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How did the author of the “Montgomery Boycott” memoir help with the Montgomery boycott?

telling stories about rosa parks to school-age children

answering the phone and delivering messages

explaining the unfair laws to her neighbors

driving her husband to and from church meetings

A?

  • English -

    https://www.jiskha.com/display.cgi?id=1510868039

  • English -

    Do you want to know the author?

  • English -

    Since none of us has read this piece, we can't look it up without knowing the author, can we? IF you have read the piece, Bri, you would know the answer without asking us.

  • English -

    Yes.

  • English -

    Its this one

    Montgomery Boycott
    by Coretta Scott King
    Of all the facets of segregation in Montgomery, the most degrading were the rules of the Montgomery City Bus Lines. This northern-owned corporation outdid the South itself. Although seventy percent of its passengers were black, it treated them like cattle—worse than that, for nobody insults a cow. The first seats on all buses were reserved for whites. Even if they were unoccupied and the rear seats crowded, blacks would have to stand at the back in case some whites might get aboard; and if the front seats happened to be occupied and ​more white people boarded the bus, black people seated in the rear were forced to get up and give them their seats. Furthermore—and I don’t think northerners ever realized this—blacks had to pay their fares at the front of the bus, get off, and walk to the rear door to board again. Sometimes the bus would drive off without them after they had paid their fare. This would happen to elderly people or pregnant women, in bad weather or good, and was considered a joke by the drivers. Frequently the white bus drivers abused their passengers, calling them . . . black cows, or black apes. Imagine what it was like, for example, for a black man to get on a bus with his son and be subjected to such treatment.
    There had been one incident in March 1955, when fifteen-year-old Claudette Colvin refused to give up her seat to a white passenger. The high school girl was handcuffed and carted off to the police station. At that time Martin served on a committee to protest to the city and ​bus-company officials. The committee was received politely—and nothing was done.
    The fuel that finally made that slow-burning fire blaze up was an almost routine incident. On December 1, 1955, Mrs. Rosa Parks, a forty-two-year-old seamstress whom my husband aptly described as “a charming person with a radiant personality,” boarded a bus to go home after a long day working and shopping. The bus was crowded, and Mrs. Parks found a seat at the beginning of the black section. At the next ​stop more whites got on. The driver ordered Mrs. Parks to give her seat to a white man who boarded; this meant that she would have to stand all the way home. Rosa Parks was not in a revolutionary frame of mind. She had not planned to do what she did. Her cup had run over. As she said later, “I was just plain tired, and my feet hurt.” So she sat there, refusing to get up. The driver called a policeman, who arrested her and took her to the courthouse. From there Mrs. Parks called E. D. Nixon, who came down and signed a bail bond for her.
    Mr. Nixon was a fiery Alabamian. He was a Pullman porter who had been active in A. Philip Randolph’s Brotherhood of Sleeping Car Porters, and in civil rights activities. Suddenly he also had had enough; suddenly, it seemed, almost every African-American in Montgomery had had enough. It was spontaneous combustion. Phones began ringing all over the black section of the city. The Women’s Political Council suggested a one-day boycott of the buses as a protest. E. D. Nixon courageously agreed to organize it.
    The first we knew about it was when Mr. Nixon called my husband early in the morning of Friday, December 2. He had already talked to Ralph Abernathy. After describing the incident, Mr. Nixon said, “We have taken this type of thing too long. I feel the time has come to boycott the buses. It’s the only way to make the white folks see that we will not take this sort of thing any longer.”
    Martin agreed with him and offered the Dexter Avenue Church as a meeting place. After much telephoning, a meeting of black ministers and civic leaders was arranged for that evening. Martin said later that as he approached his church Friday evening, he was nervously wondering how many leaders would really turn up. To his delight, Martin found over forty people, representing every segment of African-American life, crowded into the large meeting room at Dexter. There were doctors, lawyers, businessmen, federal-government employees, union leaders, and a great many ministers. The latter were particularly welcome, not only because of their ​influence,​ but because it meant that they were beginning to accept Martin’s view that “religion deals with both heaven and earth. . . . Any religion that professes to be concerned with the souls of men and is not concerned with the slums that doom them, the economic conditions that strangle them, and the social conditions that cripple them, is dry-as-dust religion.” From that very first step, the Christian ministry provided the leadership of our struggle, as Christian ideals were its source.
    Martin told me after he got home that the meeting was almost wrecked because questions or suggestions from the floor were cut off. However, after a stormy session, one thing was clear: however much they differed on details, everyone was unanimously for a boycott. It was set for Monday, December 5. Committees were organized; all the ministers present promised to urge their congregations to take part. Several thousand leaflets were printed on the church mimeograph machine, describing the reasons for the boycott and urging all blacks not to ride buses “to work, to town, to school, or anyplace on Monday, December 5.” Everyone was asked to come to a mass meeting at the Holt Street Baptist Church on Monday evening for further instructions. The Reverend A. W. Wilson had offered his church because it was larger than Dexter and more convenient, being in the center of the black district.
