mature attitude toward culture. Harold Cruse’s concern
about this is my concern. He saw a state of cultural malaise where the popular
culture did not enrich the race and where artists had degenerated into peddlers of
the most vacuous nonsense to gain fame and money.
Of course, this is not a universal indictment of contemporary artists. In music
and dance there are many conscious artists creating moments of victory rather
than dwelling on pain and suffering. Kariamu Welsh, the Afrocentric
choreographer of Temple University, is a self-conscious creator of images and
movements that are organic to the African American community. The Welsh
Umfundalai technique, which is based on the authentic dance movements from a
dozen different African and African American communities, is a clear indication
of what is possible if an artist concentrates on using African agency for the
execution of a particular concept. Thus, dances such as Anthem, Herero Women,
Women Gathering, and Ibos’ Landing reflect the power of cultural substance
employed to enrich life’s experiences. No wonder audiences of Africans and
Europeans have been struck by the genuine creativity of the Umfundalai dances.
However, as Cruse understood, the danger is that fewer African American
intellectuals and artists are exhibiting a broad base appreciation of the cultural
traditions.
I believe that Cruse records long before the present Afrocentrists the
dislocation that occurred because of the forced migration of the African people.
The enslavement of African people created, among other things, a permanent
class of revolutionaries against the racist order. Cruse understands this, and while
he is more acutely impacted by the integrationists than he admits, he is still
profoundly convinced that the African American community needs a cultural
revolution. But he knows that the only way that such a radical change can occur
is with a new philosophy of culture. In many ways, this cultural philosophy,
which is so necessary for radical politics in a pluralistic American society, has
shown up in the powerful Afrocentric movement. Maulana Karenga, a cultural
philosopher in the Crusean vein, has stated that Kawaida, his philosophy of
culture, “is a cultural nationalist philosophy that argues that the key challenge in
Black people’s lives is the challenge of culture, and that what Africans must do
is to discover and bring forth the best of their culture, both ancient and current,
and use it as a foundation to bring into being models of human excellence and
possibilities to enrich and expand our lives.”4 In this regard, Karenga is in the
tradition of Cruse. He has positioned the emergence of Kwanzaa, an African
American holiday, as an icon of the cultural nationalist movement. Nearly all
cultural advances, whether conceptual or institutional, in the African American
community have been made by the cultural nationalists.
Thus, Cruse does not believe that the Marxists or today’s radical democrats
can bring about that type of cultural revolution. They are captured by the
ideology of failure and the inability to redefine the relationship of the African
American to the American society. Understanding the history of Marxism, Cruse
HAROLD CRUSE AND AFROCENTRIC THEORY • 241
In the United States race remains the one characteristic that has confounded
the Marxists. It is this situation that confounds the radical democrats today as
they scurry to find a place to be. Because the Marxists as communists or
Trotskyites were unable to lead any type of revolution they became “twin
branches on the withering tree of Marxism,” according to Cruse.
Cruse had a historical analysis of the failures of Marxism that included the
excesses of Trotskyites. Leon Trotsky had brutally suppressed the Kronstadt
sailors’ revolt in 1921 and was a predictor of Stalin’s later bureaucratic murders
and ultimately held the seeds of an implosive situation in communism. Given the
attempt on Stalin’s part to force obedience to a system that was to naturally
evolve out of the conflict of classes there could be no space for understanding the
dimension of race in a society like the United States where racial brutality had
occurred in the most provocative and powerful way. Neither class nor race could
be overcome without a new, more radical approach to culture.
The Afrocentrists are the legitimate children of Cruse’s appreciation of the
role of culture. We seek to assert his notion of a radical cultural theory in every
context of African life. But what is the principal element of this radical theory? It
is the fact of agency—that is, the activity of a subjectivity based on one’s
orientation to culture. What Cruse does not see, I believe, is that it is impossible
for this radical theory and practice to emerge from the conditions of mental slavery.
The slave must overcome this condition in order to advance to a higher degree of
cultural expression. Thus, Frantz Fanon of Martinique, a political psychologist
and a supporter of the Algerian Revolution, understood this more clearly than
any of the Négritude writers though ostensibly they were concerned with culture.
On two occasions, once in 1968 at the University of California-Los Angeles and
again in 1985 in Miami at the Négritude Conference organized by Carlos Moore,
I heard Léopold Sédar Senghor expound on culture and each time I felt that he
did not effectively address the question of cultural encapsulation, that is, the fact
that one could never rise above the condition of mental slavery just drylongso. It
was necessary for self conscious action if oppression and mental slavery were to
be overcome.
Harold Cruse does not even venture down this road but he raises the question
of a radical social and cultural theory. Aimé Césaire, Leon Damas, Alioune Diop,
and Senghor attempt to address it with Négritude, but this is ultimately an artistic
movement, perhaps, even only an artistic statement that we have a culture, that
our culture is rich, and that we declare our cultural maturity. As an assertion and
indeed a demonstration in the works of the poets and essayists this is a positive
advance but it could not deal with the confrontation of Cruse’s cultural malaise.
The theory that Cruse prophesied would have to have five aspects:
(1) psychological orientations; (2) emotional commitments; (3) political
implications; (4) collective textual revision; and (5) socioeconomic redefinitions.
Aiming to redefine the cultural landscape used by African Americans, the new
theory would be oriented toward African motifs, designs, concepts, languages,
and styles. In this psychological orientation it would take on dimensions of
HAROLD CRUSE AND AFROCENTRIC THEORY • 243
personality and spirituality that would direct any thrust into personal or
collective transformation. As an emotional commitment it would mean that the
African American would be saturated in historical knowledge so as to understand
the nuances and intricacies of the culture and not merely participate without
some emotional attachment to the knowledge. Only with this kind of emotional
orientation could self-interested political actions be possible. Otherwise the
African American person could conceivably become anti-African American in
political situations. The collective textual revision that would take place in this
case would change the ethos and image of African Americans as beggars after
the culture of others and would promote and project us as agents, actors, and
artists in our own right who operate in keeping with our cultural and ethical
standards. Implications for socioeconomic achievement should be self-evident in
such case. Those who are transformed into agents would also seek to make
agents out of others through economic activity centered in the interest of
liberation. What Cruse calls into being is a radical theory, not merely an assertion
of culture, and in this instance those who have obliged him the most are the
Afrocentrists.
Such a radical theory heavily invested in the historical legacy of African
people would pose a threat to the keepers of the mental plantation and create the
conditions for a different people, a truly self-actualizing African in America. The
idea of the reconfiguring of a nation must begin with the myths of that nation.
And in the case of the cultural nationalist it is necessary to establish the nature of
the new myths in order that the old myths disappear. The Afrocentrists have gone
about this work in ways that Cruse would appreciate given what he has written
about the nature of culture. Tackling the fundamental root of racial ideology from
the standpoint of its mythical origins has allowed us to grapple with the essential
points of a Greco-Germanic idea promoted by the Aryanists of the eighteenth
and nineteenth centuries. Only by insisting that this mythology is invalid and
should not be imposed on the world as if it is universal do we unlock the gates to
freedom and liberation. People cannot be free if they are never given the
opportunity to glance at that possibility and the fact of the matter is that whenever
we have sought economic and political freedom without a historical window we
have never been ale to effectively secure it. The Afrocentrist accepts history as
the basis, not the end, for rational action in regard to liberation because we must
know what the steps have been that brought us to this place before we can
dismantle them.
The myth of white superiority permeates all American institutions and is at the
root of the problem of intercultural and interracial harmony in the American
society. According to Théophile Obenga, the dogma that reason originated with
the Greeks and that Europeans are responsible for rational thought undergirds the
myth of white supremacy and superiority.5 The myth is the problem but the
dogma itself is wrong because rational thought did not start with the Greeks in
either the form of mathematics, geometry, or philosophy.6 Nevertheless, the
dogma has not only affected Europeans but everyone else because of the wide
244 • MOLEFI KETE ASANTE
dissemination of that ideology. And Marxism could not deal with that ideology
because it concentrated solely on class and was blinded to the problem in the
world. The Cubans, for example, had the idea very early on in their articulation of
the communist philosophy that class was the central contradiction but as it turns
out, even in Cuba itself, race was much more difficult to resolve than class and
the class issue caused the government to miss the essential characteristic of the
American response to Cuba as a racial response rather than a political response.7
Furthermore the character of international Marxism with its European analogues
was set to establish itself, as it has tried in South Africa under Mandela, as a new
front for the promotion of the racial ideology of rational thought emanating from
Europe. Only those political thinkers who are historically aware and self-
conscious operators can ever break away from the clutches of Europe. This is
what Cruse complained about in Rebellion or Revolution? I believe it was what
he was writing about in The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual as well. His project
was monumental and his name must be placed alongside the great social critics of
the twentieth century because in some respects he took the work of Carter
G.Woodson to a new level by posing a different order of question about culture
as practiced by the African American middle class. Appreciating the strong
analytical powers of Marxism did not blind him to its faults and its failures. Thus,
Harold Cruse makes the journey toward liberation easier for having reinvigorated
cultural nationalism after his Marxist adventure had led him to the cul-de-sac of
culture. We can now stand near him and look in the same direction with the
added instrument of a radical theory of African agency as expressed in
Afrocentricity.
Notes
1. Harold Cruse, Rebellion or Revolution? New York: William Morrow, 1969, 48–67;
hereafter page numbers will be cited parenthetically in the text.
2. See Molefi Kete Asante, Afrocentricity: The Theory of Social Change (Buffalo:
Amulefi, 1980); Kemet, Afrocentricity and Knowledge (Trenton, NJ: Africa World
Press, 1991); and The Afrocentric Idea (Philadelphia: Temple University
Press, 1987).
3. See W.E.B.DuBois, The Souls of Black Folk: Essays and Sketches (Chicago:
A.C.McClurg, 1903).
4. Maulana Karenga, Kwanzaa: A Celebration of Family, Community, and Culture
(Los Angeles: University of Sankore Press, 1998), 3–4.
5. Théophile Obenga, A Lost Tradition: African Philosophy in World History
(Philadelphia: Source Editions, 1995), 1–25.
6. See Cheikh Anta Diop, The African Origin of Civilization. Myth or Reality (New
York: Lawrence Hill, 1976); Yosef Ben-Jochannon, Black Man of the Nile
HAROLD CRUSE AND AFROCENTRIC THEORY • 245
(Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press, 1990); George G.M.James, Stolen Legacy (San
Francisco: Richardson Associates, 1990); and Molefi Kete Asante and Ama
Mazama, Eds., Egypt vs. Greece and the American Academy Carlos Moore, Cuba
(Los Angeles: UCLA Center for African American Studies, 1989). (Chicago:
African American Images, 2002).
246
14
Rethinking the Crisis of the
Negro Intellectual
Harold Cruse, Black Nationalism and the Black
Power Movement
PENIEL E.JOSEPH
The decade of black power politics (1965–1976) can be usefully analyzed as the
public manifestation of dissident politics stifled by the Cold War. During these
years radical discourses were propelled into national and international politics.
From this perspective the black power movement’s critique of American
imperialism can be viewed as the extension of black anti-colonialism
circumscribed by geopolitical imperatives. Inspired by global events, black
Americans had comprised the vanguard of a radical anticolonial politics that
sought to challenge European dominance over “third world” majorities the world
over.1 Yet the political damage suffered by “her majesty’s other children” was
not the sole concern of black radicals.2 Black anticolonialism was situated, and
experienced its decline, within the context of America’s emerging dominance
over post-World War II Europe.3 Bound by the Cold War’s silencing of critics of
American foreign policy, African American anticolonialism survived, and at
times thrived, through the works and activities of late 1950s and early ’60s
radicals.4
During the black power era, African American activists such as Stokely
Carmichael, Angela Davis, and LeRoi Jones (now Amiri Baraka) represented the
new face of black international politics, while organizations such as the Black
Panthers reflected the popularization of previously underground discourses.5
Each, in different ways, argued that black America was part of a radical political
movement whose ultimate goal was global transformation. As the descriptive
metaphor for a series of complex political discourses related to
redefining national and international politics, “black power” compelled the
nation to seriously consider long-censored voices. Though perceived as a stark
break from the political status quo, in truth black power revealed the flowering
of black radical organizations and discourses that had existed alongside the civil
rights movement. Constructing an alternative vision of black protest through
political organizations, cultural groups, and revolutionary journals, the black
Left laid the groundwork for the growth and power of black power radicalism.
An examination of social critic Harold Cruse, arguably the most influential
cultural critic and essayist of the black power era, helps delineate the immediate
historical context for black power radicalism. Anticipating the black power
248 • PENIEL E.JOSEPH
movement’s focus on black nationalism and the cultural politics of race, Cruse
provides a theoretical bridge to a diverse range of black power discourses.
Negro Intellectual argues that blacks must be incorporated into the cultural arena
of American society. A contributing writer to the radical journal Liberator during
the early 1960s, Cruse excoriates the publication in the pages of his book. A
tempestuous, strong-willed, bitter, and brilliant man, Cruse underwent a series of
political evolutions that reverberated throughout the black Left during the 1960s.
Criticized now and at the time of its publication as being personally motivated
and containing historical and conceptual inaccuracies,9 Cruse’s writings and
political activism remain crucial to charting the trajectory of African American
political thought during the black power era. The enduring strength of Cruse’s
work has less to do with its historical accuracy than the profound debates
generated by its analysis. Perhaps most significantly, for a generation of young
black radicals, Cruse’s work was their first introduction to the complex history
of black radicalism.
Born in Petersburg, Virginia in 1916, Cruse’s migrated with his family to New
York in 1934 and the young Cruse came of age amid the cultural and political
transformations that engulfed Harlem during the 1930s and ‘40s. Representing a
singular moment in American history when New York’s uptown area was a
cultural and political haven, the Harlem Renaissance was a training ground for
both New Negro literati and a cadre of influential black radicals.10 Inspired by
the Harlem Renaissance’s stress on the cultural aspects of racial politics, Cruse
would spend his political career trying to influence politics through culture.
