One evening during the height of the controversy over the commission, I turned on the network news to hear my name being vilified by none other than Hooks. He was in full throat, railing against the new direction at the commission, and me in particular. I still hadn't met him face to face, but that was to come later, at the 1984 Republican National Convention in Dallas. I was seated up in the balcony, when Hooks walked in and sat down. I chided him about some of the things he'd said about me, and told him I had been an NAACP member and marched in civil rights demonstrations in the 1960s. At which point, he said, "Get out your checkbook. You're about to become a lifetime member of the NAACP. We welcome you back into the fold." And there on the spot, he insisted I write a check putting me back "in good standing" with the NAACP. I was dumbstruck -- but he wasn't a man you could easily refuse.
Years later, Hooks and I went on a tour of schools around the country debating affirmative action. He walked with a cane and his wife, Patricia, was often with him to help him get around. But whatever pain and infirmities he suffered, he still managed to debate forcefully. But I often felt, as I looked out over the crowd of young men and women, that the world of widespread racism and discrimination Ben Hooks described was unfamiliar to his audience and a relic of the past. He seemed locked in a world of Jim Crow that simply didn't exist any longer. He made the old arguments for affirmative action -- that it was necessary to make up for the effects of past discrimination -- as if little had changed in the years after Selma and Birmingham.
Linda Chavez is chairman of the Center for Equal Opportunity and author of Betrayal: How Union Bosses Shake Down Their Members and Corrupt American Politics .
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