    Saturday was a busy day for Martin and the other members of the committee. They hustled around town talking with other leaders, arranging with the black-owned taxi companies for special bulk fares and with the owners of private automobiles to get the people to and from work. I could do little to help because Yoki was only two weeks old, and my physician, Dr. W. D. Pettus, who was very careful, advised me to stay in for a month. However, I was kept busy answering the telephone, which rang continuously, and coordinating from that central point the many messages and arrangements.
    Our greatest concern was how we were going to reach the fifty thousand black people of Montgomery, no matter how hard we worked. The white press, in an outraged exposé, spread the word for us in a way that would have been impossible with only our own resources.
    As it happened, a white woman found one of our leaflets, which her black maid had left in the kitchen. The irate woman immediately telephoned the newspapers to let the white community know what the blacks were up to. We laughed a lot about this, and Martin later said that we owed them a great debt.
    On Sunday morning, from their pulpits, almost every African-American minister in town urged people to honor the boycott.
    Martin came home late Sunday night and began to read the morning paper. The long articles about the proposed boycott accused the NAACP of planting Mrs. Parks on the bus—she had been a volunteer secretary for the Montgomery chapter—and likened the boycott to the tactics of the White Citizens Councils. This upset Martin. That awesome conscience of his began to gnaw at him, and he wondered if he was doing the right thing. Alone in his study, he struggled with the question of whether the boycott method was basically unchristian. ​Certainly it could be used for unethical ends. But, as he said, “We were using it to give birth to freedom . . . and to urge men to comply with the law of the land. Our concern was not to put the bus company out of business, but to put justice in business.” He recalled Thoreau’s words, “We can no longer lend our cooperation to an evil system,” and he thought, “He who accepts evil without protesting against it is really cooperating with it.” Later Martin wrote, “From this moment on I conceived of our movement as an act of massive noncooperation. From then on I rarely used the word ‘boycott.’”
    Serene after his inner struggle, Martin joined me in our sitting room. We wanted to get to bed early, but Yoki began crying and the telephone kept ringing. Between ​interruptions we sat together talking about the prospects for the success of the protest. We were both filled with doubt. Attempted boycotts had failed in Montgomery and other cities. Because of changing times and tempers, this one seemed to have a better chance, but it was still a slender hope. We finally decided that if the boycott was sixty percent effective we would be doing all right, and we would be satisfied to have made a good start.
    A little after midnight we finally went to ​bed, but at five-thirty the next morning we were up and dressed again. The first bus was due at six o’clock at the bus stop just outside our house. We had coffee and toast in the kitchen; then I went into the living room to watch. Right on time, the bus came, headlights blazing through the December darkness, all lit up inside. I shouted, “Martin! Martin, come quickly!” He ran in and stood beside me, his face lit with excitement. There was not one person on that usually crowded bus! We stood together waiting for the next bus. It was empty too, and this was the most heavily traveled line in the whole city. Bus after empty bus paused at the stop and moved on. We were so excited we could hardly speak coherently. Finally Martin said, “I’m going to take the car and see what’s happening other places in the city.”
    He picked up Ralph Abernathy and they cruised together around the city. Martin told me about it when he got home. Everywhere it was the same—a few white people and maybe one or two blacks in otherwise empty buses. Martin and Ralph saw extraordinary sights—the sidewalks crowded with men and women trudging to work; the students of Alabama State College walking or thumbing rides; taxicabs with people clustered ​in them. Some of our people rode mules; others went in horse-drawn buggies. But most of them were walking, some making a round-trip of as much as twelve miles. Martin later wrote, “As I watched them I knew that there is nothing more majestic than the determined courage of individuals willing to suffer and sacrifice for their freedom and dignity.”
    Martin rushed off again at nine o’clock that morning to attend the trial of Mrs. Parks. She was convicted of disobeying the city’s segregation ordinance and fined ten dollars and costs. Her young attorney, Fred D. Gray, filed an appeal. It was one of the first clear-cut cases of an African-American being convicted of disobeying the segregation laws—usually the charge was disorderly conduct or some such thing.
    The leaders of the Movement called a meeting for three o’clock in the afternoon to organize the mass meeting to be held that night. Martin was a bit late, and as he entered the hall, people said to him, “Martin, we have elected you to be our president. Will you accept?”
