Acknowledgements

Fifty years after 600 peaceful protesters were brutally beaten during what would become known as Bloody Sunday, my family and I gathered at the base of the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Alabama. We were there to honor brave visionaries who created political opportunities that many people take for granted. As we approached the bridge, my husband and I noticed our daughter’s hesitance. She was afraid of what was waiting for us on the other side. We reassured her, then paused to reflect on what those footsoldiers must have felt when they encountered a phalanx of people armed with billy clubs, dogs, tear gas, and a vicious disdain for their very existence. As we stood on the bridge, we heard a group of marchers singing “We Shall Overcome”: in that moment we questioned just how much had changed since 1965, when Jimmie Lee Jackson and Viola Liuzzo were shot to death simply for demanding access to democracy and equality.

We looked into the crowd and spotted the first two women to legally marry in the state of Alabama. We mouthed a silent “thank you” as Reverend William Barber II, architect of the Moral Monday movement, marched by. We watched as elders in wheelchairs were escorted by young people whose first introduction to Bloody Sunday happened via a movie screen. We listened as an interfaith group voiced their demands for immigration reform. We stood in solidarity with the formerly incarcerated whose banner advocated not for a second chance but for a viable first chance at achieving the American Dream. We looked back over the bridge and remembered that, less than twenty-four hours earlier, we had stood shoulder to shoulder with people from all over the world as the United States’ first Black president acknowledged John Lewis, a man who was savagely beaten by state troopers during that fateful march yet overcame permanent injuries to become a member of the United States Congress. We critiqued our own hubris as we listened to the stories of local veterans who had fought for democracy abroad, only to return home and be denied the vote. These men and women removed their hats, held their hands to their hearts, and closed their eyes in reverence as a choir sang the words to “Lift Ev’ry Voice.” There on that bridge we better understood that American democracy is cloaked in the blood, prayers, and sacrifices of elders who were willing to fight for a future more powerful than the present. That bridge is sacred ground.

The trip to Selma provided the fuel to write this book. Completing it would not have been possible without a legion of supporters. I am grateful to the many students I have taught at the Ohio State University, Yale University, and Quinnipiac University. Portions of this research have been presented at Texas A&M University, Claflin University, Northeastern University, Harvard University, DePauw University, the University of Connecticut Graduate School of Social Work, the College of William and Mary, and the University of North Carolina-Greensboro.

Many thanks to Brandee Blocker Anderson, Nisha Gandhi, Christopher Pagliarella, Corey Scott, and Danielle Tomlinson for research assistance. My colleagues at Quinnipiac have provided support and an overall sense of collegiality that gave me the confidence to embark on this ambitious project. This research has been supported by various grants from the Quinnipiac College of Arts and Sciences and the Provost’s Innovation Grants. A special thanks to the Eli’s Crew for end of semester debriefs and affirmations.

Being an academic is often a lonely enterprise, but my journey has been enriched by a number of colleagues and friends who challenge me, pray for me, inspire me, and, when necessary, laugh with me. Chief among them was the late Professor Mark Sawyer, who was at once my sharpest critic and fiercest advocate. Thanks for teaching me to listen for the sound of el coqui, my friend.

Saladin Ambar, Domonic Bearfield, Niambi Carter, Wartyna Davis, Michael Fauntroy, Jelani Favors, Christina Greer, L’Heureux Lewis-McCoy, Shayla Nunnally, D’Andra Orey, Ravi Perry, Clarissa Peterson, Kathy Powers, Melanye Price, Melynda Price, Gabe Sanchez, Valeria Sinclair Chapman, Wendy Smooth, James Taylor, Alvin Tillery, Derrick White, and David C. Wilson provided me with valuable feedback and critique on various parts of the project via drafts, affiliated articles, and conference presentations. They are exceptional scholars and even better friends. Thank you to the many people who provided a forum for me to debate and defend the core arguments of this text – especially the NCOBPS family. I owe a special debt of gratitude to the hardest working person I know, Jessica Lavariega Monforti, for her copious comments on the early chapters.

I am eternally grateful to Professors Matthew Holden, Paula McClain, and the late William E. Nelson, Jr, for setting the standard and convincing me to pursue a PhD instead of a JD.

Thank you to the anonymous reviewers for insightful critiques that challenged my thinking and helped make the final product much stronger. This book would not be possible without Polity Press, my gracious editor Louise Knight, and Sophie Wright. Thank you for your patience, your guidance, and your unwavering commitment to this project.

Jamal Watson, executive editor of Diverse: Issues in Higher Education, provided me with a weekly blog column to flesh out the ideas that form the intellectual heart of this book. Charles Ellison and WURD Radio gave me a weekly segment to address the historical context and contemporary controversies of identity politics. Jamal, Charles, and my friends at Connecticut Public and WTNH helped me develop a platform to make public scholarship relevant and accessible. Conversations with Tarana Burke, Danny Glover, Gary Winfield and Reginald Dwayne Betts made real the possibilities of bridging the gap between theory and practice. I remain inspired by the T.R.U.E. Unit at Cheshire CI. Thank you to the Mitchell Public Library (especially Mr Bostic) and Manjares Café for providing physical space for me to write and try out new ideas.

This is a book about identity politics, so I have to acknowledge those who have shaped my identity as a scholar and a citizen. Lynchburg, Virginia, will always be the place where I learned about democracy’s promise and the perils of ignoring rather than addressing difference. Chestnut Grove is where I return for spiritual refueling. The women of Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority, Incorporated – especially Theta Kappa and Theta Epsilon Omega chapters – continue to be the women I seek to emulate. Thank you to my prayer team for their covering. Tuere McElroy and Stacyanne Headley astound me with their uncanny ability to send a much-needed text message or pop up to visit when things seem overwhelming. The Patton, Williams, Spearman, and Pegues families are a tremendous gift.

My amazing family – the Browns, Deans, Martins, and Pendletons – remind me who I am and whose I am. My mother JoAnn Brown Martin is my greatest cheerleader and the one who first showed me the value of civic education. She is a consummate public servant. My sisters, Megan and Courtney, provide life’s soundtrack, while conversations with my Aunts Veda, Wanda, and Vay have addressed nearly every controversy contained in this book. My nieces and nephews (JaBrille, John, Mikayla, Jacob, Jessica, Lennon, Dean, and Myles) are a constant reminder of life’s true purpose. I wish my grandparents, Ted Louis Brown and Helen Pendleton Brown, were here to read this book. So much of my interest in politics and identity is the result of their commitment to community.

My husband, William R. Dean, Jr, calmed my fears and refused to allow me to give up on this project. I thank him for believing in me even in the moments I couldn’t believe in myself. I am eternally grateful for every additional load of laundry, meal prep, schedule change, and school drop-off he took on so I could carve out more space to write.

Finally, I dedicate this book to our daughter, Haley Ann-Helen, who is named after her two grandmothers and a great-grandmother. She is the reason I refuse to give up on the hope that, someday, we will get this thing called American democracy right so that she can inherit a more just world. Thank you for every encouraging note you secretly tucked into my notebook, for every “Good job, Mommy,” and for never complaining about the extra trips to the library. May you always know that impossible things are happening every day.

For Fannie Lou, Sojourner, Carrie, MumBett, Ida B., Ethel, Nellie, Barbara, Coretta, Helen, Elizabeth, Maxine, Septima, Ella, Eunice, Marion, Shirley, Tiny, Louise, Mary, Amelia, Maya, and every elder who paved the way, I thank you.