VI
The School Segregation Cases came up for reargument before the Supreme Court on December 8, 1953. By this time, the Kansas case was moot (it is one of the many ironies of the story that the school cases should be styled as Brown v. Board of Education of Topeka, taking their name from a controversy that had been settled by the time the opinion came down), but the cases from Virginia, South Carolina, and Delaware were still hotly at issue. The cast of lawyers was the same, and again, questions from the bench seemed to indicate a continuing division within the court.
Counsel for the Negro plaintiffs, grappling with Question 1, attempted to show that the Fourteenth Amendment was intended by its framers and adopters to have a “broad, general scope.” John W. Davis and T. Justin Moore, carrying the brunt of argument for the South, relied upon the more tangible history of what actually happened in terms of racially separate schools. Davis placed particular emphasis upon the action of the Southern States in creating separate school systems, without objection from Congress, even as they ratified the amendment. Sumner and his fellow radicals might not have wanted to challenge such Northern allies as Pennsylvania and Ohio, but “if there were any place where sponsors of the amendment would have blown the bugle for mixed schools, surely it would have been in those eight States of Reconstruction legislation.”
Frankfurter kept asking the various attorneys to explain why the Congress itself never had adopted legislation to prohibit the States from maintaining racially separate schools. Defense counsel said the Congress had no power to do so; attorneys for the Negro plaintiffs said Congress had the power, but opponents of segregation never had had the votes. Frankfurter put an embarrassing question to J. Lee Rankin, who as Assistant Attorney General had joined forces with the NAACP. “Realistically,” Frankfurter suggested, “the reason this case is here is that action couldn’t be attained from Congress. Certainly it would be much stronger from your point of view if Congress had acted, wouldn’t it?”
Rankin agreed, but insisted that the court could achieve the desired end by judicial pronouncement as well as the Congress could achieve it by legislative action. Frankfurter persisted, taking judicial notice of eighty-five years of segregation in Washington:
“Is it to be said fairly that not only did Congress not exercise the power under Section 5 with reference to the States but, in a realm in which it has exclusive authority, it enacted legislation to the contrary? Are you saying that legislation does not mean anything but what it does? It just segregates, that’s all.”
“Well, not exactly,” Rankin replied. “You have to find a conscious determination by Congress that segregation was permitted under the Fourteenth Amendment.”
“You think legislation by Congress is like the British Empire—something that is acquired in a fit of absent-mindedness?”
“I wouldn’t make that charge before this court,” said Rankin stiffly, “and I don’t want to be quoted in that manner.”
Nevertheless, Frankfurter’s questions exposed the weakness of the plaintiffs’ historical justifications. Rankin’s astonishing idea—that Congress never really had thought much about what it was doing, during all the years since 1868 in which it had provided annually for segregated schools in Washington—was echoed in feeble attempts to explain away the judicial precedents. Jackson and Reed asked Rankin how he could account for decisions of Northern courts, in such cases as Garnes, King, and Cory, holding that the Fourteenth Amendment did not reach public schools. Rankin replied weakly that “apparently there was no detailed study of the history and background of the Fourteenth Amendment.” This was too much for Jackson: “These men lived with the thing,” he said; “they didn’t have to go to books.”
The question that most troubled Jackson, however, was the key question of judicial power. He wondered aloud if it were appropriate “for the court, after all that has intervened, to exercise this power instead of leaving it to Congress.” Thurgood Marshall, for the plaintiffs, insisted that theories of a dynamic, growing Constitution abundantly justified the court in reversing Plessy and in placing its own contemporary construction on the Amendment. John W. Davis, for the defense, strongly disagreed: “At some time to every principle comes a moment of repose, when it has been so often announced, so confidently relied upon, so long continued, that it passes the limits of judicial discretion and disturbance.”
