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    Cold War Civil Rights: Race and the Image of American Democracy
    Cold War Civil Rights: Race and the Image of American Democracy
    Cold War Civil Rights: Race and the Image of American Democracy
    Ebook511 pages6 hours

    Cold War Civil Rights: Race and the Image of American Democracy

    By Mary L. Dudziak

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    In 1958, an African-American handyman named Jimmy Wilson was sentenced to die in Alabama for stealing two dollars. Shocking as this sentence was, it was overturned only after intense international attention and the interference of an embarrassed John Foster Dulles. Soon after the United States' segregated military defeated a racist regime in World War II, American racism was a major concern of U.S. allies, a chief Soviet propaganda theme, and an obstacle to American Cold War goals throughout Africa, Asia, and Latin America. Each lynching harmed foreign relations, and "the Negro problem" became a central issue in every administration from Truman to Johnson.


    In what may be the best analysis of how international relations affected any domestic issue, Mary Dudziak interprets postwar civil rights as a Cold War feature. She argues that the Cold War helped facilitate key social reforms, including desegregation. Civil rights activists gained tremendous advantage as the government sought to polish its international image. But improving the nation's reputation did not always require real change. This focus on image rather than substance--combined with constraints on McCarthy-era political activism and the triumph of law-and-order rhetoric--limited the nature and extent of progress.


    Archival information, much of it newly available, supports Dudziak's argument that civil rights was Cold War policy. But the story is also one of people: an African-American veteran of World War II lynched in Georgia; an attorney general flooded by civil rights petitions from abroad; the teenagers who desegregated Little Rock's Central High; African diplomats denied restaurant service; black artists living in Europe and supporting the civil rights movement from overseas; conservative politicians viewing desegregation as a communist plot; and civil rights leaders who saw their struggle eclipsed by Vietnam.


    Never before has any scholar so directly connected civil rights and the Cold War. Contributing mightily to our understanding of both, Dudziak advances--in clear and lively prose--a new wave of scholarship that corrects isolationist tendencies in American history by applying an international perspective to domestic affairs.


    In her new preface, Dudziak discusses the way the Cold War figures into civil rights history, and details this book's origins, as one question about civil rights could not be answered without broadening her research from domestic to international influences on American history.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherPrinceton University Press
    Release dateJul 11, 2011
    ISBN9781400839889
    Cold War Civil Rights: Race and the Image of American Democracy
    Author

    Mary L. Dudziak

    Mary L. Dudziak is professor of law, history, and political science at the University of Southern California. Her books include Cold War Civil Rights, September 11 in History, and Legal Borderlands.

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    • 5/5
      Mary L. Dudziak’s Cold War Civil Rights: Race and the Image of American Democracy begins with an international incident of U.S. race relations and its impact on anticommunism efforts. Her book is about how domestic concerns were managed and presented for international consumption. She demonstrates how Southerners used the perceived threat of communism to justify their actions as a defense of individual freedom. Dudziak argues, “During the Cold War years, when international perceptions of American democracy were thought to affect the nation’s ability to maintain its leadership role, and particularly to ensure that democracy would be appealing to newly independent nations in Asia and Africa, the diplomatic impact of race in America was especially stark” (pg. 6). Further, “Civil rights groups had to walk a fine line, making it clear that their reform efforts were meant to fill out the contours of American democracy, and not to challenge or undermine it. Organizations outside a narrowing sphere of civil rights politics found it difficult to survive the Cold War years. Under the strictures of Cold War politics, a broad, international critique of racial oppression was out of place” (pg. 11). In this way, “Cold War Civil Rights traces the emergence, the development, and the decline of Cold War foreign affairs as a factor in influencing civil rights policy by setting a U.S. history topic within the context of Cold War world history” (pg. 17).
      Dudziak writes, “When nonwhite foreign dignitaries visited the United States and encountered discrimination, it led to serious diplomatic consequences. And as tension between the United States and the Soviet Union increased in the years after the war, the Soviets made effective use of U.S. failings in this area in anti-American propaganda” (pg. 27). She continues, “The best-developed presentation of the government position on race appeared in The Negro in American Life, a USIA pamphlet written in 1950 or 1951. This pamphlet revealed, rather than concealed, the nation’s past failings, and did so for the purpose of presenting American history as a story of redemption…Democracy, not totalitarian forms of government, it argued, provided a context that made reconciliation and redemption possible” (pg. 49). Describing the role of the Red Scare, Dudzia writes, “Senator [Richard B.] Russell [of Georgia] turned the Cold War argument on its head. In a political and cultural climate steeped in anticommunism, arguing that civil rights reform would be a capitulation to communists, who themselves must clearly be pursuing ulterior motives to undermine American society, proved to be a very effective strategy” (pg. 89).
      Discussing integration, Dudziak writes, “It was a short step, in the consciousness of 1950s Americans, from international criticisms to Cold War implications. U.S. editorial writers and political figures regularly noted the negative impact Little Rock was thought to have on the nation’s standing in the Cold War. The Soviet Union’s extensive use of Little Rock in anti-American propaganda – often simply republishing facts disseminated by U.S. news sources – reinforced the concern that Little Rock redounded to the benefit of America’s opponents in the battle for the hearts and minds of people around the world” (pg. 121). She continues, “From the perspective of President Eisenhower, the core interests at stake in Little Rock had more to do with federal authority and foreign affairs than with racial equality” (pg. 151). Describing the impact of events on third-world nonaligned nations, Dudziak writes, “Africans were particularly tuned to U.S. racial problems. As a result, State Department officials were greatly troubled by the implications of discrimination for U.S. national security. One concern – a motivating issue since the late 1940s – was how race discrimination in the United States would affect Cold War alignments” (pg. 153). A particular embarrassment was the series of petty injustices visited upon foreign diplomats whose work in the United States took them through the South.

