BLACK PRESIDENT, Chapter 47. Jackson Little, a 38-year-old Chicago Assemblyman from the fourth district, gets national attention for his speech on "Reparations."

https://chicagounbound.uchicago.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=2787&context=journal_articles

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

February 17, 1999

Now that Randle Robinson had finally arrived and taken his seat on the podium next to Jesse Jackson, it was time to begin the proceedings. The other “Jackson” on the dias, Assemblyman Jackson Little, had written his own speech, that is to say, had written and rewritten it, so that the thoughts he would shortly present were only those he knew from his own experiences. “Soul-pure” was the word his mother had coined, when she advised him to write his own speeches.

“Son, you got to tell the people what you think. If you’re going to be a leader... like... like John Kennedy...t hen you’ve got to be at least as involved as your speechwriters. You have to know what you’re talking about. So I say, study up on a subject, ask some intelligent people their opinions if you have to. Then sit down in some quiet spot and just write as fast as you can, make that pencil or pen dance! Ask the Lord to make your words just as soul-pure as he can.”

While Jackson Little, a 38-year-old Chicago Assemblyman from the fourth district, had had few opportunities to be in the national spotlight, Christ Church in Detroit had suddenly offered him that unique opportunity. And although he wasn’t the keynote speaker – Randle Robinson with his deep baritone voice was destined for that honor – Little was set to kick off the program following the opening prayer.

“Dear Lord,” said Reverend Jones, taking a big breath in as he looked out at the crowded pews, “Bless this house and those gathered under its wings of justice. May good sense and fairness be the order of the day.”

TV cameramen pointed their lenses toward the podium from each side, while soundmen aimed the boom poles with fuzzy, wind- proofed mikes at the speakers from several locations throughout the church.

“And now, please join me in welcoming Assemblyman Jackson Little from Chicago, who will share his thoughts on the Reparations Bill. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Jackson Little.”

As reporters scribbled notes on paper and e-pads, a few lifting their video cameras aloft to create a pictorial record of the historical event, Jackson rose from his seat to the left of Robinson and took the few steps to the podium. His mother and brother watched from their seats, near the middle of the congregation.

“Thank you Reverend Jones, for your fine words of faith and your continued battle to insure the rights of Americans of color into the 21st century.”

A few Oh yeahs sounded around the room.

“As a long-time resident of Chicago’s South Side, I’d like to say that I know your pain in Detroit...Yes I do.”

More Oh yeahs, getting louder with every word from Jackson. “I’ve seen little boys and girls kicked and spit on...

(Oh yeah!)

...kids who went to bed hungry.”

(YEAH!)
“I’ve seen Black families living on the street in the dead of winter .

(YES!)
“Black women selling their bodies for food.”

(OH YEAH!),
“And the Dear Lord knows I was fortunate to be spared most of

their pain...

(LORDY!)

“...most of the suffering that our people have endured...

(OH GOD!)

“...to let me be here with you-all today.”

(Praise the lord! OH YEAH!)

Everyone in the congregation was sitting erect now, alert in their chairs, some older folks with tears streaming down their faces. When Jackson stopped speaking, the room went so quiet that the hum of video tape reels were heard turning inside the cameras. All present had anticipated the launching of the Reparations campaign, but no one was prepared for the emotional speech from the young and relatively unknown Assemblyman.

“We were brought over to this continent, against our will... (YES WE WERE...)...

“...and worked to the bone, (YES, Oh Lord!)

“...beaten and killed,

(OH GOD, OH GOD YES!)

“...stripped and whipped.”

(THAS RIGHT!)

“...And we served...

(YES WE DID!)

“We served our masters, and...(Jackson’s voice rising clear and stronger), “...AND WE BUILT THIS NATION!”
.
By now, several older parishioners had stood, hands aloft, their previous exclamations more a drone of pain remembered.

“Our hands carved the very stones that form our nation’s capital in Washington, D.C.––this country built on our blood and backs, sweat and tears.

(OH GOD...LORDY...OH GOD. IT’S TRUE! IT’S TRUE!)

“The bricks and mortar, wood and timber, beams of steel that house the people of America, this United States, were carved, cast, carried and consecrated by our people!”

Aside from a background of low cries the room has quieted down, to better savor Little’s words.

“Our people harvested the crops, picked that cotton and spun it into the very clothes you wear.”

The Assemblyman takes a momentary pause before tries to finish up. Soon the audience will get even more verbal, with a loud answer to every remark.

“Were we paid for our work?

(OH NO LORD! NO SIR!)

“Were we thanked for our work?

(OH GOD NO, LORD, NO, NO, NO...)

“Were we honored for our work?

(LORD NO, NO WE WEREN'T. NO SIR, WE WEREN’T).

“We built the greatest nation on earth by the strength of our backs, for those same people who now want us to forget again.

(NO!)

“Well...we have a long memory, YES WE DO!”

From one end of the church to the other there rose the sounds of anger, sadness and joy, all mixed together to create a plaintive wailing more powerful than most had ever heard. The crowd suddenly erupts into a frenzy; people standing, chanting, with shouts and hysteria. But even though Reverend Jones approaches the podium, Jackson fights for his ending, endeavoring to complete his oration––just two sentences left.

“We worked for free...and BUILT WEALTH!

“YES, FOR FREE!

And now...dear brothers and sisters.. WE SHOULD BE PAID!”

Screams of agreement erupt throughout the room. As Reverend Jones reaches for the microphone.Jackson finishes.

“My name is Jackson Little, and I’m your Assemblyman from the South Side of Chicago.”

Returning to his chair, Jackson receives broad smiles and nods from fellow speakers. All realize that they’ve just witnessed an important new political talent on the national scene.

————

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