Painstakingly, counsel for the Southern States called the roll of precedents supporting—or not disturbing—the long-established doctrine of “separate but equal.” The Plessy case of 1896 had been followed in December 1899 by Cumming v. Richmond County Board of Education (175 U. S. 528). Here the facts were that a Georgia county had closed its Negro high school and required local Negro high school students to go into Augusta for schooling, in order to convert the high school to the needs of three-hundred elementary pupils. The Negro high school pupils sought an injunction to upset this arrangement. And though the denial of equal facilities locally might seem plain, a unanimous Supreme Court found no merit in the Negroes’ claim. Some of the students might be inconvenienced by the requirement that they attend one of the three Negro high schools in nearby Augusta, but their inconvenience had to be set against the needs of the elementary children. Further, nothing constructive would be gained by closing the white high school merely because the Negro high school was no longer operating. “Under the circumstances disclosed,” said the court, “we cannot say that this action ... was, within the meaning of the Fourteenth Amendment, a denial by the State to the plaintiffs and those associated with them of the equal protection of the law, or of any privileges belonging to them as citizens of the United States. The education of the people in schools maintained by State taxation is a matter belonging to the respective States, and any interference on the part of Federal authority with the management of such schools cannot be justified except in the case of a clear and unmistakable disregard of rights secured by the supreme law of the land.” [Emphasis supplied.] It is curious, one may note in passing, that persons who so reverently admire Mr. Justice Harlan’s dissent of 1896 in Plessy customarily fail altogether to acknowledge that it was Mr. Justice Harlan who spoke in 1899 for a unanimous court in Cumming.
The court’s pronouncement in Cumming was cited the following year in the New York Court of Appeals (161 N. Y. 598), when Negro petitioners challenged the right and power of Queens Borough to maintain separate schools. The New York court refused to disturb the system: “It is equal school facilities and accommodations that are required to be furnished, and not equal social opportunities.”
In November 1908, the Supreme Court considered a suit brought by Berea College against the Commonwealth of Kentucky (211 U. S. 45). Berea, a private college, had been operating as a racially integrated institution. A State law was enacted making it unlawful for any corporation chartered in Kentucky to maintain a private school on such a basis. On the grounds that the law was within Kentucky’s power to regulate Kentucky corporations, a majority of the Supreme Court held the law valid. Harlan dissented warmly. He thought Berea’s right to admit pupils of its own choosing to its classrooms was “a liberty inherent in the freedom secured by fundamental law,” but he did not wish to be misunderstood: “Of course what I have said has no reference to regulations prescribed for public schools, established at the pleasure of the State and maintained at the public expense.”
Six years later, the generic question of “separate but equal” was again before the Supreme Court, in McCabe v. Atchison, Topeka & Santa Fe Railway Company (235 U. S. 151). A Negro passenger had sued to halt enforcement of an Oklahoma law requiring racial separation on coaches. The trial court had dismissed the suit by calling attention to Plessy and saying that the power of the States to require separate but equal accommodations “could no longer be considered an open question.” Said Hughes for a unanimous Supreme Court: “There is no reason to doubt the correctness of that conclusion.”
Thirteen years elapsed. Membership on the court changed. On November 21, 1927, when the court decided Gong Lum v. Rice (275 U. S. 78), Taft was Chief Justice; his brothers included such giants of the law as Holmes, Brandeis, and Stone. The question of the power of the States to maintain racially separate but equal schools was put squarely before the court. Mississippi had insisted that a Chinese child, Martha Lum, attend a Negro high school in Bolivar County instead of a white high school. This was what Taft said, speaking for a unanimous court:
The question here is whether a Chinese citizen of the United States is denied equal protection of the laws when he is classed among the colored races and furnished facilities for education equal to that offered to all, whether white, brown, yellow or black. Were this a new question, it would call for very full argument and consideration, but we think that it is the same question which has been many times decided to be within the constitutional power of the State legislature to settle without intervention of the Federal courts under the Federal Constitution.... The decision is within the discretion of the State in regulating its public schools, and does not conflict with the Fourteenth Amendment. [Emphasis supplied.]