Serving in the armed forces during World War II, Cruse traveled through North
Africa, Italy, and England. Upon returning to Harlem in 1945, Cruse spent the
next six years working a variety of jobs, including five years as a jack-of-all
trades for the Communist Party (CP) newspaper the Daily Worker.11 Like many
black cultural workers of the era, Cruse utilized the Communist Party as a
vehicle for political expression. Similar to his contemporaries, his experience
with the party would be a source of personal contention for many years.12 Part of
cultural groups such as the Harlem Writers Club (HWC), Committee for Negro
Arts (CNA), and the editorial staff of Freedom newspaper, Cruse’s associates
included Lorraine Hansberry and Julian Mayfield. Although a member of the CP-
backed CNA, he regarded the party as being run by whites who relegated black
members to subordinate positions.13 A self-trained intellectual, Cruse was a
voracious reader and prolific writer who published film and theatrical reviews
for the Daily Worker during his years with the party. Frustrated with the CP’s
stance on the “Negro question” and the CNA’s failure to produce a significant
number of black plays, he left the party in 1951.14 This was a tumultuous time
for Cruse, one that would have lasting effects on his future political activities. In
addition to leaving the CNA, he endured a bitter break from the group working
at Paul Robeson’s Freedom newspaper. The schism was especially difficult for
at least three reasons. First, it turned Cruse’s admiration for Robeson into
lifelong enmity. Second, it marked an end to the Harlem Writers Club’s political
experiment of merging black nationalism with a political worldliness unburdened
by the CP. Bitterly recalling the end of the HWC in 1951, he asserted that the
250 • PENIEL E.JOSEPH
group had “initiated a trend that was not to bear fruit until more than a decade
later.”15 For Cruse, this trend was black nationalism linked to a cosmopolitan
intellectual outlook. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, the feud with
Robeson’s Freedom cohorts prevented him from publishing. Jerry Gafio Watts
argues that historically black intellectuals have lacked the available infrastructure
to pursue their craft resulting in the utilization of “ethnic marginality facilitators”
such as the Communist Party that provide an outlet for creative expressions.16
From this perspective, Cruse’s break with the party further hindered his ability to
ply his trade. At a time when venues for publishing were extremely limited for
black radicals, periodicals such as Freedom were critical organs for the
dissemination of political ideas.17
hierarchies within radical politics. Thus, Cruse’s polemics in The Crisis of the
Negro Intellectual and his scathing criticisms of Robeson and Hansberry were
fueled by both ideological and personal differences.26 Even after gaining
national prominence in the late 1960s, Cruse believed that figures such as
Robeson and Hansberry had received uncritical adulation from the Left. As the
1950s drew to a close, Cruse, despite scores of rejection letters from both
publishers and foundations, remained indefatigable and resumed the political
writing and organizing that he had abandoned to write plays.27 In this capacity
Cruse would have considerable success. Speaking to the American Society for
African Culture in 1959, Cruse forcefully argued that African Americans needed
to develop their own definitions of black culture, rather than continue to allow
the American mainstream to define blackness.28
A Cuban Excursion
If Harold Cruse failed as a novelist,29 as a political writer and critic he was a
stunning success. Cruse’s political life, like that of many members of New
York’s black intelligentsia during the early Cold War years, was transformed by
international developments. Specifically, the Cuban Revolution galvanized broad
sections of the international Left. Furthermore, various political developments
during the decade had placed a strobe light on international affairs, including the
liberation of the African Gold Coast, Robert F.Williams’s Monroe Movement,
and the Bandung Conference held in Indonesia. Although a vocal critic of white
influence within black politics, Cruse was by this time considered something of
an elder statesmen within black radical circles. Therefore, Cruse was a natural
addition to the 1960 delegation of mostly black writers and cultural critics who
visited the newly independent island. The participants in this trip included
writers John Henrik Clarke and Julian Mayfield, poet Sonia Sanchez, and militant
civil rights leader Williams.30 Key among his fellow-travelers on this historic trip
was LeRoi Jones.31 Cuba had an intoxicating effect on blacks touring the island.
Both Jones and Cruse, in various ways, viewed the revolution as significant to
black liberation struggles in America.32
In many ways the Cuban Revolution served as a literal and figurative example
of political freedom for black radicals. For many, the event precipitated an
emotional and at times reverential response.33 Well traveled politically
and imbued with a fair share of cynicism, Cruse was nonetheless profoundly
affected by his trip to Cuba. Traveling to the province of Oriente in the Sierra
Maestre mountains, Cruse personally witnessed the enthusiasm of the Cuban
people despite their harsh living conditions.34 As the first group of black
intellectuals to visit the island, Cruse and his associates were treated as foreign
dignitaries. The presence of these intellectuals was especially significant to the
Cuban government in the aftermath of their failed attempt to hire boxer Joe
Louis to promote black tourism in Cuba.
RETHINKING THE CRISIS OF THE NEGRO INTELLECTUAL • 253
Perhaps the most significant occurrence of Cruse’s two weeks in Cuba was the
impact that it had on his politics. Well-versed in the history of American
Marxism, Cruse began to look toward the global horizon to analyze black
politics in America. Adopting an actively internationalist stance in the wake of
the Cuban Revolution and the assassination of Patrice Lumumba, Cruse actively
propagated a philosophy of black internationalism. On this score Cruse’s article
“A Negro Looks at Cuba,” published in Presence Africaine in 1961 clearly
demonstrates the impact that these events had on his thinking. Recalling being
awed by Cuba’s economic revitalization, Cruse mingled with Cuban workers to
assess the revolution’s progress.35 As Cruse would later detail, he regarded the
Cuban Revolution as transforming a younger generation of black intellectuals,
and was fascinated by the reaction of this group.36 Cruse’s experiences in Fidel
Castro’s Cuba had a profound impact on his political outlook in a number of
different ways. Describing the experience in the pages of the Crisis of the Negro
Intellectual, Cruse positioned himself as a supportive yet cautiously sober
observer of the celebrations taking place during the summer of 1960. Claiming
that he “notably held back all outward exuberance for the Cuban situation,”
Cruse contrasted his stark pragmatism with the revolutionary romanticism of
younger writers, specifically LeRoi Jones.37 However, in the immediate
aftermath of his Cuban trip, Cruse was an unabashed supporter of both the Cuban
Revolution and its potential implications for black liberation movements in
America. Writing about the celebration of Cuban independence at Sierra Maestre,
Cruse described Castro’s speech as “eloquent,” noting, “I do not think Fidel
Castro has many superiors today. He is able to prepare his listeners for the dramatic
persuasion of his main propositions by the skillful use of deductive ideas with
words understood by the peasants. And the peasantry, en masse, beat the air
above them with their wide straw hats and the mountains of Sierra echoed with
the clamor of wild acclaim.”38
Support for “third world” revolutionary movements would be a resounding
theme in Cruse’s work during the early 1960s. Unable to publish in the
mainstream press,39 Cruse contributed to key left publications of the era
including Studies on the Left, the New Leader, the Liberator, and Presence
Africaine. Presence Africaine was particularly influential among these journals.
Started by the group of black writers and cultural workers that included Richard
Wright, Léopold Sédar Senghor, and Aimé Césaire the journal provided
sophisticated cultural and political criticism regarding the global implications of
anticolonial struggles. In 1956 the group convened a national Negro Writers
Conference. Held at the Sorbonne in Paris, delegates to the conference included
novelist James Baldwin, theorist Frantz Fanon, Cheikh Anta Diop, and George
Lamming.40 The proceedings of this conference were published as a special issue
of Presence Africaine that would be influential among black radicals
internationally.41 The journal’s advocacy of the role of culture in transforming
global society was a theme that would be central to black power politics. Cruse
was undoubtedly influenced by the ideas emanating from this group of activists
254 • PENIEL E.JOSEPH
experiences in party circles, Cruse viewed the party as a “retarding, divisive, and
destructive political force.”47
Cruse’s political profile grew steadily during the first half of the 1960s.
Although Cruse recalled feeling somewhat slighted by Jones during their trip to
Cuba in 1960,48 a younger generation of black student-activists would come to
regard Cruse as a major political figure.49 Indeed, Cruse was part of a group of
radical black “elders” whom younger activists sought out for aid and advice
during the early 1960s. Young activists associated with groups such as Uhuru,
the Revolutionary Action Movement (RAM), and the Afro-American
Association sought out veterans of the movement including Robert F.Williams,
Detroit community activists James and Grace Lee Boggs, and Queen Mother
Audley Moore.50 Along with The Crusader, Muhammad Speaks, Freedomways,
and the Liberator, Cruse’s work was eagerly read by groups of young radicals
seeking political guidance. The students who were influenced by Cruse and other
black radicals during the early 1960s were in search of a radical alternative to
contemporary civil rights struggles.51 Many of these students were inspired by
the courage of the Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) and
the speeches of Malcolm X. For these young people, the writings of Cruse,
Williams, and the Boggses served as crash courses in black nationalism, Marxist-
Leninism, and revolution. In 1962 Cruse published “Revolutionary Nationalism
and the Afro-American,” in Studies on the Left. This essay was widely circulated
among black student radicals, introducing the concept of “revolutionary
nationalism” to young militants. Examining the global dimensions of black
political radicalism, Cruse criticized conventional Marxism for its failure to
substantively deal with black nationalism, writing “From the underdevelopment
itself have come the indigenous schools of theory and practice for achieving
independence. The liberation of the colonies before the socialist revolution in the
west is not orthodox Marxism (although it might be called Maoism or
Castroism). As long as American Marxists cannot deal with the implications of
revolutionary nationalism both abroad and at home, they will continue to play
the role of revolutionaries by proxy.”52 Cruse stressed that, similar to “third
world” independence movements, black Americans would have to develop an
indigenous revolutionary praxis. By providing an intellectual basis for increasing
black political radicalism, this essay significantly impacted black students who
were searching for an alternative to mainstream civil rights strategies and
tactics.53 That same year Cruse authored “Negro Nationalism’s New Wave,”
which appeared in the pages of the New Leader. Discussing the “new wave” of
black nationalism that had been examined earlier by writers and activists John
Henrik Clarke and Julian Mayfield, Cruse asserted that young black militants
were focusing on global political events for a way forward at home, noting,
“Already they have a pantheon of modern heroes—Lumumba, Kwame
Nkrumah, Sekou Toure in Africa; Fidel Castro in Latin America; Malcolm X, the
Muslim leader, in New York; Robert Williams in the South; and Mao Tse-Tung
in China. These men seem heroic to the Afro-Americans not because of their
256 • PENIEL E.JOSEPH
political philosophy, but because they were either former colonials who achieved
complete independence, or because like Malcolm X, they dared to look the white
community in the face and say: ‘We don’t think your civilization is worth the
effort of any black man to try to integrate into.’ This to many Afro-Americans is
an act of defiance that is truly revolutionary.”54 Cruse’s growing political influence
within black politics was underscored in the aftermath of the radical youth
conference held at Fisk University in 1964. Comprised of black students from
across the nation, participants utilized Cruse’s “Marxism and the Negro,”
published in the Liberator, to formulate their advocacy for revolutionary
nationalism.55 In an article written in the aftermath of the conference, radical
nationalist Don Freeman of RAM and Cleveland’s Afro-American Institute
stated that “the only revolutionary force in this society, the Afro-American
freedom struggle, must be led by black radicals, not opportunistic white
Marxists.”56 Like much of his work before The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual,
Cruse’s “Marxism and the Negro” was intensely debated among the black Left,
especially black student radicals. For young students wrestling with African
American history, studies related to class politics, and contemporary civil rights
struggles Cruse represented a breath of fresh air. Arguing that blacks needed a
liberation theory fashioned from their own unique history, while not being
dismissive of socialist-inspired revolutionary movements, Cruse satisfied those
inspired by increasing nationalism and its internationalist aspirations.
only limited success through support for black radicals such as Robert F.
Williams, the SWP devoted a significant portion of their 1964 convention to
outlining the FNP’s usefulness to a worldwide socialist revolution.61 Arguing that
the SWP “operated in an arena wider than the Negro struggle” the draft
convention resolution outlined plans for an alliance between black militants and
labor radicals that could be furthered through the FNP.62 Considering the SWP’s
preemptive embrace of the FNP, it is not surprising that Cruse so thoroughly
rejected political overtures of both black and white socialists.63 Cruse’s
experiences with the short-lived FNP left him bitter and dejected. Strong willed
and naturally combative, Cruse distrusted the influence of black socialists in the
party and was further angered when the group refused to adopt the draft
resolution that he had written.64 Detailing some of the events that precipitated the
organization’s decline a few years later, Cruse failed to reveal his own
association with the group. Furthermore, although describing the Liberator as an
“outstanding journalistic failure,” Cruse does not admit to being one of its
leading contributors during the early 1960s.65 Arguing that Liberator “failed”
because its editorial direction was interracial, Cruse once again deleted important
information from his political analysis. In short, even before the release of his
best-seller, Cruse had occupied a small but influential space within black leftist
political discourses and movements. A former Marxist who had traveled to Cuba
and supported Fidel Castro, Cruse attempted during the early 1960s to outline an
indigenous theory of black internationalism that was anticolonial but not white
controlled. Cruse’s political writings significantly influenced the development of
“international revolutionary black nationalists”66 such as RAM and assorted
black nationalist political and cultural organizations. Although criticizing African
Americans for failing to develop an infrastructure for a black intelligentsia capable
of leading the masses, Cruse himself contributed to the development of such an
infrastructure during the early 1960s. Often short-lived but always influential, the
organizations, study groups, conferences, and journals that focused on culture,
class and colonialism provided the organizational and theoretical foundations for
black power radicalism. Indeed, by 1965 Cruse would serve as an instructor in
LeRoi Jones’ short-lived Black Arts Repertory Theater/School (BARTS). Like
organizations such as the FNP and Uhuru, the BARTS experiment was short-
lived. However, its enduring significance had more to do with unveiling a set of
ideas and concepts that would serve as a framework for future black power
activism.
excluded from the upper echelons of black literary circles, Cruse parlayed fame
into considerable success on the lecture circuit and a permanent faculty position
at the University of Michigan.68 Tracing the development of the black
intelligentsia from the Harlem Renaissance to black Marxists of the 1940s and
militant contemporaries, The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual leveled a critique of
the black Left that was even harsher then its suggestive subtitle. Part
autobiography, part political analysis and wholly polemical, Cruse’s work
targeted white Marxists and black literary and political figures. Cruse forcefully
argued that black America suffered due to the absence of a cultural and
intellectual infrastructure. Finally, Cruse linked this lack of a genuine black
public sphere to the black Left’s overreliance on white-led radical
organizations.69
Arguing that a cultural reconceptualization of black identity was vital for the
development of black liberation in American society, The Crisis of the Negro
Intellectual focused on the role of black intellectuals in achieving this task. Black
intellectuals, who according to Cruse had the skills to accomplish this difficult
task, had abdicated their roles through a slavish adherence to racial assimilation.