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    Cold War Civil Rights - Mary L. Dudziak

    Praise for Mary L. Dudziak’s

    Cold War Civil Rights

    This nuanced, scholarly appraisal of the relationship between foreign policy and the civil rights story offers a fresh and provocative perspective on twentieth-century American history.

    —Harvard Law Review

    [This] book thoughtfully and thoroughly documents how ridiculous and hypocritical we appeared . . . by championing the ideals of freedom, democracy and economic equity around the world while at the same time shamelessly denying access to those very same principles to millions of Americans at home.

    —Edward C. Smith, Washington Times

    An intelligent and informative book that is sure to become a staple of both civil rights and Cold War historiography.

    —Steven F. Lawson, American Historical Review

    Meticulously researched and beautifully written, Mary Dudziak’s book makes a spectacularly illuminating contribution to a subject traditionally neglected—the linkage between race relations and foreign policy: neither African-American history nor diplomatic history will be the same again.

    —Gerald Horne, author of Race Woman:

         The Lives of Shirley Graham Du Bois

    This book reflects a growing interest among historians in the global significance of race. . . . It is accessible and will have multiple uses as an approach to civil rights history, as an examination of policy making, and as a model of how a study can be attentive to both foreign and domestic aspects of a particular issue. It is tightly argued, coherent, and polished, and it features some particularly fine writing.

    —Brenda Plummer, author of Rising Wind: Black Americans

    and U.S. Foreign Affairs, 1935–1960

    "This book is a tour de force. Dudziak’s brilliant analysis shows that the Cold War had a profound impact on the civil rights movement. Hers is the first book to make this important connection. It is a major contribution to our understanding of both the Civil Rights movement and the Cold War itself. . . . Because it is beautifully written in clear, lively prose, and draws its analysis from dramatic events and compelling stories of people involved from the top level of government to the grass roots, it will be an outstanding book for both students and the general public. I recommend it with no hesitation and with great enthusiasm."

    —Elaine Tyler May, author of Homeward Bound:

    American Families in the Cold War Era

    COLD WAR

    CIVIL RIGHTS

    POLITICS AND SOCIETY IN

    TWENTIETH-CENTURY AMERICA

    SERIES EDITORS

    William Chafe, Gary Gerstle, Linda Gordon,

    and Julian Zelizer

    A list of titles in the series appears at the back of the book

    COLD WAR

    CIVIL RIGHTS

    RACE AND THE IMAGE OF AMERICAN DEMOCRACY

    With a new preface by the author

    Mary L. Dudziak

    COPYRIGHT © 2000 BY PRINCETON UNIVERSITY PRESS

    PUBLISHED BY PRINCETON UNIVERSITY PRESS,

    41 WILLIAM STREET, PRINCETON, NEW JERSEY 08540

    IN THE UNITED KINGDOM: PRINCETON UNIVERSITY PRESS,

    6 OXFORD STREET, WOODSTOCK, OXFORDSHIRE OX20 1TW

    PRESS.PRINCETON.EDU

    ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

    FIRST PRINTING, 2000

    SECOND PRINTING, AND FIRST PAPERBACK PRINTING, 2002

    PAPERBACK REISSUE, WITH A NEW PREFACE, 2011

    PAPERBACK ISBN 978-0-691-15243-1

    THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS HAS CATALOGED THE

    CLOTH EDITION OF THIS BOOK AS FOLLOWS

    DUDZIAK, MARY L., 1956–

    COLD WAR CIVIL RIGHTS : RACE AND THE IMAGE

    OF AMERICAN DEMOCRACY / MARY L. DUDZIAK.

    P. CM. —— (POLITICS AND SOCIETY IN

    TWENTIETH-CENTURY AMERICA)

    INCLUDES BIBLIOGRAPHICAL REFERENCES AND INDEX.