The Gong Lum case was in 1927. Eleven years later the Supreme Court dealt with a suit brought by Lloyd Gaines, a Negro, seeking admission to the law school of the University of Missouri (305 U. S. 337). The Gaines case is important, because it sometimes is said that it heralded in 1938 the end of “separate but equal” in 1954. It did no such thing. The State of Missouri then had no law school for Negroes; the practice was to pay tuition fees, out of State, for the few Negro students seeking legal education. Other Negro college students attended Lincoln University in St. Louis, where Missouri sought to fulfill its obligation to provide the same general advantages of higher education for Negroes that it provided for whites by furnishing equal facilities in separate schools. Chief Justice Hughes said for the court that this was a method, “the validity of which has been sustained by our decisions.” He was sympathetic to Missouri’s plan to build Lincoln University into an institution genuinely equal to the University of Missouri at Columbia. “But commendable as is that action, the fact remains that instruction in law for Negroes is not now afforded by the State, either at Lincoln University or elsewhere.” The court therefore ordered Gaines admitted to the Missouri Law School. McReynolds dissented, with Butler joining him. They felt Missouri’s offer to pay Gaines’ tuition in a nearby law school of good standing would provide the student with abundant opportunity to study law “if perchance that is the thing really desired.” In attempting in good faith to meet the constitutionally sanctioned requirements of separate but equal, said McReynolds, “the State should not be unduly hampered through theorization inadequately restrained by experience.”
Three other cases that were reviewed in the oral argument before the Supreme Court in December 1953 also dealt with higher education at the graduate-school level. The circumstances in Sipuel v. Board of Regents of the University of Oklahoma (332 U. S. 630) paralleled the circumstances of the Gaines case; the court entered no more than a per curiam order directing that Gaines be followed. On June 5, 1950, the last two cases were decided: Sweatt v. Painter (339 U. S. 629) and McLaurin v. Oklahoma State Regents for Higher Education (339 U. S. 637). In both opinions, the court, speaking through Chief Justice Vinson, was careful to emphasize that it was following Gaines (that is, that it was following “separate but equal”) and was not reexamining Plessy at all. In the Sweatt case, Texas had attempted to establish a Negro law school at Austin that would be the equal of its University of Texas Law School in Houston. Relying upon the “intangibles that make for greatness in a law school,” the court held such equality impossible of attainment. Similarly, in the McLaurin case, in which Oklahoma had sought to segregate a Negro graduate in the use of library and cafeteria facilities, Vinson held for the court that “under these circumstances,” the Fourteenth Amendment precluded any distinction in treatment of students based upon race.
Regardless of one’s views on the rightness or wrongness of segregation in the public schools, how are these precedents fairly to be characterized? Plainly, they form one unbroken chain, reaching back to the very ratification of the Fourteenth Amendment: Garnes in Ohio, Stoutmeyer in Nevada, Ward in California, Cory in Indiana, Bertonneau in Louisiana, King in New York, Lehew in Missouri, Plessy in Louisiana, Cumming in Georgia, Berea in Kentucky, McCabe in Oklahoma, Gong Lum in Mississippi, Gaines in Missouri—in every one of these, extending from 1871 to 1938, the doctrine of “separate but equal” had been judicially sanctioned as not in violation of the Fourteenth Amendment. And in Sipuel, McLaurin, and Sweatt the doctrine had simply been ruled not applicable in the peculiar circumstances of graduate-school instruction.
This was the chain the court snapped in the School Segregation Cases. Six months after the case had been reargued, on May 17, 1954, Chief Justice Warren spoke for a unanimous court in overruling and discarding this uniform interpretation of more than eighty years. The text of the court’s opinion appears in the Appendix, along with its companion decision in the Bolling case from the District of Columbia. Here it will be seen that the court blandly dismissed the massive evidence of “intent” with a regal hand: The evidence was “inconclusive.” Then, disdaining every rule of jurisprudence which says that law cases should be decided on points of law, the court delivered itself of some homilies on the importance of education: “Today, education is perhaps the most important function of State and local governments.” Everyone must have an education: “It is the very foundation of good citizenship. It is a principal instrument in awakening the child to cultural values.” Said the court:
We come then to the question presented: Does segregation of children in public schools solely on the basis of race, even though the physical facilities and other “tangible” factors may be equal, deprive the children of the minority group of equal educational opportunities? We believe that it does.