Discussing a 1964 debate between black intellectuals and white liberals
sponsored by the Association of Artists for Freedom, Cruse argued that such
debates illustrated the theoretical ineffectualness and the political bankruptcy of
black intellectuals. He noted, “The Association of Artists for Freedom came into
existence in 1964 as a result of the Birmingham Church bombing and killing of
six children; but not through any prior intellectual comprehension that Negro
writers, artists, and creative individuals had a political role to fulfill in the Negro
movement, in any event. Now having assumed this rather belated militant
political stance, and attempting to palm it off as super-radicalism, these
intellectuals, straining at the leash, find themselves the tactical and programmatic
prisoners of their Northern roles. They are integrationists, active or implied, with
no tangibly visible worlds to conquer in the North, beyond furthering their own
individual careers as creative artists.”70 Cruse’s critique of the Artists for
Freedom represented an attack on black intellectuals for articulating a
disingenuous critique of American liberalism. While agreeing with criticisms
against white paternalism, Cruse argued that black intellectuals and white
liberals engaged in an unequal relationship that prevented the creation of a
critical discourse on black liberation that went beyond the narrow confines of
liberalism.71 Cruse’s indictment of black intellectuals reverberated throughout
African American politics. The book was eagerly received by a younger
generation of black activists angered by what they perceived as the
ineffectiveness of black leadership.
Moreover, the text’s harsh criticism of the Communist Party was embraced by
liberal critics eager to expose Old Left politics as a sham. Cruse’s complex and
at times contradictory historical and political analysis of race, class, and
culture mixed elements of historical materialism, black nationalism, and
liberalism. For Cruse, the literal crisis of black intellectuals presented a
RETHINKING THE CRISIS OF THE NEGRO INTELLECTUAL • 259
an ahistorical analysis of the relationship between blacks and the CP. No doubt
written as both an ideological manifesto and to settle old political debts, the book
suffers from a skewed interpretation of black involvement in the American
Communist Party.
Historically, to be red and black has constituted an alternative to both
conservative and liberal shibboleths of self-help and equal opportunity. In the
political and historical context of the Great Depression, black radicals from
Harlem to Birmingham utilized the party as a vehicle for racial uplift.93 Cruse’s
one-sided analysis of black participation in the Communist Party evades the
complexity of the black radical tradition by casting black nationalism and
Marxism as being ideological poles apart. As historian Robin D.G.Kelley has
illustrated, African Americans turned a red ideology into black through a creative
blending of multiple political traditions. Black radicalism merged elements of
Western and African American radical traditions to construct a diasporic
imaginary that redefined conceptions of race and class in American society.
Thus, African Americans who joined the CP in the 1920s and 1930s were as
much the creation of American Communism as of indigenous black radical
traditions. Many were products of Garveyism and the emerging postwar black
left that had been influenced by the Bolshevik Revolution and worker uprisings
in American cities after World War I. While these events did not propel large
numbers of African American radicals into the American Communist Party, it
did reinforce their belief that socialist revolution was possible within the context
of “race politics.”94 Far from being a cadre of revolutionary followers, black
Marxists utilized the CP as a vehicle for political and ideological transformation.
Turning much of party ideology on its head, black radicals circumvented the
CP’s disallowance of nationalism to fashion race and class-conscious critiques of
white supremacy.95 In contrast to Cruse’s construction of a sycophantic black
intelligentsia slavishly attached to Marxist theory, excommunists such as Richard
Wright attempted to fuse class struggle and black nationalism into an ideology
for black liberation.96 As the heirs to the tradition of mass mobilization embodied
by Garveyism, the black Left was forged within the crucible of twentieth-century
crises that included a Great Depression domestically and the rise of fascism on
the international front. Cruse’s one-dimensional portrayal of the black Left
erased this complex history of African American radicalism.
Conclusion
Despite falling victim to rhetorical flourishes and historical inaccuracies,
Harold Cruse’s The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual stands out as a major
analysis of black political and intellectual traditions during the twentieth century.
Furthermore, Cruse paved the way for serious scholarly inquiry into black social
and political thought of the black power era. Contributing to the growth of a
black intelli gentsia, even as he despaired over its development Cruse’s work
was vital to debates over black liberation during the civil rights-black power era.
RETHINKING THE CRISIS OF THE NEGRO INTELLECTUAL • 263
His essays written during the early 1960s represent key texts that informed and
inspired a new generation of black activists. Promoting the idea of “revolutionary
nationalism” as central to black liberation struggles, Cruse’s writings informed
the political development of black nationalism that was explicitly displayed
during the black power movement. Cruse’s personal political activities during
this era provide a prism to view the development of post-war black radicalism. In
the aftermath of his association with the CP Cruse joined a variety of
organizations that focused on the intersection of race, culture, self-determination,
and world affairs. Cruse’s tendentious criticism of black leadership was both
compelling and confounding. At the time, Cruse’s sharp insights were blunted by
the ad hominem nature of his polemics and one-sided political analysis. Despite
these shortcomings, Cruse’s political writing encouraged black political activists
to create institutions and an infrastructure that were worthy of the grandeur of
African American history. Indeed, to Cruse’s great consternation both black and
white leaders had found the African American community to be unworthy of
such an arduous undertaking. However, Cruse overstated the extent to which
black radicals had abdicated their role in building creative cultural and political
vehicles for black liberation. Indeed, organizations that Cruse participated in,
such as the Freedom Now Party, were examples of radical attempts to create
lasting political structures. Similarly, the radical journals that provided Cruse the
bulk of his exposure before the publication of The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual
were part of a radical black public sphere that contributed to the development of
the black power movement.
Perhaps Cruse’s most important contribution was in providing theoretical
momentum for the new wave of black nationalism. Historian Komozi Woodard
has highlighted black nationalism’s impact during this period, noting “The
impact of the New Nationalism on Baraka and the younger writers and artists
was quite dramatic. By building a bridge between the old nationalism and the
new, Malcolm X helped lay the basis in political culture for a black united front
of various classes and social groups that would bond together in the Modern
Black Convention Movement. And under his sway the black urban poor were not
isolated; instead of middle-class reformers on a mission in the ghetto, the poor
would have allies in their struggle for justice and dignity.”97
If Malcolm X served as the political catalyst that allowed diverse groups to
rally around black nationalist discourses, Harold Cruse provided black
nationalism with key concepts and ideas that would be utilized during the black
power era. In short, Cruse’s penetrating writings on the importance of black
nationalism influenced a broad array of activists and cultural workers who would
play significant roles during the era. Reexamining the political and philosophical
journey that culminated in The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual sheds new light
on the development and contestation surrounding postwar black political,
intellectual, and cultural radicalism.
264 • PENIEL E.JOSEPH
Notes
1. See Rod Bush, We Are Not What We Seem: Black Nationalism and Class Struggle
in the American Century (New York: New York University Press, 1999), 155–56;
and Penny M.Von Eschen, Race against Empire: Black Americans and
Anticolonialism, 1937–1957 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1997), 32–37.
2. See Lewis R.Gordon, Her Majesty’s Other Children: Sketches of Racism from a
Neocolonial Age (Lanham, Md.: Rowman and Littlefield, 1997).
3. See Nikhil Pal Singh, “Culture/Wars: Recoding Empire in an Age of Democracy,”
American Historical Review 50, no. 3 (1998): 2–10; and Bush, We Are Not What We
Seem, 155–92.
4. See, for example, Peniel E.Joseph, “Black Liberation without Apology:
Reconceptualizing the Black Power Movement,” Black Scholar 31, no. 3 (2001),
3–19.
5. See Charles Jones, “Reconsidering Panther History: The Untold Story,” in The
Black Panther Party Reconsidered, Ed. Charles Jones (Baltimore: Black Classic
Press, 1998), 1–16.
6. Mohammad Ahmed (Maxwell C.Stanford), interview with the author, December
18,1999.
7. New York Times, November 21,1967.
8. According to Cruse’s political and historical analysis, African Americans have
alternated between adhering to Western (white) ideology or foreign (Carribean)
black ideology, rather than constructing a political practice based on the unique
experiences of black Americans. See Harold Cruse, The Crisis of the Negro
Intellectual (New York: William Morrow, 1967), 115–46.
9. For recent critiques, see, Jerry Gafio Watts, Amiri Baraka: The Politics and the Art
of a Black Intellectual (New York: New York University Press, 2001), 1–7; for a
detailed criticism of Cruse’s depiction of West Indian radicals see Winston James,
Holding Aloft the Banner of Ethiopia: Caribbean Radicalism in Early Twentieth-
Century America (London: Verso, 1998), 262–91. For earlier critiques see, for
example, Julian Mayfield, “Crisis or Crusade: A Challenge to A Bestseller,” 5–6,
Julian Mayfield Papers (hereafter JMP), Box 21, Folder 9, Schomburg Center for
Research in Black Culture, New York Public Library.
10. See Mark Naison, Communists in Harlem during the Depression (Urbana:
University of Illinois Press, 1983).
11. Correspondence, Harold Cruse to unknown person, October 11,1955, Harold Cruse
Papers (hereafter HCP), Box 7, Tamiment Institute, New York University.
12. In tone and anger, aspects of Cruse’s argument were echoed in the writings of
George Padmore. See Padmore, Pan-Africanism or Communism? (London:
Dobson, 1956).
13. Correspondence, Harold Cruse to unknown person, October 11, 1955, HCP,
Box 7.
14. Correspondence, Harold Cruse to unknown person, May 18, 1958, HCP, Box 7.
15. Cruse, Crisis, 228.
16. Watts, Amiri Baraka, 8–10.
17. Ibid., 225–32.
RETHINKING THE CRISIS OF THE NEGRO INTELLECTUAL • 265
18. Cruse had difficulty publishing his polemical essays in leftist publications such as
American Socialist. Correspondence from Harry Braverman to Harold Cruse,
December 3,1956. HCP, Box 7.
19. Harold Cruse, “Bohemia Revisited,” unpublished manuscript, HCP, Box 7.
20. Ibid., 1–20.
21. Cruse, Crisis, 267.
22. Correspondence, Harold Cruse to the Amsterdam News, April 19, 1956, HCP,
Box 7.
23. Ben Keppel, The Work of Democracy: Ralph Bunche, Kenneth B. Clarke, Lorraine
Hansberry, and the Cultural Politics of Race (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard
University Press, 1995), 188–90.
24. Correspondence, Harold Cruse to the New York Post, September 24, 1956, HCP,
Box 7.
25. Correspondence, Harold Cruse to the New York Post, November 11, 1956, HCP,
Box 7.
26. In his autobiography, Amiri Baraka (LeRoi Jones) recalls having first met Cruse in
the late 1950s. Baraka notes that Cruse “was always complaining about how
Broadway producers were turning down musicals he was writing.” See Amiri
Baraka, The Autobiography of Leroi Jones (New York: Lawrence Hill, 1997), 243.
27. In the aftermath of the demise of the Harlem Writers Club in the early 1950s, Cruse
formed a series of short-lived cultural organizations such as the American Negro
Cultural Society. Correspondence, Harold Cruse to Mr. Forde, mid-1950s, HCP,
Box 7. Between 1951 and 1958 Cruse wrote four plays, one musical, an eight-
hundred-page novel, and various articles that remained unpublished. See Harold
Cruse papers May 18, 1958, HCP, Box 7.
28. New York Times, June 28, 1959.
29. Correspondence, Audrey Lyle to Harold Cruse, March 25, 1957, HCP, Box 7.
30. See Timothy B.Tyson, Radio Free Dixie: Robert F.Williams and The Roots of
Black Power (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1999), 226–27.
31. See Watts, Amiri Baraka, 51–54.
32. For an analysis of the impact of this trip see Cynthia Young, “Havana up in Harlem:
LeRoi Jones, Harold Cruse and the Making of a Cultural Revolution,” Science &
Society 65, no. 1 (2001): 12–38.
33. Baraka would later assert that during the trip “The dynamic of revolution had
touched me.” See Baraka, The Autobiography of LeRoi Jones, 246.
34. Harold Cruse, “A Negro Looks at Cuba,” 2, HCP, Box 7.
35. Ibid., 7.
36. Cruse, Crisis, 356.
37. Ibid.
38. Cruse, “A Negro Looks at Cuba,” 15–16, HCP, Box 7.
39. Correspondence, Harry Braverman to Harold Cruse, December 3, 1956, HCP,
Box 7.
40. See Margaret Walker, Richard Wright: Daemonic Genius (New York: Warner
Books, 1988), 274–85.
41. See Presence Africaine 8–10 (1956).
42. Ahmed interview.
43. Cruse, Crisis, 189.
266 • PENIEL E.JOSEPH
44. Winston James goes so far as to describe the book as fitting into the black
nationalist, rather than Marxist, tradition; see James, Holding Aloft the Banner of
Ethiopia, 263.
45. Cruse, “A Negro Looks at Cuba,” 18, HCP, Box 7.
46. See Eugene Genovese, “Black Nationalism and American Socialism: A Comment
on Harold W.Cruse’s Crisis of the Negro Intellectual,” 10–11, unpublished paper
presented at the Socialist Scholars Conference, Rutgers University, September,
1968, HCP, Box 3.
47. Cruse, Crisis, 226–27.
48. Ibid., 356.
49. Ahmed interview; See also Robin D.G.Kelley and Betsey Esch, “Black like Mao:
Red China and Black Revolution,” Souls 1, no. 4 (1999): 12.
50. See Kelley and Esch, “Black like Mo,” 14–15.
51. See Bobby Seale, A Lonely Rage: The Autobiography of Bobby Seale (New York:
Times Books, 1978), 128–30; Ernie Allen, interview, with the author, 4, Spingarn
Center, Howard University.
52. Harold Cruse, “Revolutionary Nationalism and the Afro-American,” Studies On the
Left 2, no. 3 (1962): 12–13.
53. See Maxwell C.Stanford, “Revolutionary Action Movement (RAM): A Case Study
of an Urban Revolutionary Movement in Western Capitalist Society,” M.A. thesis,
Atlanta University, May 1986, 76.