    ISBN 0-691-01661-5 (alk. paper)

    1. UNITED STATES–RACE RELATIONS–POLITICAL ASPECTS.

    2. AFRO-AMERICANS–CIVIL RIGHTS–HISTORY–20TH CENTURY.

    3. AFRO-AMERICANS–LEGAL STATUS, LAWS, ETC.–HISTORY– 20TH CENTURY. 4. RACISM–POLITICAL ASPECTS–UNITED STATES–HISTORY–20TH CENTURY. 5. UNITED STATES–POLITICS AND GOVERNMENT–1945–1989. 6. DEMOCRACY–UNITED STATES–HISTORY–20TH CENTURY. 7. COLD WAR–SOCIAL ASPECTS–UNITED STATES. I. TITLE. II. SERIES.

    E185.61 .D85 2000

    323.1'196073'09045–DC21 00-038515

    BRITISH LIBRARY CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION

    DATA IS AVAILABLE

    THIS BOOK HAS BEEN COMPOSED IN GARAMOND

    PRINTED ON ACID-FREE PAPER. ∞

    PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

    10  9  8  7  6  5  4  3  2  1

    Parts of this manuscript previously appeared in a different form in the following articles, and are republished with permission: Desegregation as a Cold War Imperative, Stanford Law Review 41 (November 1988): 61–120; Josephine Baker, Racial Protest and the Cold War, Journal of American History 81 (September 1994): 543–570; The Little Rock Crisis and Foreign Affairs: Race, Resistance and the Image of American Democracy, Southern California Law Review 70 (September 1997): 1641–1716.

    To Alicia

    Abused and scorned though we may be

    as a people, our destiny is tied up in the

    destiny of America.

    MARTIN LUTHER KING JR.

    MARCH 31, 1968

    Contents

    List of Illustrations

    Preface to the 2011 Edition

    INTRODUCTION

    CONCLUSION

    Notes

    Acknowledgments

    Index

    Illustrations

    National Association of Colored Women delegates picket the White House, July 1946. UPI/CORBIS-BETTMANN.

    Funeral services for two lynching victims, Monroe, Georgia, July 25, 1946. UPI/CORBIS-BETTMANN.

    An integrated New York classroom, as portrayed in The Negro in American Life, a United States Information Service pamphlet distributed in the 1950s. Chester Bowles Papers, Manuscripts and Archives, Yale University.

    Neighbors in an integrated housing project, as portrayed in The Negro in American Life, a United States Information Service pamphlet distributed in the 1950s. Chester Bowles Papers, Manuscripts and Archives, Yale University.

    William Patterson, Paul Robeson, and Robeson’s attorney, James Wright, leaving a federal courthouse after an unsuccessful hearing challenging the denial of Robeson’s passport, August 16, 1955. UPI/CORBIS-BETTMANN.

    Josephine Baker protesting outside a Havana, Cuba, radio station, February 15, 1953. UPI/CORBIS-BETTMANN.

    President Harry S. Truman receiving the report of his President’s Committee on Civil Rights, October 29, 1947. UPI/CORBIS-BETTMANN.

    Segregated from his white classmates, George McLaurin attends the University of Oklahoma School of Education, October 16, 1946. UPI/CORBIS-BETTMANN.

    Careful, the Walls Have Ears, September 11, 1957, Arkansas Democrat-Gazette.

    Right into Their Hands, September 11, 1957, Oakland Tribune.

    The 101st Airborne Division escorts nine African American students into Central High School in Little Rock, Arkansas, September 25, 1957. UPI/CORBIS-BETTMANN.

    President John F. Kennedy and Nigerian Prime Minister Sir Abubakar Tafawa Balewa at the White House following talks, July 27, 1961. UPI/CORBIS-BETTMANN.

    Freedom Rider James Zwerg recovers from injuries in a Montgomery, Alabama, hospital, May 21, 1961. UPI/CORBIS-BETTMANN.

    Firefighters bear down on civil rights demonstrators in Birmingham, Alabama, May 3, 1963. UPI/CORBIS-BETTMANN.

    African Heads of State convene for the first meeting of the Organization of African Unity, Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, May 23, 1963. UPI/CORBIS-BETTMANN.

    More than 200,000 participate in the March on Washington, August 28, 1963. UPI/CORBIS-BETTMANN.

    A Soviet political cartoon portrays American racial segregation, August 24, 1963. UPI/CORBIS-BETTMANN.

    Martin Luther King Jr. receives the Nobel Peace Prize, December 10, 1964. UPI/CORBIS-BETTMANN.

    Malcolm X holds a press conference upon his return from Africa, November 24, 1964. UPI/CORBIS-BETTMANN.

    Michigan National Guardsmen push back African American protesters during rioting in Detroit, Michigan, July 26, 1967. UPI/CORBIS-BETTMANN.