    Fear was an invisible presence at the meeting, along with courage and hope. Proposals were voiced to make the organization, which the leaders decided to call the Montgomery Improvement Association, or MIA, a sort of secret society, because if no names were mentioned it would be safer for the leaders. E. D. Nixon opposed that idea. “We’re acting like little boys,” he said. “Somebody’s name will be known, and if we’re afraid, we might just as well fold up right now. The white folks are eventually going to find out anyway. We’d better decide now if we are going to be fearless men or scared little boys.”
    That settled that question. It was also decided that the protest would continue until certain demands were met. Ralph Abernathy was made chairman of the committee to draw up the demands.
    Martin came home at six o’clock. He said later that he was nervous about telling me he had accepted the presidency of the protest movement, but he need not have ​worried, because I sincerely meant what I said when I told him that night: “You know that whatever you do, you have my backing.”
    Reassured, Martin went to his study. He was to make the main speech at the mass meeting that night. It was now six-thirty and—this was the way it was usually to be—he had only twenty minutes to prepare what he thought might be the most decisive speech of his life. He said afterward that thinking about the responsibility and the reporters and television cameras, he almost panicked. Five minutes wasted and only fifteen minutes left. At that moment he turned to prayer. He asked God “to restore my balance and be with me in a time when I need your guidance more than ever.”
    How could he make his speech both militant enough to rouse people to action and yet devoid of hate and resentment? He was determined to do both.
    Martin and Ralph went together to the meeting. When they got within four blocks of the Holt Street Baptist Church, there was an enormous traffic jam. Five thousand people stood outside the church listening to loudspeakers and singing hymns. Inside it was so crowded, Martin told me, the people had to lift Ralph and him above the crowd and pass them from hand to hand over their heads to the platform. The crowd and the singing inspired Martin, and God answered his prayer. Later Martin said, “That night I understood what the older preachers meant when they said, ‘Open your mouth and God will speak ​for you.’”
    First​ the people sang “Onward, Christian Soldiers” in a tremendous wave of five thousand voices. This was followed by a prayer and a reading of the Scriptures. Martin was introduced. People applauded; television lights beat upon him. Without any notes at all he began to speak. Once again he told the story of Mrs. Parks, and rehearsed some of the wrongs black people were suffering. Then he said,
    But there comes a time when people get tired. We are here this evening to say to those who have mistreated us so long, that we are tired. Tired of being segregated and humiliated; tired of being kicked about by the brutal feet of oppression.
    The audience cheered wildly, and Martin said,
    We have no alternative but to protest. We have been amazingly patient . . . but we come here tonight to be saved from that patience that makes us patient with anything less than freedom and justice.
    Taking up the challenging newspaper comparison with the White Citizens Councils and the Klan, Martin said,
    They are protesting for the perpetuation of injustice in the community; we’re protesting for the birth of justice . . . their methods lead to violence and lawlessness. But in our protest there will be no cross-burnings, no white person will be taken from his home by a hooded Negro mob and brutally murdered . . . We will be guided by the highest principles of law and order.
    Having roused the audience for militant action, Martin now set limits upon it. His study of nonviolence and his love of Christ informed his words. He said,
    No one must be intimidated to keep them from riding the buses. Our method must be persuasion, not coercion. We will only say to the people, “Let your conscience be your guide.” . . . Our actions must be guided by the deepest principles of the Christian faith. . . . Once again we must hear the words of Jesus, “Love your enemies. Bless them that curse you. Pray for them that despitefully use you.” If we fail to do this, our protest will end up as a meaningless drama on the stage of history and its memory will be shrouded in the ugly garments of shame. . . . We must not become bitter and end up by hating our white brothers. As Booker T. Washington said, “Let no man pull you so low as to make you hate him.”
     Finally, Martin said,
    If you will protest courageously, and yet with dignity and Christian love, future historians will say, “There lived a great people— a black people— who injected new meaning and dignity into the veins of civilization.” This is our challenge and our overwhelming responsibility.
    As Martin finished speaking, the audience rose cheering in exaltation. And in that ​speech my husband set the keynote and the tempo of the Movement he was to lead, from Montgomery onward.
    Reprinted by arrangement with The Heirs to the Estate of Martin Luther King Jr., c/o Writers House as agent for the proprietor New York, NY.
    © 2016 FlipSwitch. All rights reserved.

  • English -

    https://www.biography.com/people/coretta-scott-king-9542067

    Scroll down past the video and read carefully. Let us know what you think.

  • English -

    A is not the answer.

    Thanks for posting this. I had actually found a different speech with a different author, but the same title.

  • English -

    B?

  • English -

    Yes, B.

  • English -

    Bri, what does Mrs. King say? "I could do little to help..." READ it and you'll find the answer.

  • English -

    thank you.

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