Hāʻule pinepine nā moʻolelo o nā kiʻi i hoʻokahi o nā ʻāpana ʻelua. Ma kekahi ʻaoʻao, he laudatory paha lākou, i kekahi mau mea e hoʻohuli i ke kumuhana i mea haipule. Ma ka ʻaoʻao ʻē aʻe, hiki iā lākou ke nānā i nā ʻāpana haʻi, i kekahi mau mea e manaʻo e wāwahi i ke kumuhana. He aha ka hana ʻO ka Social Arsonist o ʻAmelika: ʻO Fred Ross a me Grassroots hoʻonohonoho i ka makahiki iwakālua., ʻO ka moʻolelo hou a Gabriel Thompson o ka mea hoʻonohonoho kaiaulu kaao, he mea maʻamau ka hōʻike ʻana i kahi moʻolelo kaulike loa o ke ola a me ka hana a kekahi o nā mea hoʻonohonoho holomua holomua o ke kenekulia 20, ʻoiai i ka manawa like e hāʻawi ana i nā ʻike pono loa i ka hana a me ka hana. ʻoihana o ka hoʻonohonoho holomua.
Ma nā ʻano he nui, ʻo ke ola o Ross ka moʻolelo o kahi ʻāpana koʻikoʻi o ka neʻe holomua ma Kaleponi. Ua hele ʻo ia i ka makahiki politika i ka makahiki 1930; e ʻike ana i nā hakakā nui o ka poʻe mahiʻai o kēlā au ma hope o ka lawe ʻia ʻana o nā Chicanos a me nā Mekiko i nā makahiki 1930 i pili pū me ka huaʻōlelo, "Los Repatriados," ua loaʻa iā ia iho he alo a he alo me ka hoʻopaʻahao ʻana o Iapana. -ʻAmelika i loko o nā kahua hoʻomoana i ka wā o ke Kaua Honua II a me kona puka lohi akā paʻa ma ke ʻano he mea hoʻonohonoho a me ka manaʻo i loko o ka Community Service Organization (a ma hope, ka United Farm Workers).
Although Ross and legendary organizer ʻO Saula Alinsky were quite close, and Ross actually worked for Alinsky for a period of time, Ross departed from his mentor in two important respects. First, central to Alinsky’s approach to organizing was the notion of building an organization of organizations. Through the Industrial Areas Foundation, locally-based coalitions were put together, frequently rooted in the religious community. This aimed to guarantee some level of credibility for the organizing effort. But Ross disagreed: He believed in the need to create new community-based organizations that were unencumbered by older leaderships who he frequently believed to be too passive or otherwise obstructive.
ʻO ka ʻokoʻa ʻē aʻe, ua ʻike ʻo Ross i ke koʻikoʻi o ka neʻe ʻana o Chicano ma Kaleponi a ua mākaukau ʻo ia e komo i nā hakakā i manaʻo ʻia e kekahi poʻe hoʻonohonoho, i alakaʻi ʻia e Alinsky, he mea hoʻokaʻawale loa. ʻO ka Community Service Organization, āna i kōkua ai e kūkulu, ua paʻa i ka neʻe ʻana o Chicano, ʻoiai ua wehe ʻia i nā poʻe ʻē aʻe. Ua hakakā ʻo ia me ka hana ʻino a nā mākaʻi i kuhikuhi ʻia ma Chicanos a hoʻāʻo e kūkulu i ka mana politika Chicano ma Los Angeles.
Although Ross did not present himself as a person of the Left (probably in part due to the Cold War persecution of leftists), his inclinations were clearly toward the Left. He mostly refused to engage in the sort of red-baiting that was common from the 1940s to the 1960s, even among many progressives.
Ua hoʻomaha kēia ʻoiaʻiʻo iaʻu. Ua hoʻohewa nui wau iā Alinsky a me ka poʻe i hahai ma kāna ala no kā lākou de-ideologizing of organizing: an approach that suggests that it is almost unimportant what one organizes around; it is the act of organizing itself that raises the political consciousness of those engaged, and raises it in a progressive direction. This de-ideologizing by many of Alinsky’s followers made its way into the ranks of organized labor, particularly in the 1980s and 1990s and played a counter-productive role in efforts at labor renewal.
ʻO ka Ross i wehewehe ʻia e Thompson he ʻano ʻano ʻano ʻokoʻa. Ma kekahi ʻaoʻao, ʻaʻohe manaʻo i ka ideology a me ka hoʻonaʻauao politika hema i ka hoʻonohonoho āna i alakaʻi ai. I kēlā ʻano, aia kahi kūlike me Alinsky. I ka manawa like, ʻo ka hoʻokokoke ʻana o Ross, e like me ka hōʻike ʻia e nā ʻano hakakā āna i hana ai, ʻoi aku ka like me ke ʻano o ka "evolutionary leftism," ma o nā ʻano like ʻole o ka hoʻonohonoho holomua, e hoʻokō maoli mākou i nā ʻano hoʻololi a mākou e pono ai. ma ke ʻano he hui—ʻaʻohe manaʻo nui e pono ai.