    Preface to the 2011 Edition

    When I began the research project that would ultimately become Cold War Civil Rights, America in the World as a field in United States history did not exist. Many years later, a multiyear project on internationalizing American history is completed, there are many history courses in this area, and history departments train graduate students in this new field. The methodology of thinking globally about American history is embraced by more history teachers, with K–12 workshops in place around the country. And as so often happens with a methodological turn, just as this approach to conceptualizing U.S. history has been taking hold, another approach is emerging to destabilize it, as historians seek to transcend the way nations provide borders to historical subjects. Transnational history has much in common with internationalized American history, except perhaps the most fundamental point: whether retaining the nation as a historical frame illuminates more than it obscures.¹

    Along the way, this book continues to find new readers. For those of you who will be picking it up during the book’s next decade, I thought it might be helpful to take up how a work that is part of a field that doesn’t yet exist comes to be written. I will also discuss a couple of methodological issues, especially the question of whether the Cold War has been getting lost in studies of the Cold War and civil rights. What follows is simply the story of this book and this historian, rather than of the way the broader literature of related works emerged over time.² The rest of this edition remains unchanged, other than the correction of errors. If I had attempted more significant revisions, I am afraid that the result would have been a much longer and perhaps a different book.

    * * * *

    Robin Kelley once questioned the newness of internationalizing American history, since African American history has always been diasporic.³ Kelley is right, of course, but, with a few exceptions, as a graduate student in the 1980s interested in civil rights history, I encountered little of this. My initial goal was to write a community-centered study. I wanted to understand how Topeka, Kansas, the home of Brown v. Board of Education, came to terms with its role in what was thought of as the American dilemma. I got interested in Topeka when I worked for the American Civil Liberties Union one summer during law school. The ACLU asked me to reconstruct the history of segregation in this community for ongoing school desegregation litigation in Topeka. The history of desegregation in Topeka is fascinating and complicated. The local school board voted to desegregate before the Supreme Court ruling in Brown. I decided that this should be my Ph.D. dissertation topic. Before long, I was well on my way toward finishing. But I got stuck on a problem, and I just couldn’t finish until I figured it out.

    When the Topeka school board voted to desegregate in 1953, the local press asked them why. We feel that segregation is not an American practice, school board member Harold Conrad said.⁴ This was a curious statement, in part because it expressed an understanding of what was American and defined a longstanding American practice as being outside the boundaries of American conduct. But the historical moment mattered to the use of this word. It meant something particular to characterize an act as un American in 1953, during what we call the McCarthy era. This seemed to make it essential to get to the bottom of something I was curious about: Did it matter that Brown was decided during the McCarthy era? Did the two topics have anything to do with each other? I knew that civil rights activists were red-baited during this era. But was there something else going on?

    Once I started to look for answers, I found connections all over the place. The Cold War context for Brown was apparent in the news stories when Brown was decided. The Pittsburgh Courier, for example, said of Brown: this clarion announcement . . . will stun and silence America’s Communist traducers behind the Iron Curtain. Another early clue was the Justice Department brief in Brown itself. An amicus curiae (friend of the court) brief has a section explaining what interest the party filing the brief has in the case. According to the Justice Department, the interest of the United States in school segregation was that race discrimination harmed American foreign relations.⁵

    Once I found these sources, if the Justice Department’s files in Brown had been accessible, my topic might have retained a more domestic frame, as a history of ideas about desegregation during the McCarthy era. But the Justice Department is one of the worst at opening files to historians. Stymied, I turned to State Department records, since the Brown brief relied on a statement from Secretary of State Dean Acheson. I just wanted to see that side of the correspondence. And at this point in the story, pure luck intervened.

    Serendipity is so often important to historical research, especially in the archives. I was fortunate to be doing research at a time when the National Archives was more fully staffed with experienced archivists who had the time to help researchers find material. And I was simply lucky to encounter Sally Marks (later Sally Kuisel), who was never disparaging about my rather profound ignorance.⁶ With her help, I learned how to do diplomatic history research. I found the archival material that demonstrated the relationship between civil rights and U.S. foreign affairs. As I continued my work, I came to know Brenda Gayle Plummer and Gerald Horne, who had been writing in the area of race and international affairs and became sources of support and inspiration.⁷ When charting a new path, connections like these are essential, for I also encountered stiff resistance. You’ve taken something away from us, a senior colleague at my first law school teaching job told me. He was more melancholy than angry. A traditional liberal framing of civil rights history, in which white liberals aided the movement as the country embraced simple justice as a moral ideal, was part of his personal identity as a white, liberal, reform-minded lawyer.⁸

    Years later, the question that had once stymied me resulted in this book. Along the way, a broader literature, both in race and international affairs, and in global approaches to U.S. history, developed, so that my book would have plenty of company on its shelf in the library. And, with some regret, I never went back to Topeka.

