Dutton Books; 304 pp.

Review by Camille Goodison

 

Bitter. Black. Beautiful: These, to paraphrase Jimmy
Baldwin—vocal in his disdain for American myth-making and its delusions of
"innocence,"—would be three very appropriate words in describing Defending
the Spirit. Randall Robinson, founder and president of TransAfrica, the
Washington-based pressure group that advocates for more friendly U.S. policies towards the
countries of Africa and the Caribbean, was born over a half a century ago but has lived
through a great deal of history, much of it wrenching.

His tone is often sardonic, as when he describes the dehumanizing
nature and the stinking pettiness of life under segregation. His tone is often sweet, as
when he describes black life as it isn’t often seen, that is, when black folks have
chosen to ignore white society and live for themselves. He describes friends, relatives,
teachers, clergy, all with a firm moral core and a hint of protectiveness. The outside
world is twisted, small-minded, barbarous, but within the circumscribed all-black
communities, people are far more generous and reasonable.

Relying in a few places on flowery language that proves to be too
much of a good thing, fans of style may find this distracting. Robinson is also guilty of
some rhetorical excesses (a hair salon which does hair straightening sounds like a torture
chamber).

Occasionally, disappointingly, he bases his conclusions on
simplistic analysis; or he knows the story he wants to tell and then provides the facts
which support it, leaving out others which might make for a more complete picture. He
theorizes that black students weren’t as vocal in their opposition to the Vietnam War
as their white counterparts because they didn’t believe they could change foreign
policy. Sure, there may be some element of truth to this, but in any case it is never this
simple. Either his experiences have shaved his focus somewhat or he’s not entirely
trusting of the reader. These are, of course, minor criticisms.

From the most repugnant defamers of his people to the disquieting
short memories of many black Americans, Robinson, motivated by a righteous anger, tells it
as it is. It is not that it is a revelation to hear that an accomplished mover/shaker
African American professional like Robinson (a Harvard man) can have such a strong
mistrust and dislike of white Americans. Not that it’s a revelation to hear that the
full measure of America’s insult towards black Americans is reflected in its foreign
policies. Not that it’s so shocking to hear Ronald Reagan refer to "the
jigs" or to hear what Senator Ernest Hollings, or any other member of Congress from
either side of the aisle really thinks of Americans of African descent. And, it’s not
surprising to read of the callous disregard and contempt in which our leaders hold
possessors of darker skins. The degree to which self-hatred is imbued and practiced is
startling, but not all together new territory, either. The willingness of other people of
color to accept the class and social structure that places blacks at the very bottom is
upsetting but not totally unheard of. What is new and remarkable is the full disclosure
mode Robinson uses in order to write this audacious, remarkable book.

An atypical autobiography, there are no pictures of the author or of
him meeting and greeting world leaders. One does get a sense of an extraordinary life
lived and the costs paid by Robinson, his peers and ancestors. At the heart of Defending
the Spirit, though, is a person making connection with the privation and abuse he
suffered as a black youth growing up in Virginia and then Massachusetts, and the privation
suffered by the black masses at the hands of Europe and the United States.

He sneers at the governments which sponsor assassinations of
democratic, capable African leaders to put in their place Amins, Duvaliers, and Mobutus.
It isn’t enough that the pillagers, from colonialism through the cold war to the
present, ensured that these black societies remained miserable and stunted, they insisted
on rubbing our faces in the depravity of these African leaders: "Look, see why they
can’t be trusted to govern anything." It’s win-win for one side and
lose-lose for the other. He acknowledges the unpopularity of saying such a thing out loud
and in polite company.

He regrets, also, the inattention that is paid to the countries who
are able to make moderate gains despite the odds. Defending the Spirit contains
kind words for much of the English speaking Caribbean. Robinson chafes at the general
ignorance of most Americans to the blossoming democracies of Uganda, Botswana, Ghana, and
so on. Why, if we hear about Africa at all, do we hear only of the Sani Abachas of
Nigeria?

 

Defending the Spirit is remarkable in its pointedness and truth.
Robinson takes to task black men like Vernon Jordan who gain positions of power and
prominence due to the sacrifices of millions of freedom-fighting black men and women, and
who use those positions to enrich themselves and oftentimes to impede the progress of
their people. He’s equally unimpressed with men like Emerge founder, George
Curry, who downplay the importance of black struggles south of the United States. He rakes
himself over the coals for not being able to tear away the wool from his eyes sometimes.
He’s not happy with ignorance or a lack of seriousness on the part of those who claim
to be leaders. He wants black Americans to get off that great metaphorical plantation. In
"Plantation Redux," he disabuses black Amer- icans of the notion that they are
free. He expresses his irritation with multi-millionaires like Michael Jordan who are
fooled into believing otherwise.

Randall Robinson, as revealed in this autobiographical account, is a
man of integrity, seriousness, intelligence, and purpose. He has many things to say on a
variety of subjects and it is well worth the effort to explore these issues with him. And,
lest I forget to mention it, he can be quite funny. Robinson, known for his policy
statements and for his hunger fast on the behalf of fleeing Haitian refugees, also
displays a wicked wit. His passages on Vernon Jordan, John Conyers, and other men of
privilege are hysterical.