A good man is gone. A man who had a vision for his people, meant well. Rev Jesse Jackson left this earthly vale of tears quietly, is now off to Baptist heaven. In his time, Rev Jackson had aura, he had swagger, and did he have the skills needed to put a string of words together, and get a crowd going. There is something to be said of that flair with words, what made them sing, and many a captivated audience sing right on along. The Southern preachers had it coming out of their immaculately tailored sleeves. The Black (African American) preachers were in a class all by themselves. Jesse Jackson was one of the best.
His youthful years meant that he had to follow in the long shadow of glory cast by the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and others from that grand era of the Civil Rights movement that achieved so much. His was the misfortune to last so long that he witnessed some of those precious gains, earned at such great cost, reversed in totality, or diminished one plank at a time, until all that is left is a swaying structure that is still under constant siege, eroded by calculatingly corrosive attacks. Voting Rights is one the latest under the unsparing microscope of crafty politicians at the federal and state levels, and with perverse objectives driving.
Jesse Jackson was a player, a contributor, a respected political competitor, until he made one fatal error. Relative to the latter, the forces of darkness had their eyes fixed on him. Too uppity, an up and comer, who had to be watched, put in his place, before he forgot to know his place. His Rainbow Coalition was post-King and pre-Obama; showed White America what it didn’t want to see: A Black man with a following that was growing larger. A Black American man in a hurry. One willing to buck the odds, the established order of things, and with the potential to make some inroads in the power structure. Like Rev Martin King, Rev Jackson had his file compiled by the watchers in official agencies. His company, his robustness, and his postures sometimes rubbed in the wrong way, one who came across as being a little too sure of himself. In another kind of American, such attributes would be hailed as surefooted confidence, a readiness not to backdown, but to take on any and all challengers, and squeeze the best out of such encounters.
He couldn’t be slapped with the label of communist, which dogged Rev King. When the plight of poor and powerless people is brought to centerstage, that brand almost always proves to be handy. Then Rev Jackson gave his adversaries a gift, a fateful slip made, from which he never recovered. Was never going to be allowed to do so. In a moment of rare political laxity, he uttered those unpardonable words: ‘New York City is Hymietown.’ He knew better. He knew that that was never going to be forgotten, would hang over his head like the sword of Damocles. He knew also that he would not be forgiven, regardless of how often he apologized for spitting all over himself. From the catchy ‘Run, Jesse, Run, it was to down, Jesse, down. Unlike Olympic champion Jesse Owens, the Rev Jesse Jackson’s aftermath was not a blaze of trumpets, but the tragedy of yet another Black Prince felled by what was arrayed against him. In these days, men holding the highest elected offices can say with confidence, without fear, what is uglier, what is openly racist and incendiary, without so much as slap on the wrist. The most that happens is that there are stiff, pained smiles from some, and defiant insistence of having their way by perps and their defenders. From there, it is on to the next outrage that derogates and dismisses people who look different, and are different. Jackson spoke to a demographic fact, and for that he was burned in effigy, another hero of the oppressed and marginalized brought down to earth.
He has now left this earth. A man who rolled with the punches, some of them self-inflicted. But he also was someone who gave as much, if not more, than he got in his better days. Farewell Jesse. He was a man who had his bright shining moments. Then the clouds came and took over. It was time that he went his way. He will be remembered well.