    * * * *

    Over the past decade, as the Cold War slips further into history, it has received new critical attention in works on American politics and culture. Important new scholarship has appeared, broadening our understanding of the relationship between international affairs and American civil rights. But sometimes it is hard to figure out just what work the Cold War is doing in works on the Cold War and civil rights.

    The Cold War is a curious figure. Its definition is often left to the imagination. Yet at the same time it seems to act as an abstract but powerful historical actor. The Cold War, like some hot wars, is thought to do things in history. Sometimes the Cold War seems like atmosphere—it appears to be everywhere—or like a superhero—it can do anything. The Cold War is not usually invoked only as a simple temporal frame. Instead, it is a strange fusion—a historical era that is also a historical actor. Because of this, it seems important to nail down what we mean when we invoke the Cold War. By this I do not mean the debates about when the Cold War began and ended and who was at fault for what, but instead, when we view the Cold War as moving or enabling history in some way, what is it that is enabling the action?⁹

    Sometimes the Cold War is domestic anticommunism without any direct connection to international relations. Sometimes Cold War foreign affairs are clearly in view, as in works on the relationship between civil rights and American public diplomacy. Sometimes the Cold War is an international relations problem that affects social conditions at the national or local level. Sometimes the Cold War is simply a backdrop or a climate system (as in the Cold War climate) within which the narrative plays out. There are countless other formulations. These approaches are very different, but they are sometimes lumped together as if they are all about the same thing, since they are all about the Cold War. But when we say that the Cold War is having an impact, this is a causal argument. Being precise about what we mean by the Cold War, and how the Cold War is driving the action in the story, can help us identify what sort of historical evidence is needed to make the causal argument convincing. A foreign relations argument, for example, would require reliance on foreign relations sources. On occasion, climate systems can determine the course of history, but it is usually good to move beyond a meteorological approach to Cold War historiography.

    So was the Cold War a good thing for American civil rights? A very smart historian once asked me that question, and has suggested in print that the answer in my book is yes.¹⁰ Readers are welcome to use the evidence in the book in support of an argument like that—or its opposite—but you will find no such argument from me in these pages. Instead, the Cold War (and by this I mean the geopolitical Cold War, or Cold War–era U.S. foreign relations, and its domestic impact) narrowed the scope of civil rights discourse; undermined political activism and destroyed lives, as chapter 2 discusses; justified American intervention around the world, with devastating consequences; and fueled the creation of a national security state that continues to hamper American political possibilities. To say that the Cold War was good for the civil rights movement strikes me as like saying that Hurricane Katrina was good for the building trades in the Gulf Coast. That a devastating moment opens the door to particular opportunities does not mean that the devastation was good or that we would have wanted it to happen.

    * * * *

    Many years ago, I followed a question that took me off-track but then opened up what for me was a new way of thinking about history. At some point, this book’s methodology will seem very old-fashioned, and scholars will turn to new approaches that have not yet been imagined. If there is a lesson in this book for that generation, perhaps it is that getting stuck is not a bad thing. Being truly puzzled can be the first step toward finding an answer. And when pursuing a lead, it is important to follow it wherever it takes you, even if the terrain is unfamiliar. Opening an unexpected door and finding a new world on the other side is, after all, one of the most exciting things about writing history.

    Mary L. Dudziak

    December 12, 2010

    NOTES

    1. The Organization of American Historians/New York University Project on Internationalizing the Study of American History (Thomas Bender, Director), The LaPietra Report: A Report to the Profession (September 2000), http://www.oah.org/activities/lapietra/final.html; The Palgrave Dictionary of Transnational History, Akira Iriye and Pierre-Yves Saunier, eds. (Hampshire, UK: Palgrave Macmillan, 2009), http://www.transnationalhistory.com/home.aspx.

    2. Excellent overviews of this literature appear in Brenda Gayle Plummer, The Changing Face of Diplomatic History: A Literature Review, The History Teacher 38 (May 2005): 385–400; Kevin Gaines, A World to Win: The International Dimension of the Black Freedom Movement, OAH Magazine of History 20 (October 2006): 14–18; and Jeff Woods, The Cold War and the Struggle for Civil Rights, OAH Magazine of History 24 (October 2010): 13–17.

    3. Robin D. G. Kelley, ‘But a Local Phase of a World Problem’: Black History’s Global Vision, 1883–1950, Journal of American History 86 (December 1999): 1045–1077.

    4. Mary L. Dudziak, The Limits of Good Faith: Desegregation in Topeka, Kansas, 1950–1956, Law and History Review 5 (Fall 1987): 376.

    5. Mary L. Dudziak, Cold War Civil Rights: Race and the Image of American Democracy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2011), 99–102, 110.