54. Harold Cruse, Rebellion or Revolution? (New York: William Morrow, 1968), 73.
55. Ahmed interview; see also Don Freeman, “Nationalist Student Conference,”
Liberator, July 1964, 18. Cruse’s essays from the Liberator, along with a reply
from Clifton DeBerry, were published as a pamphlet, Marxism and the Negro
Struggle, in 1964.
56. Freeman, “Conference,” 18.
57. Harold Cruse, “Marxism and the Negro,” Liberator, May 1964, 10.
58. Correspondence, Clifton DeBerry to Harold Cruse, May 1, 1964, HCP, Box 7.
59. Correspondence, Harold Cruse to the International Socialist Review, October 23,
1963. Breitman Paper Writing Series (hereafter BPWS), Box 6, Folder 7, Tamiment
Library, New York University.
60. Breitman’s political alliance with Malcolm X during the last year of his life was a
political feather in the party’s cap. The SWP’s organ the Militant reprinted many of
the nationalist leader’s speeches in the aftermath of his break from the Nation of
Islam. See George Breitman, ed., Malcolm X Speaks (New York: Pathfinder,
1989), v–vi.
61. See “Freedom Now: The New Stage in the Struggle for Negro Emancipation and
the Tasks of the SWP,” Socialist Worker Party Papers (hereafter SWPP), Box 9,
Tamiment Library, New York University.
62. Ibid., 31.
63. See Cruse, Crisis, 416–19.
64. Paul Boutelle interview with the author, Spingarn Center, Howard University.
65. Cruse, Crisis, 404.
66. Max Stanford, “Revolutionary Nationalism and the Afro-American Student,”
Liberator, January 1965, 15.
67. See Cruse, Rebellion or Revolution?
68. New York Times, December 29, 1968.
RETHINKING THE CRISIS OF THE NEGRO INTELLECTUAL • 267
FRED MONTAS
African American masses. While the term cultural democracy appears only
momentarily, it defines Cruse’s political agenda for reshaping black
communities.2 Cruse suggests a definition of cultural democracy when he writes,
“In such a [revolutionary] movement in America, whatever the organizational
formula, the basic ingredients must be a synthesis of politics, economics, and
culture, and from the Negro point of view it is the cultural side of the problem
that puts politics and economics into their proper focus within a movement”
(71). By democracy Cruse most likely means black people in a black community
must control their cultural, political, and economic resources. Cruse is much
more concerned with culture than democracy. As a result, his vision of cultural
democracy depends on two factors that undermine its democratic claims: a
nationalist conception of African American identity and a static idealization of
Harlem as the national locus of black American cultural democracy.3
Throughout my adult life, I have observed that the ideas of one particular
stratum of Negroes on such question as race, color, politics, economics,
274 • FRED MONTAS
This ethnic conception of reality and group consciousness provides the psychic
and social roots for cultural democracy. African Americans need a particular
orientation toward each other in order to work toward arranging institutions that
will benefit their communities. Despite Cruse’s qualification that these “ideas are
expressed in many different ways,” it is imperative for blacks to maintain a
“group consciousness.” A few pages later, Cruse continues, “As long as the
Negro’s cultural identity is in question, or open to self-doubts, then there can be
no positive identification with the real demands of his political and economic
existence” (12–13). With this claim, Cruse makes plain his coupling of black
self-recognition and the potential for successful change in the politics and
economics of black communities. “Positive identification” suggests that there is
a realm of experience, behavior, and outlook that define blackness and that triad
emboldens the identity to confront its material circumstances with a nationalist
praxis. In other words, for Cruse, “positive identification” is specific vis à vis
class and culture—it is not enough to be a black leading figure of an African
American community; hence Cruse’s disdain throughout Crisis for the black
middle class and others who he suspects could betray black interests to
encroaching whites.7 These ideas of an ethnic conception of reality, group
consciousness, and positive identification define Cruse’s nationalism and make it
incompatible with a democratic sensibility.
In its pursuit of certainty, nationalism seeks to obscure the limits of one’s
ability to know the world. It does so by requiring its supporters to
question everything but nationalism itself and providing answers for everything
else. With nationalism, the process of self-discovery and its complicated
negotiations with the world are negated by an ideology that would supply each
black person with a prefabricated self-definition. Thus, as nationalism aims to
stabilize and anchor self-understanding, it razes the interrogative terrain between
identity and existence, biography and possibility, facts and questions, that is
Sophocles’ legacy to us. From the nationalist’s perspective, black people need
not ask questions which lead to more questions about ourselves. Instead, we
must ask questions to build permanent boundaries around our sense of who we
are and where we belong.
HOME TO HARLEM • 275
hold that the separate existence of each realm reinforces their virtues. In the
homeless condition, one is consigned to being a wanderer who hopes to cease
wandering in order to lay a stake to something of one’s own and enjoy some sort
of existential certainty. If the homeless attempt to define themselves, it is in
terms of the home they seek.
The plight of the placeless is more severe. Not only is the placeless person
without a home, he also has no hope for one. It is a state of being entirely
unsettled, of being a purposeless wanderer. If we accept the idea that philosophy
negotiates the condition of homelessness, placelessness has no such existential
(or instrumental) guide marks. Whereas homelessness suggests the absence of
connections to other people through the domicile and, by extension, through
property and gendered connotations of “home,” placelessness does not recognize
such social ties or implications. The placeless may be understood as a group—
for example, African Americans, but as a placeless people, they do not approach
their condition as involving any kind of mutual recognition that could undo the
fact of their placelessness. The placeless person is radically isolated. The
philosopher’s ideas are of no use to him.
As it eludes comprehension, this boundless condition of displacement infuses
a deathly quality to the daily lives of many Harlemites. Without understanding
where they are, they exist in a state as enigmatic and unanswerable as death
itself. George Steiner helps us understand the inconclusive nature of interpreting
both phenomena, writing, “Only death is beyond discourse, and that, “strictly
non-speaking,” is its meaning so far as its meaning is accessible to us. It is only
in reference to death that the great ante-chamber of liturgical, theological,
metaphysical and poetic simile or metaphor—that of “return,” “resurrection,”
“salvation,” “last sleep”—leads nowhere (which does not signify that the journey
is vain).”14 Following Steiner’s lead, the metaphor provided by Ellison’s
Harlemites implies that when you are nowhere, you are dead. For our purposes,
Steiner’s argument suggests that the problem of placelessness and the politics of
African American displacement are beyond definition. That is, we may recognize
that we are nowhere, but the only thing comparable to it, in being similarly
nameless, is death. Placelessness is but one manifestation of the living state of
the African American proximity to death, a condition that emerged from their
fundamental exclusion, like no other social group, from the first guarantee of the
United States to its citizens, the right to life.15 Ellison’s Harlemites who said
“Man, I’m nowhere” might as well have uttered “Man, I’m dead.”
Cruse sought to overcome this African American sense of isolation and
death.16 But in The Crisis, as in most nationalist works, the condition of Harlem
as nowhere inspires a search for a home that is no place. That is, the instability
that accompanies dislocation leads to a desire for stability that, as a fixed utopian
idea, provides security and comfort but remains largely unavailable. There are
many varieties of utopian aspirations, some of which can provide wonderful
visions of openness and possibility, and others that function as lottery jackpot
fantasies, panacean reveries of fixed and happy outcomes that work against the
HOME TO HARLEM • 281
realization of open-ended aspirations and instead close them off, in keeping with
the hermetic visions that inspired them. Cruse’s utopian vision belongs to the
latter category. It is one-dimensional and monochrome. Through his
hypostatization of community life, Cruse offers a Harlem that is true to the
etymological roots of utopia from the Greek combining forms eu-, u-, and
-topos, the good place that is no place.
Cruse describes Harlem in 1967 as “a social disaster area, a dehumanized desert
of mass society in black” (443). Nevertheless, Harlem is important to Cruse
because it is “the Negro’s strongest bastion in America from which to launch
whatever group effort he is able to mobilize for political power, economic
rehabilitation, and cultural reidentification” (12). Harlem is central to the
nationwide development of black communities because of the cultural issues that
arise there.17 According to Cruse, only in Harlem are these three factors so
readily available for their necessary confluence toward black community
development. Without a cultural perspective, black communities have endured
“disintegration” and “backwardness.” With white owners of theaters and clubs
dictating the availability and distribution of black culture in Harlem, that
community suffered a “cultural decline” following the Renaissance which was
“but a prolonged prelude to its ultimate degradation” (88).
So, how does Cruse propose to elevate Harlem? All of his recommendations
depend on the redistribution of its private property.” [The dominant Harlem
classes] wanted…to assume absolute control of Harlem affairs in economics,
politics, and culture, but they could not. The underlying reason was the very
question they dared not, and did not, openly debate—property relations in
Harlem between black and white,” he notes. More important, he adds, “was the
cultural alienation of [the Harlem bourgeoisie] from their Negro mass ideology.
It was this flaw that specifically weakened their struggle against white property
owners” (80). Property relations must be changed in accordance with a
particularly black, ethnic perspective in order for black communities to be
rehabilitated: “[Private property] must be challenged wherever it is found to be in
conflict with the democratic groups needs and aspirations of Negroes inside the
ghettoes. It comes down to the basic question of who owns the ghetto and profits
from it” (316). Toward this end, “A social movement of combined forces in
Harlem must press relentlessly for Harlem autonomy in politics, economics,
and culture. The first step towards economic autonomy must be in the nature of a
Harlem-wide boycott that will wrest ownership of all cultural institutions
(theaters, halls, club sites, and movie houses) out of the hands of private, outside
concerns, for the key idea is cultural institutions (theaters, halls, club sites, and
movie houses) owned and administered by the people of Harlem; they must
become nationalized, operated, and administered for the educational and cultural
benefit of the Harlem community, under the control of Harlem community-wide
citizens’ planning commissions” (86–87; Cruse’s emphasis).
Harlemites must control their neighborhood so that the resources that would
improve the daily lives of its residents would stay within it. Resting on a
282 • FRED MONTAS
And the “average Harlemite” shouldn’t even think about it. Liberation inside the
community, through cultural democracy, would occur in a ready-made place but
it was just as far off. Harlem, pure and black, would provide the limits of its
members’ knowledge of the world and make that knowledge seem boundless.
Cruse’s nationalist project localizes and domesticates African Americans in
order to simultaneously limit the range of their experiences and offer them
unlimited knowledge of the world: Live this way and I will tell you everything
you need to know to get along in the world, he seems to say. This is
nationalism’s oedipal complex, the delusion of African American omniscience
that fashions blacks after both God and our oppressors in their certainty of the
world. This omniscience would be a great wall of knowledge protecting Harlem
from the world beyond and calling the American black nation home to find
freedom there.
The idea of a home is an inadequate response to the problem of placelessness.
Cruse’s ten-point program to liberate the average Harlemite where she is
understands freedom as living without suffering for being black, which can only
occur in an all-black context (88–89). Every wish for a home seeks this quality
of acceptance, to live without being hurt for who we are. At home, ideally, we
can be authentically who we are without being punished for it. In advocating
HOME TO HARLEM • 283
these proposals, Cruse aspires to have blacks build a home in Harlem, to have a
stake in where they live, and establish that measure of stability and security
people feel in the place they call home. These goals aspire to shape Harlem as
the site for blackness to flourish, where African Americans will thrive through the
proper (i.e., black) management and direction of institutions.18 Nationalism’s
major shortcoming is not that such goals have persistently failed both before and
since 1967. It is that such a worldview depends on living with complete failure
and denies the possibility of negotiating defeat democratically.
The idea of a home is an inadequate response to the problem of placelessness.
The physical home Cruse has envisioned is a static utopia arising from the
secluded no places of our collective imaginations, where African Americans feel
safe and prosper. This psychic home, in turn, inspires a retreat from public
engagement by closing off the capacity to imagine, debate, and participate in an
open-ended future. Both of these homes are sustained by an ideology of total
success or defeat, one that has marred African American political thought,
particularly its nationalist strains. Placelessness burdens those who live with it to
confront defeat not as a loss but as a condition that promotes ambivalence. In one
important respect, Oedipus and Cruse are opposed: Oedipus’s “crime of being”
erases essential, identifying distinctions while Cruse, as a nationalist, preserves
them. Neither, however, engages ambivalence because they are attached to an
idea of certainty that only understands the past and the future in terms of success
and failure, victory and defeat. Living with defeat, nationalists are nostalgic both
for a past beyond recuperation and for a future that won’t be in a vain attempt to
banish black ambivalence.
W.E.B.DuBois’s idea of double consciousness, of a black mind split between
a black and white world, has become the paradigmatic term for black
ambivalence. This interpretation is adequate only if we understand that mind that
thinks, loves, and imagines as though, in being both black and white, it is both
dead and alive. Confronting this state of suspension between life and death is the
great task facing black intellectuals. Contra Steiner, death is not “beyond
discourse”; black intellectuals must define the terms of death that dictate African
American life in the United States. This is an explicitly political task, one that
must be carried out in conjunction with the honest witness of ordinary black
Americans to life’s contingency. Black cultural expressions certainly
illuminate the terms of black death, but these terms demand a state-centered
critique and organized response that respects the individuality of responses to the
black proximity to death. This kind of respect demands that we be democratic in
our worldview and praxis as we imagine and mobilize toward a future where the
tensions between difference and equality are not matters of life and death.
Bringing death to light in this way must address the problem of race and
citizenship not rhetorically but politically, not strictly in terms of daily
frustrations and fears but in terms of the basic principles of American
governance.
284 • FRED MONTAS
Notes
Twenty pages later, Cruse continues this theme, “What lurks behind the
disabilities and inhibitions of the Negro creative intellectuals is the handicap of the
black bourgeoisie. Unless this class is brought into the cultural situation and forced
to carry out its responsibilities on a community, organizational, and financial level,
the cultural side of the black revolution will be retarded. The snail’s pace of
bourgeois civil rights reform, and white power-structure manipulation, will
combine to stall it indefinitely. The problem of cultural leadership, then, is not only
a problem of the faulty orientation of the Negro creative intellectuals; it is also a
problem of the reeducation of the black bourgeoisie, especially its new, younger
strata” (111).