That was the key paragraph. The court went on to assert that the “intangible considerations” it had found to be important in graduate-school instruction apply with added force to children in grade and high schools. “To separate them from others of similar age and qualifications solely because of their race generates a feeling of inferiority as to their status in the community that may affect their hearts and minds in a way unlikely ever to be undone.” Whatever may have been the extent of psychological knowledge at the time of Plessy, said the court, “this finding is amply supported by modern authority.” And the court inserted its famous Footnote 11 to prove it.
This footnote directed the inquisitive reader to seven sources. The first was a paper prepared by Kenneth B. Clark, “The Effect of Prejudice and Discrimination on Personality Development,” delivered at the 1950 White House Conference on Children and Youth; Clark, a professor of psychology at the College of the City of New York, was then at least presumptively on the payroll of the NAACP—he was “social science consultant for the NAACP’s legal and educational division.” A second source was “Personality in the Making,” by Helen Leland Witmer and Ruth Kotinsky. The third was a report of a survey conducted for the American Jewish Congress in 1947 by Max Deutscher and Isidor Chein. They sent a questionnaire to 849 social scientists, asking, first in the affirmative and then in the negative, “[Do you] believe that enforced segregation has (has not) a detrimental psychological effect on members of the racial or religious groups which are segregated?” A second question, similarly phrased, sought the social scientists’ opinions on whether such segregation has detrimental effects on the majority group imposing the segregation. All told, 517 of those queried returned the questionnaire (32 of the 517 were from the South). Not surprisingly, 90 per cent of the 517 obligingly answered Ja to the first question and 83 per cent said Ja to the second. Had there been an opportunity to put Deutscher and Chein on a witness stand, counsel for the South might have sought clarification on what was meant by “enforced,” what by “segregation,” and what by “detrimental,” and rebuttal witnesses might have been summoned to testify on the effects, detrimental or otherwise, of enforced integration on the majority group.
The fourth authority cited by the court was a paper by Chein in a publication of such large obscurity and small circulation that few persons can have examined it: “What are the Psychological Effects of Segregation under Conditions of Equal Facilities,” in Volume 3 of the International Journal of Opinion and Attitude Research (1949). Fifth on the list was “Educational Costs in Discrimination and National Welfare,” by Theodore Brameld, then a professor of educational philosophy at the University of Minnesota. The sixth reference was to Edward Franklin Frazier’s The Negro in the United States. Frazier is a Negro sociologist, professor of sociology at Howard University, who served as chairman of UNESCO’s committee of experts on race.
And finally, said the court, “see generally Myrdal, An American Dilemma.”
“We conclude,” said the court, “that in the field of public education the doctrine of ‘separate but equal’ has no place. Separate educational facilities are inherently unequal.” [Emphasis supplied.] That final sentence contained perhaps the greatest irony of them all, for unless words have lost their meaning, the court here decreed equality for the Negro by finding the Negro innately not equal. What else did the court mean? Here we are told, on the authority of the most eminent court in the world, that if one-hundred Negro pupils are put to study in one building, and one-hundred white pupils are put to study in an identical building, the first group of pupils, who have been segregated solely on the basis of race, will make up a school inherently unequal to the other. “Inherently” comes from the Latin haerere, to stick; it means “firmly infixed; belonging by nature.” And when the court concluded that separate schools for Negroes are inherently unequal, it made a judicial finding of fact with which a great many Southerners would find themselves in wry agreement.
