Under the baobab: The warriors who came before us give us strength, optimism

“We who are weak and wonderful, wicked, bewildered, wistful and wild are saying ‘Good mornings’ through the fever. It is the giant-hour. Nothing less than gianthood will do:

Nothing less than mover, prover, shover, cover, lever, diver, for giant tackling, overturning, new organic staring that will involve, that will involve us all.” — Aurora, Gwendolyn Brooks

This past week, weak and bewildered, salmon-like I returned to my headwaters, Chicago. “Girding my loins” for what could be my last struggle. I have been blessed to live longer than any other men in our family have lived. I realize that each day I wake up on this side of the earth is a gift. I have become more of an elder witness than an activist in the struggle for universal freedom and justice. It is appropriate. As we learned in the ‘60s, those who will live in the world should take the lead in creating it. Now, we all must be prepared to battle for the soul of our country and the survival of our beloved planet.

We were in Chicago celebrating the launch of the Emmett Till and Mamie Till-Mobley National Monument. A visit to the Mississippi part of the monument will come later. We joined a meeting of Rainbow Push and touched base with colleague and mentor Rev. Jesse Jackson. The Rev. Marshall Hatch Jr. gave a rousing homily on power, love and sound mind from 1st Timothy. There was a birthday bash for my departed aunt, Marie Dixon, Willie’s wife. While we were home, Tyler Perry’s “All the Queen’s Men,” in which I am featured, dropped on BET.

Chicago is a city of giants. Oprah, Harold Washington, both Michaels — Jordan and Jackson — and, of course, former President Barack Obama and his wife Michelle began their careers there. During the ‘60s there were giants on whose shoulders I personally stood: Fr. George Clements, Oscar Brown Jr., Lorraine Hansberry and Willie Dixon and other members of my family. Flapping around at their feet, I finally learned to swim on my own.

Chicago represents contrasts, then and now, progress and regress, black and white. Our Bronzeville community was grounded in solid Southern Black values: patience, empathy, strength and humor. We learned to seek joy while suffering through pain, courage while caught in the vise of fear and love while surrounded by hateful reactionaries. As a child I was taught patience by my granny who cared for others no matter how mean they treated her. My career soldier dad taught me empathy by sharing his foxhole camaraderie. The bedrock of my strength came from a mother who sang “Summertime” in January while the temperature was below zero and the hawk cut through you like a hot knife through butter. Willie Dixon taught me how to sing the blues, to give thanks for my blessings, and to dance through Saturday night.

Because of the work by these warriors, I do not worry about the emerging fascists and racists crawling out from under their rocks trying to eviscerate democracy. Didn’t we find the power to resist Senator McCarthy, George Wallace and Lester Maddox? Our indigenous brothers and sisters are showing us how to treat the land they have called home for thousands of years. Love will not allow global warming to destroy our beloved planet. Being of sound mind our fierce sisters, mothers and daughters are leading the struggle for their right to choose. We are the holders of the sacred stories. Our power is rooted in remembrance.

Visiting the Roberts Temple on State Street we remember being terrified by the grotesque treatment of a Black child by perverted white supremacists. But, just across town, President Obama’s Presidential Center and Library stretches to the stars, singing “Good Morning ... It is the giant-hour. Nothing less than gianthood will do.”

Charles Dumas is a lifetime political activist, a professor emeritus from Penn State, and was the Democratic Party’s nominee for U.S. Congress in 2012. He was the 2022 Lion’s Paw Awardee and Living Legend honoree of the National Black Theatre Festival. He lives with his partner and wife of 50 years in State College.