8. Cruse’s fear of Harlem, or significant parts of it, being extirpated was not
necessarily paranoid. San Juan Hill, which had been a large black community in
Manhattan’s Upper West Side, was razed to create Lincoln Center and luxury
housing complexes. Highway construction in Brooklyn, Queens, and the Bronx
required the dislocation of thousands of poor black and Latino families in those
boroughs. Robert Moses, who was responsible for many of these developments,
studiously avoided developing any parks, complexes, or highways in Harlem. See
Robert Caro, The Power Broker: Robert Moses and the Fall of New York (New
York: Knopf, 1974) and Marshall Berman, All That Is Solid Melts into Air: The
Experience of Modernity (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1982). On the other
hand, as is well known, integration would not hold when blacks moved into
previously white neighborhoods; residents fled to the still-white suburbs. See
Douglas Massey and Nancy Denton, American Apartheid: Segregation and the
Making of the American Underclass (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University
Press, 1993).
9. Cruse continues by writing about the etiology of such a mood and the problems
associated with relying on it for a political outlook and program. It contains
prescient and still relevant criticisms of emotive, cathartic nationalism and is worth
quoting at length:
The discussions above and below show how Cruse’s arguments are themselves
susceptible to some of the criticisms he aims at the nihilistic nationalist mood.
10. Ralph Ellison, “Harlem is Nowhere” in Shadow and Act (1964; reprint New York:
Vintage, 1972), 296. This essay was originally written for the 1948 edition of
Magazine of the Year but it remained unpublished until its appearance in Shadow
and Act.
11. Ibid., 297; Ellison’s emphasis.
12. Ibid., 300.
13. Anyone who said, “Man, I’m nowhere,” most likely signified, or exaggerated, the
symptoms of dis-ease expressed by this statement, which Ellison, in turn, used to
illuminate a largely inarticulate response to racial subordination in the north and
south.
14. George Steiner, Real Presences (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1989),
88–89.
15. I am exploring this theme in my doctoral thesis, “The Color of Death: Blackness
and the Idea of Freedom in African-American Thought,” Department of
Government, Cornell University, in progress.
16. Even as Cruse claimed the prevalence of a mass nationalist ideology (4,6), this
ideology was not enough to move ethnic group consciousness to the kind of cultural
self-recognition or, in his words, “positive identification” that could form the basis
of the mass action Cruse thought was necessary.
17. Cruse analyzes a film projectionists’ strike at the Lafayette Theater in 1926 to
elucidate the centrality of (1) culture to the political and economic crises of black
communities and (2), Harlem as a community that is uniquely capable of satisfying
this triangular strategy of community development. The strike arose from “the
impact of the developing American cultural apparatus on the economics, the
politics, [and] the creative and social development of the black community” (81,
HOME TO HARLEM • 287
Cruse’s emphasis). See Crisis, pp. 73–83 for details of the strike. Cruse assigns
great importance to the strike, claiming that the failures surrounding it doomed
Harlem for the subsequent forty years. To agree with Cruse on this point requires a
conspiratorial leap of faith.
18. Cruse’s conception of the new Harlem is driven by concerns of equality and
justice; one is tempted to describe it as an elaboration of the cultural basis of
equality and justice in the United States, but this characterization would be
inaccurate. Cruse conceives black communities in terms of their positions and
resources relative to white communities, so his political and economic goals are a
way of establishing and preserving the equality and justice experienced by stable,
bourgeois and working-class, white communities. Thus even, with their quest for
autonomy, the goals are determined by looking outside black communities. This
looking out in order to define that which ought to be within typifies efforts to
rectify the experience of displacement among African Americans. In addition, it
contains an obvious contradiction that reveals the futility of Cruse’s arguments to
establish ethnic group autonomy and consciousness: blacks cannot be autonomous
as they look to nonblack communities to determine the standards that black
communities ought to achieve.
288
16
Cruse’s Dismissal of African
American Liberalism
JERRY G.WATTS
Harold Cruse’s The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual can be endlessly mined for
insights into the political trajectories of various historical formations within the
twentieth-century African American intelligentsia. Cruse’s formulations have
inspired legions of scholars to reflect on the intellectual and artistic projects of
twentieth-century black intellectuals. The text is perhaps best described as a
focal point for reflections and analyses of the political significance of various
twentieth-century black intellectual creative thrusts. Unsurprisingly, any study
like Cruse’s, which attempts to provide definitive judgments on a wide span of
black intellectual and artistic projects, is bound to be riddled with unevenness,
rash judgments and even blatant ignorances. Yet, the boldness of Cruse’s
argument, its very dogmatism no less, makes it a rich focal point of debate.
One major oversight in The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual is the absence of a
serious consideration of the politics of liberal African American intellectuals
during the twentieth century. Such a consideration would have not only
necessitated engagements with some of the major African American liberal
theorists and political activists of the twentieth century but would have
demanded that liberalism as embraced by blacks be analyzed in terms of its
historical relevance to black political advancement during the twentieth century.
Cruse could not have pursued such an analysis without first situating African
American liberalism within the various historical contexts in which it arose,
flourished, and floundered. Only then could Cruse have discussed
the comparative viability of liberalism versus other ideological approaches to
black advancement. Mistakenly, Cruse analyzed African American liberalism
and various other black intellectual agendas as if black intellectuals were
confronted with an unlimited range of feasible ideological options at any given
time. Instead of trying to discern why African American intellectuals adopted a
specific ideological posture, Cruse merely informs us that the ones they usually
adopted were not in the best interest of African American emancipation.
Blatantly dismissive of African American liberalism, Cruse routinely assigns
African American liberal intellectuals to the dust bin of confused integrationists.
To the extent that liberalism is deemed to be reformist and not revolutionary,
Cruse implies that the liberalism championed by African American intellectuals-
constituted an embrace of the hegemonic status quo, albeit with minor variations.
290 • JERRY G.WATTS
programs that expanded under Roosevelt’s New Deal. This expansion of the
welfare state was seen as a potentially ameliorative policy profile that could help
to stimulate black economic inclusion in the face of the racism that dominated
the “normal” workings of the private sector. In this regard, A.Philip Randolph’s
threat to lead a 1941 march on Washington provided sufficient impetus for
President Roosevelt to issue Executive Order 8802 which created the Fair
Employment Practices Committee (FEPC) and prohibited racist hiring practices
in defense industries.13 That Roosevelt was able to directly mandate change in
the employment practices of private industries working on government contracts
gave rise to the belief that executive power could be utilized in an even far more
sweeping manner. Of course, African American liberalism would once again
learn that like constitutional amendments, executive orders meant little when
they were not enforced.
The third tendency that led African American liberalism to support an activist
federal government presence stemmed from the belief that the federal legal
system was much more attuned to issues of racial justice than the judiciary
systems of local and state jurisdictions. Though southern state courts had to be
used to combat certain forms of legally mandated segregation and racial
inequality, the NAACP lawyers maintained greater trust in federal courts.14 It
was thought that federal judges were more immune to local public opinion.
Moreover, federal law, as expressed in the Fourteenth Amendment, was seen as
potentially more responsive to the idea of equal black citizenship than any
clauses contained in individual southern state constitutions.15 This hope existed
despite the Supreme Court historical willingness to ignore the Fourteenth
Amendment in its 1896 Plessy v. Ferguson decision and others that followed.
The final tendency of African American liberalism was an inarticulate but
resilient belief that the interventions of an activist government in the affairs of
black Americans could, at some future point, became ameliorative in content.
The seeds of thought that would later give rise to popular support for affirmative
action for blacks was present long before affirmative action emerged as a
national policy. Perhaps borrowing from the precedent of Reconstruction’s
proclamations about “forty acres and a mule,” many blacks believed that the
federal government would have to go beyond strict legal equality if blacks were
ever to attain a fair chance at succeeding in America. Equal opportunity might
necessitate activist state interventions on behalf of blacks. This idea was rarely
invoked in pre-1960s public articulations of African American liberalism for the
very fact that black advocates believed that there was little or no popular
support, among whites, for such an intervention at that moment. At that time, the
primary goal was equality before law. Once de jure equality was obtained,
African American liberalism began to concentrate its push for more substantive
economic and political equality and in so doing viewed the federal government
as a mechanism that could be used toward this end. Federal intervention on
behalf of substantive black political and economic inclusion would reach its
height during the Great Society programs of Lyndon Johnson.16
CRUSE’S DISMISSAL OF AFRICAN AMERICAN LIBERALISM • 295
By the 1930s, some black political figures began to view state intervention in
the marketplace as a potential mechanism for black advancement. In this sense,
most of those blacks who could vote (primarily non-Southern blacks) became
supporters of Roosevelt’s New Deal by 1936. As historian Nancy Weiss and
others have argued, this black voter shift away from their traditional allegiance to
the party of Lincoln was stimulated by their participation in some of the New
Deal’s efforts to relieve the worse deprivations of the depression.20 Herein
begins the black American linkages to the growth of the American welfare state
and the Democratic Party. As was the case with large sectors of the white
intelligentsia, the response of the New Deal to the Great Depression energized
black liberal thought and resolve.21
When Franklin Delano Roosevelt ran for the presidency in 1932, the black
electorate did not consider him an ally of their cause. While they knew that
Hoover was not committed to doing anything substantive to advance their plight,
Roosevelt was thought of as a patrician northerner who could hardly have cared
less about racism. According to Weiss, following his election, black leaders (ie.
Walter White of the NAACP) were continually rebuffed by Roosevelt. He could
not find time to meet with them.22 Nevertheless black political organizations and
newspapers bombarded the administration and the public at large with a common
racial agenda. Describing this common black political agenda, Weiss notes:
“They looked to Washington for action. Speak out on racial problems, they
counseled the new President. Put an end to segregation and discrimination in
governmental departments, the civil service, and the military. Appoint more
blacks to diplomatic positions and federal offices. Enforce the Fourteenth and
Fifteenth Amendments. Restore the franchise to blacks. Put an end to Jim Crow
in interstate travel. Support legislation to make lynching a federal crime. Treat
blacks even handedly in the distribution of federal aid. Count blacks in on
programs to bolster the economic security of the American people.”23 Their pleas
fell on deaf ears. Establishmentarian American liberalism as embodied in
Roosevelt and his New Deal did not include white antiblack racism as a major
concern for social and political redress. Moreover, it did not consider the status of
blacks in the United States as an issue of national importance. A Roosevelt
administration spokesperson noted, “‘When Roosevelt came in 1933 there were
many more things to worry about than what happened to civil rights…. We
weren’t concerned with civil rights because there was so much more to worry
about’”24 Worse, the New Deal openly supported white supremacy in the South.
Some scholars have attempted to rationalize Roosevelt’s endorsement of white
supremacy by proclaiming his tactical need to maintain the electoral support of
the white South. Yet there was no reason to assume that Roosevelt ever cared
sufficiently about the impact of white supremacy on black lives. Other scholars
have attempted to elevate the first lady, Eleanor Roosevelt, to a semipresidential
status in matters of race, by claiming that President Roosevelt addressed the
Negro problem through his wife. This is patently nonsense. Mrs. Roosevelt did
not have the political clout to impact public policies that directly affected the
CRUSE’S DISMISSAL OF AFRICAN AMERICAN LIBERALISM • 297
More militant political thinkers and activists like Bob Moses and Fanner Lou
Hammer were surprised and disgusted by Rustin’s willingness to compromise
with white supremacy. They retained their assertive African American liberalism
and thus rejected the insulting compromise. Gradualism was the calling card of
the moderate African American liberal. Such persons believed that they could
effect change just by being present and active in organizations with whites. Their
sights were usually set on gaining minute victories.
In some instances, blacks were forced to stylistically embrace moderate
African American liberalism in order to navigate a racist social order. For
instance, crude pragmatists were found disproportionately among the ranks of
those blacks who presided over state-funded black colleges during the first five
decades of the twentieth century. Placed in a position of trying to obtain funding
from southern governors and legislators intent on maintaining their institutions
as second rate, black college presidents were forced to collude in racist practices
and rituals in order to obtain funding. Yet there were always black college
presidents who tried to push legislatures and governors to increase the funding.
Others acted content to receive whatever they were given. The distinction
between moderate African American liberalism and militant African American
liberalism lies in quality of the contestation of the racist social order.
The other strain of African American liberalism is the one that I call assertive
African American liberalism. Throughout the twentieth century there were
liberal black intellectuals who rejected the pragmatic logic of always choosing the
lesser of two evils. These African American liberal intellectuals used their
liberalism as a wedge against the system. They were not opposed to engaging in
fights that they believed they would lose provided the fight championed the
equality of black people. One such figure was lawyer and later judge William
Hastie. Another figure in this tradition was urbanist and later Secretary of the
Department of Housing and Urban Development Robert Weaver. Hastie and
Weaver were two prominent members of Roosevelt’s “black cabinet.” Hastie
was appointed as Negro affairs adviser to the Secretary of War, Henry L.Stimson,
during World War II but resigned his post when it became clear that the federal
government had no interest in addressing the systematic mistreatment of black
soldiers. He was not willing to allow himself to be used as a disempowered
symbol for a policy that did not exist.35
The ranks of practitioners of assertive African American liberalism
included figures like Monroe Trotter;36 Kenneth and Mamie Clark; Thurgood
Marshall and an entire cadre of black NAACP lawyers; sociologists like Horace
Mann Bond;37 Ira deA.Reid and Charles G.Gomillion;38 political scientists like
John Aubrey Davis, Martin L.Kilson, and Charles Hamilton; activists like James
Farmer,39 James Foreman, Ella Baker, Julian Bond, Joyce Ladner, and the early
Rustin; Mordecai Johnson, president of Howard University;40 historians like
Rayford Logan;41 educators like Anna Julia Cooper and Benjamin Mays;42
lawyer and feminist activist Pauli Murray;43 and Judge Leon Higginbotham.
CRUSE’S DISMISSAL OF AFRICAN AMERICAN LIBERALISM • 301
To simply claim that these people were acting in partnership with the
American racial status quo would be a distortion of immense proportions.
Though they were not revolutionaries, they were quite militant in their struggle
for black emancipation. Moreover, given the pervasiveness of white racism, they
were quite radical insofar as they defended black equality.
Carolina, prior to his dismissal from the organization because of his advocacy of
armed self-defense.55
Despite individual successes at organizing in various southern black
communities, the national NAACP distrusted mass politics. This distrust was a
crucial weakness of the NAACP’s political philosophy for it was, in effect, a
hidden mistrust of democracy. Moreover, the national office’s unwillingness to
ever embrace radical political articulations led the organization into a myopia in
which it appeared to believe that social change could be managed from a top-
down approach. Certainly, Thurgood Marshall was imprisoned in this utterly
naive belief. It led him to declare, following the Brown decision, that the end of
racial segregation was on the immediate horizon. Soon he would learn that the
cultural struggle to elevate the status of blacks in the mind of mainstream
America would have to take a different approach than one premised on merely
altering the laws.