That was the substance of the Brown decision. Because of the predictable impact of the ruling and the great variety of local conditions, the court asked for reargument on the formulation of specific decrees. A year later, on May 31, 1955, a supplementary opinion (this also appears in full in the Appendix) sent the cases back to the trial courts with instructions to enter decrees ordering “the parties to these cases admitted to public schools on a racially nondiscriminatory basis with all deliberate speed.” By that time, Kansas had abandoned segregation altogether in its schools; so had the District of Columbia; so had Delaware over much of the State. In the course of time, Prince Edward County, Virginia, was to abandon public education rather than submit to compulsory desegregation of its schools. The public schools of Clarendon County, S. C., are still operating as I write, in the spring of 1962, as completely segregated as they were in the spring of 1954. The new Negro schools are bright and shining and consolidated, and some of the children of the original plaintiffs of 1951, it is said, are placidly attending them.
What was wrong with the Brown decision? The Sibley Commission in Georgia summarized the South’s protest in two sweeping sentences:
We consider this decision utterly unsound on the facts; contrary to the clear intent of the Fourteenth Amendment; a usurpation of legislative function through judicial process; and an invasion of the reserved rights of States. We further consider that, putting aside the question of segregation, this decision presents a clear and present danger to our system of constitutional government, because it places what the court calls “modern authority” in sociology and psychology above the ancient authority of the law, and because it places the transitory views of the Supreme Court above the legislative power of Congress, the settled construction of the Constitution, and the reserved sovereignty of the several States. [Emphasis supplied.]
If the student of American government can do as the Sibley commission suggests, and put aside the question of segregation—eliminate all the emotional overtones of “prejudice” and “discrimination” and “second-class citizens”—he will get a clearer picture of the most disturbing aspect of the School Segregation Cases. One of the most cherished myths of American tradition, as strong and as insubstantial as any doctrine of religion, is that ours is “a government of laws, not men.” Viewed coldly and nakedly, the proposition is palpably absurd; wine is wine, and bread is bread. But by some devout act of political transubstantiation, the faith of the American people has imbued this doctrine with a special venerability: We have been reared to believe that law exists metaphysically, above and beyond the mortal men who enforce it. As an institution, the high court commands respect, not for the nine frail vessels beneath the robes, but out of deference to the higher, holier grail they represent.
And this was what the court shattered in the Brown case: The myth, the grail, the mystery of the law. “The judicial function is that of interpretation,” Sutherland once said; “it does not include the power of amendment under the guise of interpretation.” Cardozo said the same thing: “We are not at liberty to revise while professing to construe.” Hughes said it too: “The power of this court is not to amend, but only to expound the Constitution as an agency of the sovereign people who made it and who alone have authority to alter or unmake it.”
But the court disdained these ancient and elementary rules. “By its decision in the Brown case,” former Justice Byrnes has said, “the court did not interpret the Constitution. It really amended the Constitution.” This the court had no legal or moral right to do. It had only the power to do it—the absolute power, in Acton’s famous phrase, that left unrestrained, corrupts absolutely.
Part III
Prayer of the Petitioner
I had not intended to write a “Part III” for this book. The object was to put forth a brief for the South in the single narrow field of racially separate public schools; my thought was to summarize and argue the law and the evidence of Brown v. Board of Education as the South views them, and to leave such issues as “sit-ins,” and voting rights, and the Negro’s future for another day. Yet a familiar part of the pleading in almost any case is the prayer of the petitioner, and there is something more to be said for the South in that hypothetical role.
Patience, the South would ask of its adversaries: Be patient; be tolerant of imperfection; be mindful that in these difficult areas of race and race relations, wisdom and virtue do not reside exclusively in the North, nor sin and ignorance exclusively in the South. The white man most surely has been at fault; that is conceded. But in his own way, the black man has been at fault too. And in neither racial camp can these faults be corrected in the twinkling of a generation.
