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By Root 807 0

and the social and psychological implications of being black in a state whose history and politics were often aligned with those of the Jim Crow South. The penalty for failure to understand racial dynamics was severe even if only rarely dealt. The stories of racially motivated beatings and lynchings and restrictive laws in the state, though old, had lost little of their power to remind us that we were an identifiable minority with a history. My father told of the threats against eligible blacks of mixed Native American descent who sought to register on the tribal roles or to vote in the general elections. My uncle told of his fear when his car broke down at night on the outskirts of a “sundown” town. My mother told of the fifteen-hour bus ride to a relative’s funeral in Arkansas and being restricted from using the rest room facilities at various stations along the way. Ten of my siblings graduated from segregated schools. So even in the unlikely event that the color of my and my family members’ skin had somehow become insignificant, the stories about race and the racial dynamics I experienced reminded me who I am and what that meant to others. More than the racism, it was the culture of the black rural community from which I derived my identity. The programs at the local black high school, the tiny wood-frame churches sprinkled throughout the countryside, the food, the music, the language, were all uniquely black and often uniquely rural. I knew who I was. I had always identified with the black community.

Yet in 1991 that community, the source of my social and psychological identity from childhood, became the source of my greatest discomfort. Voices in the community rose to condemn me for committing a community sin—bearing witness against a black man made all the worse because my protest involved matters of sexuality. For the first time in my life, I began to question my place in the black community and its place in my life. Nevertheless, in this letter I saw not simply the community’s condemnation but an affirmation of my continued membership in it. A USA Today poll of African Americans showed that 63 percent thought that Thomas should be confirmed, though only 47 percent said that they believed Judge Thomas was telling the truth. Though only 20 percent believed my accusations, 43 percent said that the racism in the process was directed at Thomas. At the conclusion of the hearing, President Bush appealed to the Senate based on that very sentiment in the African American community. On the day of the confirmation vote, Bush described Thomas a “wonderful inspiration” who had the “overwhelming support of the American people.”

There were other voices in the African American community. In November a group of African American women had taken out an ad in The New York Times and various papers around the country condemning the actions of the Senate Judiciary Committee in not fully investigating my claim and in the way it conducted the hearing after the leak of my statement. Shortly after the hearing, Jewel Jackson McCabe, founder of the Coalition of 100 Black Women, a national civic and social organization made up of local chapters, invited me to New York to receive an award from the organization. Some of the local chapters agreed; others did not, reflecting the mixed feelings of the larger African American community. Nevertheless, I knew that only through black women as individuals and as groups would I regain my place in the community. Some black men had spoken out on my behalf. During the hearing, Roger Wilkins and an ad hoc group, Concerned Black Men, attempted to engage the press in a more realistic discussion about the issues raised. After the hearing, the Reverend Jesse Jackson became a supporter, but these voices were drowned out as the politicians played on those who expressed hostility to me and my claim. Nevertheless, I knew there were African American women who fully appreciated my dilemma and embraced my right to speak as their own.

As I explored my feelings toward the community of my birth and choice, my first concern