Given the dominant pragmatic core to African American political thought, how
has black nationalism retained popular appeal? The most perplexing aspects of
black nationalism as a political organizing strategy or even utopian goal, lies not
merely in its inability to develop realpolitik strategies for black emancipation but
in its enduring popularity despite its weak track record of accomplishments.
Black nationalist theorists like Cruse mistakenly believe that a black nationalist
project could have been viable in the absence of equal protection before the law
for blacks. Ida Wells would learn the limits of such claims early in her life when
two friends of hers who had opened and successfully operated a hardware store
were killed and their store burned to the ground precisely because the white
community of Memphis perceived the success of these black store owners as
detrimental to their own competing businesses.56 Without legal protection, black
self-help strategies (à la successful black businesses) were vulnerable to white
racist demolition.
African American liberalism certainly had many weaknesses. Yet, to the extent
that it emerged out of the give and take of realpolitik limitations and constraints
of the American political and economic arena, it cannot be compared to utopian
visions of a black nationalist minded collectivist Harlem as described by Cruse in
The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual. Herein lies a problem with Cruse. Though
his writing is historically informed, he fails to contextualize black political
thought and activities. As such, at no point in Cruse’s discussions concerning the
various failures of previous generations of black intellectuals is there any real
consideration of the limited options confronting them at any given time. Instead,
Cruse writes as if black intellectuals conceived political strategies de novo.
Cruse implies that integration was not in the self-interest of black Americans.
He believes that African American thinkers misunderstood America insofar
as they did not see it as a country devised of separate ethnic groups. Cruse’s
black nationalism is merely a form of cultural pluralism. He believes that all
groups should be allowed to develop and control their own ethnic neighborhoods,
304 • JERRY G.WATTS
and so on. Ironically, what Cruse calls black nationalism is, in some respects,
orthodox American ethnic politics.
Cruse’s inability to systematically critique African American liberalism in a
nuanced fashion has not been the source of a sustained criticism of the text. This
gaping weakness in the Cruse text has been overlooked because it was a
conceptual error shared by many black intellectuals during the era immediately
following the demise of the civil rights movement. By the late 1960s the
dominant ideologies within black protest communities viewed African American
liberalism as a failed ideological approach because of the way that mainstream
liberalism was implemented within the political culture of the United States. It
would be similar to proclaiming democracy a failed ideal because it has never
been completely implemented in the United States. Worse, Cruse and his
followers did not recognize the existence of African American liberalism as
constituting a strain of thought distinct from mainstream American liberalism.
The emergence of black power rhetorics replaced invocations of the “beloved
community.” Curiously, black power rhetorics were often a hodgepodge of
various black nationalist ideas, all of which probably only shared a disdain for
African American liberalism. Substantively, black power was in many instances
little more than an unacknowledged extension of African American liberalism.
For instance, the highly influential book Black Power, written by Stokley
Carmichael and Charles Hamilton, was an African American liberal text that
utilized militant rhetoric.57
Cruse conflates liberalism with integrationism and integrationism with
assimilation. This linkage is both correct and wrong. First, to the extent that
African American liberalism was premised on a desire for blacks to receive
equal treatment within the public and private economic spheres, it did explicitly
dovetail with the quest for integrationism. The NAACP could have fought for the
implementation of Plessy v. Ferguson instead of its repeal. In practice, liberal
equality had to endorse the end of legally mandated racial segregation. After all,
blacks wanted the chance to work in businesses, factories, and retail outlets that
were owned by whites or primarily staffed by white workers. Whether these
were locally owned business establishments or national chains like the A & P, or
even larger organizations like General Motors, blacks wanted access to jobs that
they had historically been denied access to because of their racial identity.
Without the integrationism of unions, black workers would be denied access to
many stable working-class jobs. Organizing separate black unions would not have
facilitated black job mobility. Integrationism as a strategy to obtain greater
access to a broader job market was often ignored in post-civil rights era
condemnations of integrationism as a political strategy.
Without integrating the labor market, black workers would be severely
constrained. But, Cruse mistakenly gives short shrift to the economic analyses of
black nationalism and integrationism. By sidestepping a materialist analysis of
the African American politico-economic plight, Cruse writes as if black
intellectuals primarily needed to devise the correct ideology on matters of culture
CRUSE’S DISMISSAL OF AFRICAN AMERICAN LIBERALISM • 305
which would then shed light on all other issues. Yet, he overlooks the fact that
black nationalism as a political ideology can only be viable once integrationism
has occurred in the labor force. Claims for the necessity of a “separatist” black
economy were thoroughly unrealistic. Moreover, Cruse, the black nationalist,
could easily reconcile his cultural ideology with his own employment at the
University of Michigan, an employment possibility that resulted from
integrationist agitation. In much the same way, members of the League of
Revolutionary Black Workers were employed in white owned automobile
iIndustry. Even the Nation of Islam had assumed that most of its members would
be employed by white-owned firms (at least until that future time when their
members could all be employed in Nation of Islam businesses).
The fight to integrate mainstream workplaces helped to fuel the growth of a
stable black working class and a black middle class. Blacks who migrated to
northern industrial areas from the rural South had to become sufficiently
acculturated to an industrial order. But this is weak assimilation and not the type
condemned by Cruse. What Cruse is opposing is the quest on the part of some
blacks to model themselves culturally on white Americans. These blacks, he
believes, are trying to culturally lose whatever might popularly identity them as
“Negroes.” Worse, in so doing, they often chose to distance themselves as much
as possible from their “culturally crude” poorer ethnic peers. Cruse’s analysis owes
a tremendous debt to E.Franklin Frazier’s polemic Black Bourgeoisie.58 Frazier
had written a scathing diatribe against the attitudes and behavior of the black
middle class. Frazier argued that middle-class blacks were caught in a world of
“make-believe.” These blacks were not only engaged in conspicuous
consumption but utterly immersed in vacuous rituals and practices that
reinforced their status of being “unlike the other blacks.”
But Cruse should have known that the world of make-believe was not the
dominant form of ethnic consciousness present within the black middle classes.
As Oliver Cox has argued, Frazier was wrong to suggest that the typical member
of the black middle class was obsessed with a life of consumerist “make-
believe.”59 Yes, bourgeois blacks often went to great lengths to divorce
themselves socially and economically from their lower-class peers. But even
many of those among the black middle classes who engaged in such status-
differentiation practices were still committed to ethnic group uplift.60 Perhaps
this sheds light on Cruse’s less than substantial treatment of DuBois in The
Crisis of the Negro Intellectual. DuBois, the hypereducated, Eurocentric, would-
be aristocrat, maintained throughout his life a strong ethnic consciousness. He
dedicated his entire life to black advancement.
Among his diatribes against integrationism, Cruse erroneously associates
support for integrationism with the absence of ethnic self-assertion. One can be
quite ethnic in consciousness and fight for racial integration. Mistakenly, Cruse
argues as if there is a contradiction between ethnic consciousness and a rejection
of black nationalism. He generalizes too much from his limited knowledge of the
Communist Party and the NAACP. In both instances, Cruse collapses the
306 • JERRY G.WATTS
substance of their political visions and instead proclaims them similar because
they supported racial integrationism.
Conclusion
The problem with liberalism is multifaceted. On the one hand, African American
liberalism as a political philosophy was never completely embraced by the
realpolitik of liberalism in American politics. Liberalism, as defined by Franklin
Delano Roosevelt through John F.Kennedy, never staunchly advocated equal
citizenship rights for blacks. As the dominant American political ideology after
World War II, liberalism was an ideology of gradual change and relatively
passive state intervention in behalf of black political inclusion. This would all
change, albeit momentarily during the presidency of Lyndon Johnson. Within his
Great Society, the rhetorics of African American liberalism were explicitly
embraced and utilized as legitimating mechanisms for the federal government.61
Herein lies the historic problem with black intellectuals who embraced
liberalism. Many of these individuals became intertwined with the realpolitik of
liberal politics in American society. Perhaps the most explicit examples of this
relinquishing of a critical liberal perspective were figures like Walter White,
Bayard Rustin, and Roy Wilkins. Many black Americans, including black
intellectuals, became so thoroughly enmeshed in the realpolitik of Democratic
Party liberalism that they lost much of their critical perspective. In so doing they
relinquished African American liberalism for mainstream American liberalism.
The realpolitik constraints on blacks and black intellectuals must be taken into
account when assessing the success or failure of African American liberalism.
First, insofar as the Roosevelt administration had established a winning electoral
coalition by explicitly sacrificing the citizenship rights of southern blacks, there
was no electoral pressure to generate activist interventions on behalf of black
civil rights. Roosevelt’s crude pragmatic logic not only displayed a lack of moral
courage, but was far more tentative than his popularity could have supported.
There was no reason to assume that Roosevelt could not have been elected to a
second or third term had he taken a more militant attitude toward a recalcitrant
white South. Simply put, Roosevelt chose not to run any risks on behalf of black
Americans.
What remains somewhat fascinating is that African American liberalism never
quite caved in to Roosevelt as he would have desired. The political logic of
African American liberalism understood that the success of their mission would
necessitate the destruction of the Roosevelt-New Deal political coalition. The
presidency of Harry S Truman was the first Democratic administration to run any
risks in behalf of embracing African American liberalism.62 In response to
Truman’s civil rights initiatives, the Democratic solid South created the
“Dixiecrat” movement, which almost cost Truman the election of 1948.
Undoubtedly, African American liberalism hit a major impasse in the
aftermath of the legal and political victories of the civil rights movement. It was
CRUSE’S DISMISSAL OF AFRICAN AMERICAN LIBERALISM • 307
at that point that the limitations of African American liberalism became more
evident. Yet, African American liberalism remains a political idea that generates
a vision of society that is far more humane than the one we currently live in and
the one celebrated by presidents during the past twenty-five years. While it has
limitations, African American liberalism has not become exhausted.
Notes
12. In some respects, the antilynching campaign of Ida Wells-Barnett during the early
twentieth century was premised on this black liberal belief that non-Southern
whites of good will could intervene in behalf of blacks provided their consciences
were pricked. Wells also traveled throughout Europe, where she sought the
intervention of white non-Americans. For an overview of the political project and
ideological appeal of Ida Wells-Barnett see Mildred I. Thompson, Ida B.Wells-
Barnett: An Exploratory Study of an American Black Woman, 1893–1930,
(Brooklyn, NY: Carlson, 1990).
13. For a discussion of Roosevelt and the March on Washington movement of 1941,
see Russell L.Riley, The Presidency and the Politics of Racial Inequality: Nation-
Keeping from 1831 to 1965 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1999), 145–54.
14. In addition, to fight in the federal courts was sensible given the limited resources of
the NAACP. Local fights in state and local courts would only result in local
remedies. Certainly the NAACP could not challenge racism in the courts of every
racist city, town, and county in the South.
15. See Mark V.Tushnet, The NAACP’s Legal Strategy against Segregated Education,
1925–1950 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1987), for a
discussion of the assumptions that pervaded the NAACP’s legal strategy. See also
Jack Greenberg, Crusaders in the Courts: How a Dedicated Band of Lawyers
Fought for the Civil Rights Revolution, (New York: Basic Books, 1994).
16. See James C.Harvey, Black Civil Rights during the Johnson Administration
(Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 1973) and Philip A.Klinker with Rogers
M.Smith, The Unsteady March: The Rise and Decline of Racial Equality in
America (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1999), esp. chapter 8.
17. It is interesting to note that a contemporary attempt to revamp mainstream
American liberalism without its most blatant forms of racism has surfaced in the
response of many white intellectuals to black assertiveness in the post Civil Rights
era. Jim Sleeper’s The Closest of Strangers: Liberalism and the Politics of Race in
New York (New York: W.W.Norton, 1990) and Liberal Racism (New York: Viking,
1997) are examples of a white liberal’s efforts to reestablish a mainstream
liberalism that does not include blacks as a justifiable special claimant group on
American resources. Sleeper writes as if white Americans, including the urban
white working classes, are racial egalitarians in waiting—waiting, that is, for the
moment when blacks cease to be politicized as blacks. It is a rather shallow
argument and indicates more of a wish in Sleeper’s psyche than a realpolitik
proposal that anyone should take seriously.
18. For an excellent study of African American liberalism, see Dona Cooper Hamilton
and Charles V.Hamilton, The Dual Agenda: Race and Social Welfare Policies of
Civil Rights Organizations (New York: Columbia University Press, 1997).
19. Important commentaries on the political thought of Booker T.Washington include
Meier, Negro Thought in America, Rayford Logan, The Betrayal of the Negro:
From Rutherford B. Hayes to Woodrow Wilson, (New York: Da Capo Press, 1997);
Wilson Moses, The Golden Age of Black Nationalism: 1850–1925, (New York:
Oxford University Press, 1988); William Toll, The Resurgence of Race: Black
Social Theory from Reconstruction to the Pan-African Conferences (Philadelphia:
Temple University Press, 1979); and, of course, the two-volume, Louis Harlan
biography of Washington, Louis Harlan, Booker T. Washington: The Making of a
Black Leader, 1856–1901 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1972); Louis
CRUSE’S DISMISSAL OF AFRICAN AMERICAN LIBERALISM • 309
Rustin and the Civil Rights Movement (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University
Press, 2000) are overtly sympathic to Rustin’s moderation.
35. For an extended discussion of Hastie’s militant Afro-American liberalism, see
Gilbert Ware, William Hastie: Grace under Pressure (New York: Oxford
University Press, 1984).
36. See Stephen R.Fox, The Guardian of Boston: William Monroe Trotter (New York:
Atheneum, 1970).
37. See Wayne J.Urban, Black Scholar: Horace Mann Bond, 1904–1972 (Athens, GA:
University of Georgia Press, 1992). See also Adam Fairclough, ed., The Star Creek
Papers: Horace Mann Bond and Julia W.Bond (Athens: University of Georgia
Press, 1997).
38. Unknown to many in the academic community, Gomillion was a scholar-activist at
Tuskegee Institute. In the early 1960s he was the driving force behind a landmark
civil rights case there, Gomillion v. Lightfoot, and he is briefly mentioned in James
E.Blackwell and Morris Janowitz, eds., Black Sociologists: Historical and
Contemporary Perspectives (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1974).