ʻO ia ʻano ala e pale aku ai i ke koʻikoʻi o nā pahuhopu hoʻolālā ākea ākea, i hoʻokumu ʻia i kahi ʻike politika nui aʻe. Eia naʻe, he ʻokoʻa kēia ma waena o Ross a me Alinsky i uhi ʻia e ko lāua pilina pili i nā makahiki.
ʻO ka ʻaoʻao ʻē aʻe o ka mālama ʻana iā Thompson aʻu i mahalo nui ai e pili ana i ka nīnau no ka ʻohana. He pōʻino loa ka nohona ʻohana o Ross. ʻAʻole wale ʻo kāna mau male ʻelua i pau i ka hemo ʻana. Akā, ʻo ka hoʻokokoke ʻana o Ross i kona ola hoʻonohonoho ʻana ʻo ia ka hoʻonohonoho ʻana ma mua o nā mea āpau.
At one point in history such an approach would have been considered noble, if not heroic. Yet, in reading about his ignoring his two wives, and spending limited amounts of time with his children (with the notable exception of Fred Ross, Jr. who followed in his father’s footsteps as an organizer), what was striking was both Ross’ sexism and his blindness to the multi-dimensional side to living the life of an organizer. The sexism was especially ironic because Ross made reaching women a priority in his organizing.
In Ross’ era, it was frequently accepted that men could go off and save the world and the women should take care of the home front. We should be careful about judging a past period based on the norms of our current era. Yet one can conclude that, first, there were alternative courses even during that era, and, second, that the cost, not only to Ross’s two wives and children but to Ross himself, were severe.
In social movements there are intense pressures on organizers—paid and unpaid—to put everything else aside in the name of the cause. There are circumstances where that is necessary, if not unavoidable. I am reminded of a South African activist, Nimrod Sejake, who was exiled due to his anti-apartheid work, spending years in Ireland, the result being his missing out on years in the lives of his children. One cannot second-guess such a decision, made under extreme conditions. Yet the decision came at great cost. His family was very divided over whether his sacrifice had been worth it, a very tragic legacy for a person who committed so much for a greater cause.
No Ross naʻe, ua piʻi ka manaʻo o ka mea hoʻonohonoho i ka hoʻonohonoho ʻana ma mua o nā mea a pau—me ka ʻohana o kekahi—i piʻi i ka pae kumu. ʻAʻole wale ia e pili ana i ka mea e koi ʻia e hana ma lalo o nā kūlana kūikawā, akā ʻo ka mea e hoʻomākaukau ai ka mea hoʻonohonoho e hana i kēlā me kēia manawa. I ka hihia o Ross, ua komo pū kēia me ka nānā ʻole ʻana i kāna wahine i kekahi mau manawa koʻikoʻi i ka wā e ola ana ʻo ia mai ka maʻi polio.
The failure to recognize the need for a balance of family and a life committed to social justice inevitably led to dysfunctions in the way that Ross thought and operated. The movement became everything, and this meant, at certain key moments—as we would see when Ross worked with Cesar Chavez—a willingness to turn a blind eye to terrible, abusive practices carried out in the name of the movement. Ross failed to question the actions of someone who, even more than Ross, believed that he was putting the movement before everything else.
Thompson also offers an insightful and emotionally challenging look at the development of the United Farm Workers of America. Cesar Chavez, the legendary founding President of the union, was someone who Ross mentored. Over the years their relationship evolved, such that Ross came to not only admire Chavez, but to see him as the leader who could transform American society. This evolution took very tragic consequences when Chavez himself evolved into a leader filled with paranoia, anti-communism, and quite possibly, some level of anti-Semitism, as Randy Shaw recounts in Ma waho aʻe o nā kahua: ʻO Cesar Chavez, ka UFW, a me ka hakakā no ka hoʻopono ma ka 21st Century.
Ross witnessed firsthand the deterioration of the UFW, including the purges carried out against outstanding leaders and activists, such as the purging of two great leading figures in the UFW, Marshal Ganz and Eliseo Medina (the latter going on to become Secretary-Treasurer of SEIU), or the manipulation of a key vote at the UFW convention that led to the departure of many UFW activists, feeling betrayed. Yet he said nothing. Thompson proposes that Ross might have been one of the few people who could have successfully challenged Chavez as he descended into Tartarus, taking with him a union that in so many ways pointed in the direction necessary for broader U.S. labor renewal.