    6. Thomas Allen Schwartz, In Memoriam: Sally M. (Marks) Kuisel, Passport 41 (April 2010): 50.

    7. While they have written and edited many more books, essential to my early work were: Brenda Gayle Plummer, Rising Wind: Black Americans and U.S. Foreign Affairs, 1935–1960 (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1996); and Gerald Horne, Black and Red: W.E.B. Du Bois and the Afro-American Response to the Cold War, 1944–1963 (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1986).

    8. My first publication in this area takes up the liberal paradigm and its limits: Mary L. Dudziak, Desegregation as a Cold War Imperative, Stanford Law Review 41 (November 1988): 61–120.

    9. The literature on Cold War historiography is, of course, vast. A starting point is the new three-volume compilation The Cambridge History of the Cold War, Melvyn P. Leffler and Odd Arne Westad, eds. (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2010). I expand on ideas about the way the Cold War is understood in War•Time: An Idea, Its History, Its Consequences (Oxford University Press, 2012).

    10. Steven Lawson, review of Cold War Civil Rights, American Historical Review 107 (February 2002): 246–247.

    COLD WAR

    CIVIL RIGHTS

    INTRODUCTION

    All races and religions, that’s America to me.

    LEWIS ALLAN AND EARL ROBINSON,

    THE HOUSE I LIVE IN (1942)¹

    Jimmy Wilson’s name has not been remembered in the annals of Cold War history, but in 1958, this African American handyman was at the center of international attention. After he was sentenced to death in Alabama for stealing less than two dollars in change, Wilson’s case was thought to epitomize the harsh consequences of American racism. It brought to the surface international anxiety about the state of American race relations. Because the United States was the presumptive leader of the free world, racism in the nation was a matter of international concern. How could American democracy be a beacon during the Cold War, and a model for those struggling against Soviet oppression, if the United States itself practiced brutal discrimination against minorities within its own borders?

    Jimmy Wilson’s unexpected entry into this international dilemma began on July 27, 1957. The facts of the unhappy events setting off his travails are unclear. Wilson had worked for Estelle Barker, an elderly white woman, in Marion, Alabama. He later told a Toronto reporter that he had simply wanted to borrow money from her against his future earnings, as he had in the past. As Wilson told the story, Barker let him into her home one evening, they had an argument, she threw some money on her bed and he took it and left. The coins would not be enough to cover the cost of his cab home. Barker told the police that his motives were more sinister. After taking the money she had dumped on her bed, she said he forced her onto the bed and unsuccessfully attempted to rape her.²

    Wilson was prosecuted only for robbery, for the theft of $1.95. Over the objections of Wilson’s attorney, Barker testified at trial about the alleged sexual assault. Wilson was quickly convicted by an all-white jury. Robbery carried a maximum penalty of death, and the presiding judge sentenced Wilson to die in the electric chair. When the Alabama Supreme Court upheld Wilson’s sentence, news of the case spread across the nation. Because other nations followed race in the United States with great interest, the Wilson case was soon international news.³

    Headlines around the world decried this death sentence for the theft of less than two dollars. The Voice of Ethiopia thought it is inconceivable that in this enlightened age, in a country that prides itself on its code of justice, that, for the paltry sum of $1.95, a man should forfeit his life. An editorial in the Ghanaian Ashanti Pioneer urged that the underlying law be repealed. According to the paper, it was the High, inescapable duty of every right thinking human being who believes in democracy as understood and practised on this side of the Iron Curtain to venture to bring it home to the people of Alabama. The Jimmy Wilson story was widely publicized in West Africa, prompting American businessmen to call the U.S. embassy in Monrovia to express their concern that Wilson’s execution would undermine American effort to maintain sympathetic understanding [of our] principles and government in that part of the world.⁴

    Petitions and letters of protest poured in. Hulda Omreit of Bodo, Norway, describing herself as a simple Norwegian housewife, wrote a letter to the U.S. government. She wished to express her sympathy for the Negro, Jimmy Wilson, and plead for clemency for him. It makes no difference whether he is black or white; we are all brothers under the skin. Six members of the Israeli Parliament sent a letter of protest. The Trades Union Congress of Ghana urged American authorities to save not only the life of Wilson but also the good name of the United States of America from ridicule and contempt. The Congress thought Wilson’s sentence constitutes such a savage blow against the Negro Race that it finds no parallel in the Criminal Code of any modern State. The Jones Town Youth Club of Jamaica was just one of the groups that held a protest in front of the U.S. consulate in Kingston. In one extreme reaction, the U.S. embassy in The Hague received calls threatening that the U.S. ambassador would not survive if Wilson were executed. After a story about the case appeared in Time magazine, someone in Perth, Australia, hung a black figure in effigy from the flagpole of the U.S. consulate. Above it was a sign reading Guilty of theft of fourteen shillings.⁵