39. James Farmer, Lay Bare the Heart: An Autobiography of the Civil Rights Movement
(New York: Arbor House, 1985).
40. Richard I.McKinney, Mordecai: The Man and His Message (Washington, D.C.:
Howard University Press, 1997).
41. Kenneth Robert Janken, Rayford W.Logan and the Dilemma of the African-
American Intellectual (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1993).
42. See Benjamin Mays autobiography, Born to Rebel (New York: Charles Scribner’s
Sons, 1971) and a collection of critical essays on Mays edited by Lawrence Edward
Carter Sr., Walking Integrity: Benjamin Elijah Mays, Mentor to Martin Luther
King, Jr. (Macon, GA: Mercer University Press, 1998). Unfortunately, Mays is far
better known as King’s mentor than as a serious activist-minded educator. His life
as a sociological scholar is even more obscure.
43. See Pauli Murray’s posthumously published autobiography, Song in a Weary
Throat: An American Pilgrimage (New York: Harper and Row, 1987).
44. Even prior to the Second Armenia Conference, the NAACP had been engaged in
protests against the economic discrimination faced by blacks throughout the
country as well as the deplorable economic conditions of black American life. One
need only read the speeches, memos, lectures, and public writings of the James
Weldon Johnson, Walter White, and Roy Wilkins that are contained in In Search of
Democracy: The NAACP Writings of James Weldon Johnson, Walter White, and
Roy Wilkins (1920–1977), ed. Sondra Kathryn Wilson (New York: Oxford
University Press, 1999) to see that the economic conditions of poor African
Americans were central to NAACP political concerns.
45. For a discussion of the second Armenia Conference see James O.Young, Black
Writers of the Thirties (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1973); John
Kirby, Black Americans in the Roosevelt Era; Wolters, Negroes and the Great
Depression; and Joyce Ross, J.E.Spingarn and the Rise of the NAACP (New York:
Atheneum, 1972).
For a version of the recommendations that came out of the Second Amenia
Conference (August 18–21, 1933), see “The Second Armenia Conference Urges
Emphasis on Economic Problems” in Black Protest Thought in the Twentieth
CRUSE’S DISMISSAL OF AFRICAN AMERICAN LIBERALISM • 311
Century, 2d ed., ed. August Meier, Elliott Rudwick and Francis L.Broderick
(Indianopolis: Bobbs Merrill, 1971), 154–57.
46. For a profile of Harris and an overview of his work, see William Darity Jr., Race,
Radicalism, and Reform: Selected Papers of Abrahm L Harris (New Brunswick,
NJ: Transaction, 1989).
47. For an overview of the work of Ralph Bunche, see Ralph J.Bunche: Selected
Speeches and Writings Ed. Charles P.Henry (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan
Press, 1995); Charles P. Henry, Ralph Bunce: Model Negro or American Other?
(New York: New York University Press, 1999); and Benjamin Rivlin, Ed., Ralph
Bunche: The Man and His Times, (New York: Holmes and Meier, 1990).
48. see Anthony M.Platt, E.Franklin Frazier Reconsidered (New Brunswick, NJ:
Rutgers University Press, 1991).
49. For a collection of some of Ovington’s writings, see Black and White Sat Down
Together: The Reminiscences of an NAACP Founder by Mary White Ovington, Ed.
Ralph Luker (New York: Feminist Press, 1995). See also the Carolyn Wedin
biography, Inheritors of the Spirit: Mary White Ovington and the Founding of the
NAACP (New York: John Wiley and Sons, 1998).
50. See Jonathan Holloway, Confronting the Veil: Abram Harris Jr., E.Franklin
Frazier, and Ralph Bunche, 1919–1941 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina
Press, 2002).
51. See Tushnet, The NAACP’s Legal Strategy.
52. Genna Rae McNeil, Groundwork: Charles Hamilton Houston and the Struggle for
Civil Rights, (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1983).
53. Myrlie Evers, For Us the Living (Garden City, NJ: Doubleday, 1967).
54. Merline Pitre, In Struggle against Jim Crow: Lulu B.White and the NAACP, 1900–
1957 (College Station: Texas A&M University Press, 1999).
55. See Timothy B.Tyson, Radio Free Dixie: Robert F.Williams and the Roots of Black
Power (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1999), esp. chapter 3.
56. See Thompson, Ida B.Wells-Barnett.
57. Stokely Carmichael and Charles Hamilton, Black Power: The Politics of Liberation
in America (New York: Random House, 1967).
58. E.Franklin Frazier, Black Bourgeoisie (New York: Free Press, 1957).
59. See Oliver Cox, preface to Nathan Hare’s The Black Anglo-Saxons (New York:
Marzoni and Munsell, 1965).
60. See Kevin Gaines, Uplifting the Race: Black Leadership, Politics, and Culture in
the Twentieth Century (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1996).
61. Note, however, that African American liberalism also supported the empowerment
of black people as agents of their own lives. Consequently, even even when
Lyndon Johnson and Hubert Humphrey adopted the policy profile of African
American liberalism they did not support the self-determination and self-respect
aspects of it. Thus, Humphrey and Johnson colluded in repressing the Mississippi
Freedom Democratic Party and in so doing attempted to disempower black
Mississippians in behalf of their support for Johnson’s supposed African American
liberal policy profile.
62. See William C.Berman, The Politics of Civil Rights in the Truman Administration
(Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1970).
312
Conclusion
Thirteen Theses Nailed to the Door of Cruse
JERRY G.WATTS
Harold Cruse’s The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual does not lend itself to easy
summation. If there is any conclusion about the book that can be drawn from the
essays contained in this volume it might be that Cruse’s tome remains engaging
precisely because it raises numerous important questions about the politicized
African American intellectual life. The aggressiveness that Cruse embodies as he
pursues various intellectual fowl gave rise to a polemic that is in numerous ways
undernuanced, dogmatic, and tendentious. Yet these very qualities have given
the text a resilient ability to inspire responses from newer generations of readers.
While newer readers will be armed with an ever expanding body of scholarly
resources to utilize in their critiques of Cruse’s various arguments, they will
probably never be able to recapture the importance of the historical moment that
propelled The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual into immediate canonical status
upon its publication. Divorced from the idealism and urgency of the 1960s,
readers today are justifiably more interested in the accuracy of Cruse’s various
arguments than in his ability to inspire African American intellectual
engagement. The publication of The Crisis became an intellectual event due to
the highly politicized environment in which it was released.
The basic intelligence of The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual is such that even
when wrong, Cruse remains an engaging read. One cannot be sure that more
readers were not inspired by Cruse’s wrongheadedness than by his insights. It is
therefore no surprise that many critics view the sum of The Crisis of the
Negro Intellectual as greater than its parts. No single chapter, whether it involves
the Communist Party and blacks; Richard Wright; Lorraine Hansberry; or Claude
McKay has stood up well in regard to new scholarship. Yet Cruse’s errors and
miscalculations have had the effect of generating rich scholarly responses. For
instance, Cruse’s rather ad hominem attacks on West Indian intellectuals in the
United States has given rise to a devastating rebuttal by Columbia University
historian Winston James.1 In his rebuttal, James has provided a new and more
accurate historical analysis of the role played by West Indian radical intellectuals
within twentieth-century American and African American intellectual and
political life.
Any attempt to reevaluate the political and social thought of twentieth century
African American intellectuals must take into account various arguments
314 • JERRY G.WATTS
One:
Absence of a Sociology of Intellectuals
The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual is weakened by the absence of a sociology of
knowledge conceptual foundation. The book suffers from Cruse’s lack of a
sociology of intellectuals. Unfortunately, Cruse tends to treat black intellectuals
as if they are disembodied carriers of ideas. This rather idealist conception of
intellectuals prevents Cruse from systematically investigating the material and
cultural self-interests of black intellectuals. On the one hand, Cruse does believe
that the middle-class orientation of many black intellectuals has led them to
endorse integrationism as a project. On the other hand, he claims that the black
middle class was only authentically middle-class in its status pretentious and not
in economic substance. Yet, Cruse does not treat all black intellectuals as a strata
within the black professional class (or intelligentsia) with its own distinct
interests that are not necessarily shared by the broader ethnic group. In other
words, he does not seem to realize that black nationalist intellectuals and black
integrationist intellectuals share similar interests in regards to protecting their
space to act as intellectuals and artists. All black intellectuals—and this is a
generalization—had a vested interest in protecting those venues that gave
importance to their voices. Cruse astoundingly thinks that any black nationalist
intellectual who wrote in the name of black nationalism had the generic interest
of the ethnic group at heart. Such astounding naïveté is accentuated by Cruse’s
belief that black communist intellectuals were, more often than not, dupes of
white folks. Why does he assume that black nationalism rarely functioned as
merely an ideology to legitimate the very self-interested concerns of bourgeois
intellectuals?
CONCLUSION • 315
Two:
Assumption of Racial Uniformity
Throughout The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual, Cruse assumes that there is a
core of shared interests and values among all blacks—that is, all “authentic”
blacks (read nonintegrationists). This essentialistic presupposition allows him to
posit all intraethnic political struggles and fights as if they constituted
ideological and intellectual confusions. Worse, Cruse ascribes confusion to
blacks even in those instances when they are not in conflict but merely pursuing
different avenues to address different political issues. His desire to see black
intellectuals create a comprehensive theory to guide their intellectual/artistic
practices is effectively a call for black artistic/intellectual conformity. It is
unclear just why Cruse believes that intellectual uniformity as opposed to
intellectual diffusion is best for the black intelligentsia.
Three:
The Mistaken Centrality of Harlem
Cruse believed that whatever went on in Harlem embodied the most advanced
thought and behavioral tendencies emanating from all of black America. Though
he would claim that no single person or group of persons could speak for the
“Negro,” he still managed to designate Harlem and its intellectual community as
the quintessential representatives of African American possibility in America.
Ironically, the very factors that made Cruse think of Harlem as the essential
cultural center of black America—that is, its uniqueness, and so on—are the very
characteristics that made it unrepresentative of black America. As such, there
was little reason to assume that black intellectual activity in Harlem during the
1920s had anything to do whatsoever with the plight of blacks locked into a
world of neo-chattel slavery on tenant farms in Mississippi. Black intellectuals
who desired to devise a political program to advance the cause of blacks in the
Deep South could not have formulated a viable strategy utilizing Harlem as the
prototype.
Harlem was central to national politics to the extent that most national black
political organizations were housed there. However, this is quite a different point
than Cruse’s claim that the political workings of blacks in Harlem
were determinative for blacks throughout the nation. Black intellectuals who
were based in the South did not view the pronouncements of black intellectuals
in Harlem as central to their political and cultural agendas. Their problems and
opponents were quite different.
There is no reason to think that generations of twentieth-century black
Southern thinkers took marching orders from events and thinkers in Harlem.
Instead, black liberal southern thinkers were often more linked to political and
intellectual infrastructures within the South. Often, these infrastructures were
centered around Southern black colleges, Southern religious organizations, local
316 • JERRY G.WATTS
Four:
Misunderstanding the Centrality of African
American religion
The absence of a consideration of African American religious discourses as
important influences on the development of African American political and
cultural thought is an appalling oversight in the text. Religious discourses would
be a central arena for grasping the ways that African Americans
developed critiques of American life and projected visions of an emancipated
future. Perhaps Cruse mistakenly thought that African American religious views
were more significant to the thought of the black mass public as opposed to black
intellectuals. Yet, if this was true, it would not invalidate some attempt to
confront African American religion. Moreover, many prominent black
intellectuals of the twentieth century were directly influenced by African
CONCLUSION • 317
Five:
The Role of Black Intellectuals in the Civil
Rights Movement
Cruse does not grasp the extent to which James Baldwin and other black
intellectuals were crucial for generating the liberal climate of support for the
civil rights movement within large sectors of white America. Instead, he
writes as if this liberal support for black civil rights activities was a status-quo
given. It wasn’t. Moreover, Cruse seems to think that the only proper audience
for black intellectual activity was other blacks. He severely underestimates the
318 • JERRY G.WATTS
Six:
Using Anecdotal Data
If there is a single scholarly shortcoming to the Cruse text it might well be that
the evidence that he marshals to support his various arguments and assertions is
quite anecdotal in character. The Crisis can only be understood as a testimony to
Cruse’s attempt to give his personal historical experiences a centrality to black
intellectual life. Cruse never explains why he chooses certain events as defining
moments in black intellectual life. Whatever one might think of the correctness of
Cruse’s description of the ludicrousness of black communists in Harlem
protesting a theater because it would not show Russian plays, it is not clear just
why this event, however hilarious and ill-conceived, should be seen as a major
moment in black intellectual life. Similarly, Cruse repeatedly makes judgments of
the thoughts of black intellectuals based on some eclectic statement that they
may have made when participating in a public forum. He performs such
anecdotal condemnations of James Baldwin and John Henrik Clarke, among
others.
Seven:
Where is Black Music, Particularly Jazz and the Blues?
Given the centrality of culture to Cruse’s claims, how is it that he does not
discuss the role of black music in black life? In particular, Cruse overlooks the
political importance of the blues and jazz. He does point out the crime that the
economic beneficiaries of the music were usually not other blacks, but he does
not interrogate the music as a source of black affirmation and/or opposition. Music
as a source of human meaning and engagement is lost on Cruse because he
ultimately retains a rather doctrinaire Marxist understanding of the value of art
lying in its political usefulness as an organizing tool.
Eight:
Marginalizing Female African American Intellectuals
Evidently Cruse did not think highly of black women as artists and intellectuals.
The only black female artist/intellectual who attracts sustained attention in The
Crisis is Lorraine Hansberry, and the attention she does attract is disparaging.