ʻAʻole haʻi wale ʻo Thompson i kahi moʻolelo maikaʻi loa, akā ʻo ia hoʻi, i nā manawa koʻikoʻi o ka puke, ʻike i kekahi mau haʻawina no nā mea hoʻonohonoho, e kiʻi ana mai ke ola a me ka hana a Ross. ʻAʻole ʻo ia e hoʻoponopono inā ʻae ʻo ia i kēlā me kēia hihia me Ross, akā maopopo nā haʻawina. ʻO kekahi laʻana, i hōʻike ʻia ma luna nei, ʻo ia ka ʻike ʻana o Ross ʻo ka wahine ka mea hoʻonohonoho maikaʻi loa, a inā makemake kekahi e kiʻi i kahi papahana nui mai ka honua, pono e lanakila kekahi ma luna o nā wahine. ʻAʻole naʻe i maopopo, ʻo ka nui o ko Ross i ʻike ai ʻo ka lanakila ʻana ma luna o nā wahine ʻaʻole ia e pili ana i ka lanakila ʻana iā lākou ma nā hana hoʻonohonoho mua, akā ʻo ka hōʻoia ʻana he kuleana alakaʻi piha lākou i ke kaʻina hana a me ke ola o kahi hui.
Ua hoʻolaha ʻo Ross i ka manaʻo o ka hoʻomaka ʻana ma kahi o nā kānaka, a laila e neʻe iā lākou i mua, he ʻoiaʻiʻo no ka hoʻonohonoho ʻana inā e kākau inoa kekahi iā Alinsky a i ʻole Mao Zedong. Hoʻopaʻa ʻia ka puke i nā haʻawina ʻē aʻe a Ross i huki ai mai kāna mau ʻike ponoʻī a āna i manaʻo ai, i nā pae like ʻole.
ʻAʻole i manaʻoʻiʻo ʻo Ross i ka manaʻo o "burnout". Ua manaʻo ʻo ia he mea hoʻonohonoho a i ʻole ua hāʻawi lākou a haʻalele. I ka heluhelu ʻana e pili ana i kēia, ua hoʻomanaʻo ʻia au i ka moʻolelo kaulana o ka mea i hana ʻia e General George S. Patton—i ka wā o ke Kaua Honua II—kahi i hahau ai ʻo ia i kekahi koa i loaʻa i ka luhi o ke kaua (he hanana i hōʻike ʻia ma ke kiʻi kupaianaha a George C. Scott o ka pūkaua. i loko Patton).
In both Ross and Patton’s case, there was a misreading of human beings. These were not simply examples of macho, whether applied to organizing or to war. It was a failure to understand how human beings cope with pressure and particularly over extended periods of time. Organizers do burnout. Some of them leave the movement entirely; others return full swing after a certain period; and others ‘renegotiate’ their relationship to the movement on different terms.
Ua haʻalele koʻu hoaaloha maikaʻi mai kahi kūlana alakaʻi i kahi hui nui kūloko. Ua nīnau au iā ia no ke aha ʻo ia i hana ai i kēia. Pane ʻo ia: “No koʻu ʻohana. Ua ʻike au inā e hele mau ana nā mea e like me kā lākou e hele nei, ʻaʻole wau e lilo i ʻāpana o ke ola o kaʻu mau keiki i ko lākou ulu ʻana a ʻaʻole hoʻi he hoa maikaʻi no kaʻu wahine.
Ross might have described such an approach as what we used to call “half-stepping,” evidence of someone who wasn’t fully committed to the movement. I would look at it as more of an adjustment to the simple fact that involvement in the movement is a marathon. This is a long-distance race during which time one’s speed may vary or breathing may change. But one never loses sight of the final goal. Failing to appreciate the multi-dimensionality to the life of an organizer guarantees that instead of building and reinforcing organizers, we produce Blade Runner-type replicants or androids who may, at first glance, appear to be human, but have actually lost their souls.
In many respects, this is what appears to have happened to Ross. Yes, he was without question great and dedicated. But in failing to appreciate the marathon nature of our journey and the need for balance, he began losing pieces of the humanity for which he had actually been fighting for most of his life.
Ua hoʻopuka ʻo Gabriel Thompson i kekahi o nā puke noʻonoʻo nui e pili ana i ka hoʻonohonoho ʻana a me ka hoʻopili ʻana i ka loli kaiaulu aʻu i heluhelu ai i kekahi manawa. I ka haʻi ʻana i ka moʻolelo ola o Fred Ross, ua ʻaʻa ʻo Thompson e hoʻolei i ka envelopp i nā mea i makemake ʻole ʻia e ka poʻe holomua.
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