    John Morsell, a spokesman for the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP), thought that it would be a sad blot on the nation if Wilson were executed. The NAACP was worried about the international repercussions. According to Morsell, We think the communists will take this and go to town with it. Sure enough, the communist newspaper in Rome, L’Unita, called Wilson’s death sentence a new unprecedented crime by American segregationists, while front-page stories in Prague appeared under headlines proclaiming This is America. Even those friendly to the United States were outraged, however. A group of Canadian judges was disturbed about the sentence and passed a resolution conveying its deep concern to Alabama Governor James Folsom. The judges warned that [i]f Alabama electrocutes Jimmy Wilson it will shock the conscience of the world. From St. Paul’s Cathedral in London, Canon John Collins urged every Christian in Britain to protest the execution. The secretary of the British Labour Party thought it was unfortunate that those who wish to criticize western liberty and democracy had been given such suitable ammunition for their propaganda.⁶

    Before long, Secretary of State John Foster Dulles was involved in the case. The Congress of Racial Equality (CORE) had urged Dulles to intervene, calling the Wilson case a matter of prime concern to the foreign relations of the United States. CORE warned that if this execution is carried out, certainly the enemies of the United States will give it world-wide publicity and thus convey a distorted picture of relations between the races in our country. A flood of despatches about the case from U.S. embassies around the world would make Dulles’s participation inevitable.⁷

    Secretary Dulles sent a telegram to Governor Folsom, informing him of the great international interest in the Jimmy Wilson case. Folsom did not need to be told that the world had taken an interest in Jimmy Wilson. He had received an average of a thousand letters a day about the case, many from abroad. The governor had never seen anything like it and was utterly amazed by the outpouring of international attention. He called a press conference to announce that he was ‘snowed under’ with mail from Toronto demanding clemency for Wilson. Folsom told Dulles that he stood ready to aid in interpreting the facts of the case to the peoples of the world. After the Alabama Supreme Court upheld Wilson’s conviction and sentence, Governor Folsom acted with unusual haste to grant Wilson clemency. The reason he acted so quickly was to end what he called the international hullabaloo.⁸

    Jimmy Wilson’s case is one example of the international impact of American race discrimination during the Cold War. Domestic civil rights crises would quickly become international crises. As presidents and secretaries of state from 1946 to the mid-1960s worried about the impact of race discrimination on U.S. prestige abroad, civil rights reform came to be seen as crucial to U.S. foreign relations.

    During the Cold War years, when international perceptions of American democracy were thought to affect the nation’s ability to maintain its leadership role, and particularly to ensure that democracy would be appealing to newly independent nations in Asia and Africa, the diplomatic impact of race in America was especially stark. The underlying question of whether the nation lived up to its own ideals had, of course, been raised before, and activists in earlier years had looked overseas for a sympathetic audience for their critique of American racism. Frederick Douglass sought support for the abolitionist movement in Great Britain, arguing that slavery was a crime against the human family, and so it belongs to the whole human family to seek its suppression. In 1893, Ida B. Wells traveled to England to generate support for the campaign against lynching. The pulpit and the press of our own country remains silent on these continued outrages, she explained. She hoped that support from Great Britain would in turn arouse the public sentiment of Americans.⁹

    During World War I, NAACP President Morefield Story argued that since African Americans were risking their lives to make the world safe for democracy, the nation must make America safe for Americans. W. E. B. DuBois took these ideas overseas when world leaders convened for the Paris Peace Conference. He hoped that international cooperation in a new League of Nations would provide a forum for the vindication of racial problems at home. [W]hat we cannot accomplish before the choked conscience of America, we have an infinitely better chance to accomplish before the organized Public Opinion of the World.¹⁰

    While World War I influenced civil rights activists’ critique of American racism, it did not lead to extensive social change. The moment for broader change came after World War II, a war against a racist regime carried on by a nation with segregated military forces. During the war years the idea that a conflict inhered in American ideology and practice first gained wide currency.¹¹

    World War II marked a transition point in American foreign relations, American politics, and American culture. At home, the meaning ascribed to the war would help to shape what would follow. At least on an ideological level, the notion that the nation as a whole had a stake in racial equality was widespread. As Wendell L. Willkie put it, Our very proclamations of what we are fighting for have rendered our own inequities self-evident. When we talk of freedom and opportunity for all nations the mocking paradoxes in our own society become so clear they can no longer be ignored.¹²

    The war years became an occasion for a serious examination of what was called the Negro problem in America. The most detailed treatment of this issue came from Swedish sociologist Gunnar Myrdal and his team of researchers. In 1944, Myrdal published An American Dilemma: The Negro Problem and Modern Democracy. According to Myrdal,

    [I]n this War, the principle of democracy had to be applied more explicitly to race. . . . Fascism and racism are based on a racial superiority dogma . . . and they came to power by means of racial persecution and oppression. In fighting fascism and racism, America had to stand before the whole world in favor of racial tolerance and cooperation and of racial equality.¹³