The apostles of instant innovation, crying zealously for change, do not comprehend the elemental nature of the forces they are dealing with. “All is race,” said Disraeli in Tancred; “there is no other truth.” The earliest history of man reflects an awareness of racial distinctions; in one fashion or another, discrimination has existed through all recorded time, and “prejudice,” if you please, like the poor, has been with us always. It exists among the Negro people themselves. It exists around the world, and may be seen in especially cruel and virulent forms in some of those nations said to be so terribly offended by the manifestations of segregation that remain in the American South. The beam in the eye of Herman Talmadge is small against the mote in the eye of Mr. Nehru. The Old World has lived with these problems several millennia longer than the New, but it has solved them not better; in truth, it has solved them much less well, and in most cases, it has not solved them at all.
As a creature of the law, racial segregation in the United States is dead. The voices once confidently raised in the South, crying that the court would reverse itself in time, have all but died out now. The court will not reverse itself. On February 26, 1962, a per curiam opinion rebuked a Mississippi Federal court in icy terms: “We have settled beyond question that no State may require racial segregation of interstate or intrastate transportation facilities. The question is no longer open; it is foreclosed as a litigable issue.” (Bailey v. Patterson, 30 LW 4164.) Similarly, the court has plunged far beyond the reasoning it advanced in Brown as a justification for prohibiting segregation in the schools; the hearts and minds of children, the importance of education, and the intangibles of a classroom do not figure at all in cases that involve golf courses, courthouse cafeterias, and the rest rooms of public buildings. Many staunch Southerners, declaring themselves unwilling to surrender, do not realize that as a matter of law, the war is over. There is now not the slightest possibility of a constitutional amendment to undo what the court did; the Congress will never pass a law that sanctions segregation in a public institution; the court is unanimous in its resolution, and some of its members are young. The Southern State that puts reliance hereafter in any law requiring racial separation is relying upon a vain and useless thing. We should be better off, as a matter of law, if Southern legislatures would go through their Codes with an art gum, erasing the word “Negro” wherever it appears. Statutory defenses against segregation, apart from any remaining value they may have in obtaining the law’s delays, are useless.
These are harsh truths for the South, but the South would do well to grasp them; once understood, they suggest a course of events in which accommodation may be found within the broad structure of a voluntary society. Ovid is sufficient authority for the maxim that nothing is stronger than custom; and by relying upon custom, and freedom, and precepts of the law as yet uncorrupted by the court, the South—and here I mean the white South and the Negro South alike—can discover some room to turn around in.
Virginia has pointed a way toward such an accommodation, so far as education is concerned, in its freedom-of-choice program. Under an act of the General Assembly of 1958, every child in Virginia has a right to choose between attending a public school or a nonprofit, nonsectarian private school. The law has nothing to do with segregation or desegregation. The modest tuition grants provided in the law (in no case is a grant higher than the local per-pupil cost in public schools) are intended to represent each child’s equal share in a total appropriation for purposes of education, and the State stands indifferent to the child’s way of spending it: Public or private, it is all the same to the Commonwealth, so long as the child is schooled.
The freedom-of-choice plan is working now, harmoniously and effectively, in such areas of Virginia as Norfolk, Charlottesville, and Front Royal. In each of the localities, the public schools are desegregated; in each of the localities, good private schools are operating. Some white families have made one choice, some another. In a number of cases, white children living in Albemarle County and Norfolk County have obtained county tuition grants in order to attend the desegregated public schools of neighboring Charlottesville and Norfolk city. The State raises no objection. This is the students’ right.
The private schools now operating in Virginia have limited their admissions, to the best of my knowledge, to white pupils only. This condition may change in time; nothing prevents the organization of nonprofit schools for Negroes only, or for Negroes and whites together. In any event, the right of any group of parents to found a school to their taste would appear beyond successful challenge. “The most natural right of man,” said Tocqueville, “next to the right of acting for himself, is that of combining his exertions with those of his fellow creatures and of acting in common with them. The right of association therefore appears to be almost as inalienable in nature as the right of personal liberty. No legislature can attack it without impairing the foundations of society.”