Cruse’s treatment of Hansberry, however uninformed, does not appear to
CONCLUSION • 319
Nine:
Ignoring Black Intellectuals Outside of the
Culture Industry
Cruse proclaims that the appropriate sphere for black intellectuals lay within the
realm of Culture. The meaning of this claim has remained ambiguous as Cruse
never defines the boundaries of culture. Yet I suspect that Cruse uses the idea of
the cultural realm to highlight black intellectuals who were expressive artists of
various sorts, whether it be playwrights, actors, novelists, poets, essayists, or
critics. Black painters and sculptors are not discussed. While this is an
unnecessarily limited notion of “the intellectual,” Cruse had a right to limit his
study to expressive artists. Why, however, did Cruse spend so little energy
commenting on the artistic productions of black artists, save playwrights? Most
black artists express their cultural and political ideas within the body of their
works. Cruse celebrates Ralph Ellison as a writer but does not analyze Invisible
Man or Shadow and Act. How could Cruse ignore the poetry of Sterling Brown;
the drawings of Charles White; the paintings of Jacob Lawrence; or the short
stories of Langston Hughes? Cruse is more concerned about the statements made
by black intellectuals when addressing “the role of the black writer” than what
these individuals actually produced in their work. Cruse’s chapter on Richard
Wright does not include a discussion of any of Wright’s novels or nonfiction
320 • JERRY G.WATTS
Ten:
Misconstruing the Booker T.Washington Project
Following in the footsteps of Booker T.Washington, Cruse argues that DuBois
erred in fighting for political rights before southern blacks had obtained
a foothold in the southern economy. Cruse writes, “As far back as 1900, Booker
T.Washington counseled the Negro to seek economic self-sufficiency; to soft-
pedal civil rights and social equality until he was on the road to achieving his
own “economic” base for survival. Although the ordinary Negro has always
understood the fundamental wisdom of this advice, his middle-class civil rights
leadership (both Left and Reform) has chosen not to.”9 What remains obviously
baffling about Cruse’s statement is his claim that Washington advised southern
blacks to seek economic self-sufficiency as if some other leaders were arguing
something else. What other option did black southerners have? Cruse writes as if
southern blacks could have developed a dependency on the “welfare state,” even
though that would not come into existence until twenty years after Washington’s
death. DuBois also endorsed economic self-sufficiency in terms of blacks taking
care of themselves, but he did not endorse trading-off political rights for
economic inclusion. And why did Washington believe that southern whites
would care less about economically prospering Negroes than voting Negroes?
Cruse is captured by one of the greatest myths about Washington, that he
advocated ethnic self-sufficiency and/or ethnic autonomy. But who, I ask,
begged white folks for money more frequently and more obsequiously than
Washington? Washington was an unceasing black client in search of white
patrons.
Eleven:
One-Dimensional Critique of the Communist Party
Cruse is so intent on displaying the bankruptcy of the Communist Party as it
related to “Negro” affairs that he does not even grant them any recognition for
their successes. For instance Cruse at no time mentions the crucial role that the
Communist Party played in educating a cadre of black intellectuals. Cruse
himself was a product of this Party-facilitated education, as was Richard Wright,
John Henrik Clarke, Henry Winston, Claude Lightfoot, and Harry Haywood. The
Communist Party was a major way station in the development of many black
intellectuals, including many who, like Cruse, would later condemn it. Ralph
Ellison first published through Communist Party organs. Similarly, insofar as he
restricted his analysis to Harlem, Cruse cannot admit to the heroic attempts of
communist labor organizers throughout the country, but particularly in the
South.
No one needs to doubt that racist paternalism was alive and thriving within the
Communist Party. That black intellectuals were subservient to white party
officials does not appear invalid. Yet, Cruse fails to historicize the attempt of the
322 • JERRY G.WATTS
Twelve:
The Limitations of Black Nationalism
Cruse does not consider the rich diversity in the types of black nationalism
historically embraced by black people. On the one hand, he writes from a generic
assumption that black nationalism is that idea that blacks have collective shared
interests—politically, culturally, and economically—that are best advanced by
collective racial bargaining. However, in eliding mention of the various strains
of black nationalism, Cruse elides a discussion of the vastly different political
agendas supported by these visions. While much of the recent scholarship on
black nationalism was not in print at the time when Cruse wrote his book, he
certainly could have discovered that the ideas of Alexander Crummell were
vastly different from those of Elijah Muhammad and others.10 Moreover, had he
done his scholarly homework, Cruse could have known that black nationalism
was often crudely deferential to white and/or European culture. Wilson Moses, a
premier contemporary scholar of black nationalism, refers to this strain of black
nationalism as “assimilationist black nationalism.”11 In Cruse’s mind, only the
blacks intent on mimicking whites were integrationists. This is a massive error.
In fact, many prointegrationist positions within black America were not
culturally deferential to whites or Europe. One could be an integrationist merely
on the grounds that one believed that black should have access to all jobs,
schools, and neighborhoods that whites had access to. In this sense, was Cruse
acting like an integrationist when he accepted a faculty appointment at the
University of Michigan? Does he think for a minute that the initial decision to
desegregate the faculty of the university wasn’t initiated in the name of racial
integration?
Thirteen:
Contradictions in Argument
There are numerous blatant contradictions in the Cruse text. The Crisis
sometimes reads as if it was not written as a whole book but as a series of
CONCLUSION • 323
smaller segments that were cut and pasted together. For reasons of space, I will
provide only one example, where Cruse writes:
As published, The Crisis was almost six hundred pages in length. Without
knowing anything about the production of the book, one can justifiably assume
that the original text that Cruse submitted to his editor was at least twice that
length. Perhaps the unwieldy size of the manuscript prevented close readings by
editors that could have corrected some of the contradictions in the text.
Finally, the major limitation of the The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual is that
Cruse continually hits black intellectuals and artists over the head for their
abdication of their responsibility to develop a cultural theory that would place
black artists and intellectuals in the service of the black struggle. Yet nowhere in
the book besides in some vague advocacy of black nationalism does Cruse put forth
his version of this cultural ideology. In effect, Cruse is far more adept at pointing
out the limitations of others than at generating a creative theory or ideology.
Unfortunately for Cruse, one does not become a saint by pointing out the sins of
others. We must ask, Where is the cultural theory?
324 • JERRY G.WATTS
Notes
1. See Winston James, Holding Aloft the Banner of Ethiopia: Carribean Radicalism
in Early Twentieth-Century America (New York: Verso, 1998), 262–91.
2. See Linda Reed, Simple Decency and Common Sense: The Southern Conference
Movement, 1938–1963 (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1991). For an
exhaustive survey of interracial networks frequently by black southern intellectuals
prior to the 1950s see John Egerton, Speak Now against the Day: The Generation
Before the Civil Rights Movement in the South (Chapel Hill: University of North
Carolina Press, 1994).
3. Cruse, The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual (New York: William Morrow,
1967), 10.
4. Cruse only mentions Congressman Powell as the initial person to use the term,
black power. In some respects, Cruse’s elitism precludes him from viewing any
black minister as an intellectual, though a few of them were. Powell Jr. probably
was not an intellectual, but he was too important a figure in Harlem political circles
to go unmentioned.
5. Linda O.McMurry, To Keep the Waters Troubled: The Life of Ida B.Wells (New
York: Oxford University Press, 1998).
6. The same could be said for Monroe Trotter, who, like Wells, was not a leftist nor was
he at home within the NAACP.
7. For a comprehensive study of Woodson’s contribution to the black freedom
struggle see Jacqueline Goggin’s excellent biography Carter G.Woodson: A Life in
Black History (Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1993).
8. Ibid., 140.
9. Cruse, Crisis, 174.
10. Over two decades after the publication of The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual,
Wilson Jeremiah Moses would publish an outstanding biography, Alexander
Crummell: A Study of Civilization and Discontent (New York: Oxford University
Press, 1989).
11. See Wilson Jeremiah Moses, The Wings of Ethiopia: Studies in African-American
Life and Letters (Ames: Iowa State University Press, 1990), esp. chapter 6,
“Assimilationist Black Nationalism, 1890–1925.”
12. Cruse, Crisis, 86–87.
13. Ibid., 547.
Index
325
326 • INDEX
Hunton,W.Alphaeus 176–180 K
Hurston, Zora Neale 219, 229, 319 Kaiser, Ernest 7, 8, 260
Hutchinson, Earl Ofari 158 (n.22) Karenga, Maulana 6, 239–240
Kawaida 240
I Keil, Charles 116
I’ll Take My Stand x, 12 Kelley, Robin D.G. 150, 261
Integrationism or interracialism 4, 8, 9, Kennedy, John F. (administration) 27, 32,
43–47, 51–55, 58, 64, 66, 85, 86, 125, 196–197, 305
133, 135 (n.4), 201, 229, 238–239, 276 Kenya Africa Union 184
International African Service Bureau 177 Kern, Jerome 105
International Socialist Review 255 Killens, John Oliver 23, 46, 150, 153–155;
Israel 127, 137 (n.9) 158 (n.28, n.29), 161 (n.40)
Kilson,Martin 300
J King, Martin Jr. 3, 29, 32, 70, 133, 168,
Jackson, Esther 319 180, 192, 197, 200, 231, 290, 316
James, C.L.R. 81, 154, 176 Kochiyama, Yuri 34–35; 37 (n.11, n.15)
James, Winston 4, 14, 55, 202(n.4), 313 Kohn, Hans 36
Jazz 9, 110–120 Kwanzaa 240
Jazz Artists’s Guild 115
Jerome, V.J. (aka Jerome Isaac Romaine) L
148 Ladner, Joyce 300
Jewish Labor Committee 130 Lamming, George 253
Jewish Leftists 51–52; 55, 82, 86–87, 89, Lasch, Christopher 1, 5–6, 12–14, 87, 203
97–98, 125, 135(n.3, n.5), 146, (n.8), 260
147–148, 153 Lattimore, Richard 272
Jewish Life magazine 147 Lawrence, Jacob 319
Jews 6, 9, 88, 125–141 Lawson, James 24
Jews in music business 97–101; 106–108 League of Revolutionary Black Workers
(n.19) 304
Johnson Publications 119 Lee, Dr. Robert 196
Johnson, Charles Spurgeon 71, 298 Lewis, David Levering 99
Johnson, Hall 97 Lewis, John 33
Johnson, Jack 194 Liberalism 12, 131–134, 137 (n.8)
Johnson, James P. 100 African-American Liberalism 287–311,
Johnson, James Weldon 56, 59, 65, 70, 308 (n.18), 309 (n.33)
298, 300, 309 (n.31), 316 Liberation Committee for Africa 24, 30,
Johnson, Lyndon (administration) 290, 32;
294, 305, 311 (n.61) later became Afro-American Institute
Johnson, Mordecai 300 liberation theology 217–218
Jolson, Al 100, 102 Liberator magazine 18, 21, 26, 29–33; 37,
Jones, LeRoi (Amiri Baraka) 6, 19, 20, 23, 189, 248, 252–256
25, 34, 46–48; 51, 111, 113, 116, Lightfoot, Claude 166, 321
119 (n.2), 228, 231, 245, 252, 262, 263 Lincoln, C.Eric 211
(n.26), 274 Lipsitz, George 120 (n.13)
Jones, Major 217 Little Richard 117
Joplin, Scott 101 Little Rock crisis (1957) 195–196
Journal of Negro History 320 Locke, Alain 228
330 • INDEX
New Leader magazine 252, 254 Randolph, A.Phillip 55, 56, 132,
Newton, Huey 133 139 (n.20), 164, 168, 196, 293
Nietzche, Friedrich 279 Rebellion or Revolution (Cruse) 17, 19, 21,
Nixon, Richard 195, 200–201, 206 (n.42) 22, 33, 37, 39, 76, 77, 81, 82, 83, 84, 90
Nkrumah, Kwame 10, 179, 190–194, 196, (n.19, n.21, n.27), 175, 235, 235, 243
198–202, 255 Redding, J.Saunders 22
Novak, Michael 87 Reed, Ishmael 87
Reid, Ira de A 300, 320
O Revolution Action Movement (RAM) 25,
Obenga, Theophile 243 33, 35
Ochs, Phil (folksinger) 26 Reynolds, Quentin 146–147
Oedipus Tyrannos 271–272, 282 Rhapsody in Blue (1929) 102
Olney, Warren III 184 Roach, Max 115
On Guard 23, 24 Roberts, J.Deotis 217
operational-leadership 45 Robeson, Eslanda 158 (n.22), 176, 177,
Opportunity: Journal of Negro Life 71 231
Organization of Young Men 23 Robeson, Paul 10, 11, 21, 46, 105,
Ovington, Mary White 300 109 (n.44), 112, 132, 150, 158 (n.22),
Owen, Chandler 55, 56 159 (n.29), 175–194, 231, 248, 249, 251
Robinson, Cedric 149–150
P Rollins, Sonny 114
Padmore, George 81, 164, 177 Roosevelt, Eleanor 296
Palestinians 127, 137 (n.9), 141 (n.25) Roosevelt, Franklin D. (administration)
Pan-Africanism 175–188, 188–206 289, 291, 293, 295–298, 305,
Parker, Charlie 113 306 (n.11), 306 (n.13)
Payton, Philip A. 60–61; 64–66; 68, 70 Rosenwald, Julius 58
Pells, Richard 1, 12 Ross, Roger P. 183
Pettiford, Oscar 113 Rowan, Carl T. 184–185
Pinkney, Alphonso 283 (n.3) Runnin’ Wild (Broadway show) 98
Piven, Francis Fox (Richard Cloward) 3, Rustin, Bayard 196, 299, 300, 305,
12, 306 (n.11) 309 (n.34), 316
Plessy v. Ferguson 293, 301, 303,
306 (n.8) S
Poitier, Sidney 192 Salt of the Earth (film) 152
Popular Front 149 Sanchez, Sonia 231
Porgy and Bess 9, 97–105, 112 Schappes, Morris U. 147
Powell, Adam Clayton, Sr. 316 Schwerner, Michael 132
Powell, Adam Clayton, Jr 32, 132, Scottsboro Boys 146, 149, 158 (n.18), 165
139 (n.20), 316, 324 (n.4) Seldes, Gilbert 112
Powell, Annie Ruth 213–214, 219 Senghor, Leopold Sedar 241, 242, 252
pragmatism among blacks 59, 79, 297–299 Shoat, Ella 109 (n.43)
Presence Africaine 22, 25, 252 Shuffle Along 100, 112
Pulitzer Prize rejects Duke Ellington 110 Sidran, Ben 116
Singer, Barry 98
R Sklar, Martin 25, 26, 39 (n.25)
Radano, Ronald 115, 120 (n.8) Sklare, Marshall 138 (n.12)
Sleeper, Jim 308 (n.17)
332 • INDEX
Y
Yergen, Max 176
Youngblood 153–155
Z
Zionism 6, 125, 126, 137 (n.9)