    The contradictions between racism and the ideology of democracy were, for Myrdal, a quintessentially American dilemma. Myrdal thought that all Americans shared an American creed, a belief in ideals of the essential dignity of the individual human being, of the fundamental equality of all men, and of certain inalienable rights to freedom, justice and a fair opportunity. Racism conflicted with this creed. The conflict between racist thoughts and egalitarian beliefs created tension and anxiety, leading Myrdal to emphasize that this American dilemma inured "in the heart of the American."¹⁴

    The American dilemma was a moral dilemma, and yet its implications stretched far beyond guilty consciences. According to Myrdal, there was a strategic reason for social change. During the war years, the American dilemma had acquired tremendous international implications. The color angle to this War, meant that [t]he situation is actually such that any and all concessions to Negro rights in this phase of the history of the world will repay the nation many times, while any and all injustices inflicted upon them will be extremely costly. American might would not be determined by military strength alone. America, for its international prestige, power, and future security, needs to demonstrate to the world that American Negroes can be satisfactorily integrated into its democracy.¹⁵

    Myrdal’s concerns about the impact of American racism on the war effort were played out in Axis propaganda. Pearl Buck reported that Japan . . . is declaring in the Philippines, in China, in India, Malaya, and even Russia that there is no basis for hope that colored peoples can expect any justice from the U.S. government. To prove their point, the Japanese pointed to racism in the United States. According to Buck,

    Every lynching, every race riot gives joy to Japan. The discriminations of the American army and navy and the air forces against colored soldiers and sailors, the exclusion of colored labor in our defense industries and trade unions, all our social discriminations, are of the greatest aid today to our enemy in Asia, Japan. Look at America, Japan is saying to millions of listening ears. Will white Americans give you equality?¹⁶

    In spite of these concerns, African Americans serving in the military in World War II were segregated and most often relegated to service units, not combat. A. Philip Randolph and many others mobilized against such wartime race discrimination. Civil rights groups capitalized on the nation’s new focus on equality, and World War II spurred civil rights activism. The NAACP developed, for the first time, a mass membership base. As Brenda Gayle Plummer has written, during the war [t]he NAACP internationaliz[ed] the race issue. A 1943 NAACP report suggested that race had become a global instead of a national or sectional issue. The war had broadened people’s thinking with the realization that the United States cannot win this war unless there is a drastic readjustment of racial attitudes.¹⁷

    The thinking that World War II was a war against racial and religious intolerance, and that the United States stood to gain from promoting equality at home was so widespread that Frank Sinatra even sang about it. The lesson of his short film The House I Live In was that racial and religious intolerance were Nazi characteristics. To be American was to practice equality, at least toward one’s wartime allies. This Oscar-winning film ended with Sinatra singing, all races and religions, that’s America to me.¹⁸

    As World War II drew to a close, the nation faced an uncertain future. Victory over fascism, a returned focus on the home front, the specter of a nuclear age—these joys and anxieties captured the nation. Yet more would be at stake in the postwar years. The purpose of the war would leave its victors with new obligations. And if the war was, at least in part, a battle against racism, then racial segregation and disenfranchisement seemed to belie the great sacrifices the war had wrought.¹⁹

    This idea was captured by a military chaplain with U.S. Marine Corps troops at the Battle of Iwo Jima during the final months of the war. When the battle was over, Rabbi Roland B. Gittelsohn stood over newly dug graves on the island and delivered a eulogy. Here lie men who loved America, he said.

    Here lie officers and men, Negroes and whites, rich and poor, together. Here no man prefers another because of his faith, or despises him because of his color. . . . Among these men there is no discrimination, no prejudice, no hatred. Theirs is the highest and purest democracy.

    The equality these soldiers had found in death was, for Gittelsohn, at the heart of the war’s meaning.

    Whoever of us lifts his hand in hate against a brother, or thinks himself superior to those who happen to be in the minority, makes of this ceremony, and of the bloody sacrifice it commemorates, an empty, hollow mockery. Thus, then, do we, the living, now dedicate ourselves, to the right of Protestants, Catholics and Jews, of white men and Negroes alike, to enjoy the democracy for which all of them have paid the price.²⁰

    There was an irony in the equality Gittelsohn found among the fallen soldiers, a point not mentioned in the chaplain’s eulogy. The military forces that fought on Iwo Jima were racially segregated. Yet the limitations on the military’s practice of equality did not dampen Gittelsohn’s passionate argument that out of the carnage of the war came a commitment and an obligation to give democracy meaning across the divisions of race, religion and class.

    Too much blood has gone into this soil for us to let it lie barren. Too much pain and heartache have fertilized the earth on which we stand. We here solemnly swear: it shall not be in vain. Out of this will come, we promise, the birth of a new

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