Virginia is feeling its way carefully with the freedom-of-choice program. In the 1960-61 school year, 8127 pupils (or a little less than 1 per cent of the 874,000 children in public schools) gave up their right to attend a public school and chose, instead, to exercise their rights under the 1958 law. They obtained grants amounting to $1.8 million out of total school spending (including sums for capital outlays) of some $290 million. Public school administrators, many of whom are fearful of private school competition and jealously opposed to the program, tend to regard the grants as a net cost—as something taken away from them. Plainly this is not true. About $200,000 in grants were taken by pupils who applied the sums to tuition costs in neighboring public schools, as in Charlottesville and Norfolk; other outlays were offset by the simple absence of the pupils from public schools—the State did not have to build classrooms or hire teachers to teach them. When it is kept in mind that the nonprofit private schools must meet their own capital costs from contributions and endowments, the prospect of an ultimate saving to the Commonwealth becomes evident. These construction costs are a part of the price a free people should be permitted to pay for freedom to conduct their lives as they wish. It is inconceivable that Federal courts should outlaw this voluntary, nondiscriminatory plan as a mere subterfuge or circumvention of the Brown decision. It emphatically is not.
In Pierce v. Society of Sisters (268 U. S. 510) the Supreme Court laid down the principles on which Virginia is relying. The opinion held unconstitutional an Oregon act of 1922 requiring children of that State to attend public schools and public schools only. A private military academy and a Catholic parochial school complained that the law violated the right of parents to choose schools for their children where the pupils would receive the sort of training the parents wished them to have; beyond that, the law violated the right of private schools and teachers to engage in a useful and lawful business or profession.
A unanimous court, speaking through Mr. Justice McReynolds, accepted the plaintiffs’ position entirely. Oregon’s law “unreasonably interferes with the liberty of parents and guardians to direct the upbringing and education of children under their control.” Their rights in this regard are guaranteed by the Constitution and may not be abridged by legislation which has no reasonable relation to some purpose within the competency of the State. “The fundamental theory of liberty upon which all governments in this Union repose excludes any general power of the State to standardize its children by forcing them to accept instruction from public teachers only. The child is not the mere creature of the State; those who nurture him and direct his destiny have the right, coupled with the high duty, to recognize and prepare him for additional obligations.”
As Douglas said in Lerner v. Casey (357 U. S. 468), the liberties guaranteed to the citizen by the First and Fourteenth amendments include “the right to believe what one chooses, the right to differ from his neighbor, the right to pick and choose the political philosophy that he likes best, the right to associate with whomever he chooses, the right to join the groups he prefers, the privilege of selecting his own path to salvation.” And in a case upholding the right of Negroes to associate, Mr. Justice Harlan expressed for the court the same view that white parents take in forming a private school for their children: “It is beyond debate that freedom to engage in association for the advancement of beliefs and ideas is an inseparable aspect of the ‘liberty’ assured by the Fourteenth Amendment.” (NAACP v. Alabama, 357 U. S. 449.)
The high court’s opinion in the School Segregation Cases did nothing to interfere with these basic concepts of individual freedom of action in areas of education. It is important to understand, the Fourth U. S. Circuit Court of Appeals has said, “exactly what the Supreme Court has decided [in Brown] and what it has not decided in this case”:
It has not decided that the Federal courts are to take over or regulate the public schools of the States. It has not decided that the States must mix persons of different races in the schools or must require them to attend schools, or must deprive them of the right of choosing the schools they attend. What it has decided, and all that it has decided, is that a State may not deny to any person on account of race the right to attend any school that it maintains. This, under the decision of the Supreme Court, the State may not do directly or indirectly; but if the schools which it maintains are open to children of all races, no violation of the Constitution is involved even though the children of different races voluntarily attend different schools, as they attend different churches. Nothing in the Constitution or in the decision of the Supreme Court takes away from the people the freedom to choose the schools they attend. The Constitution, in other words, does not require integration. It merely forbids discrimination. It does not forbid such segregation as the result of voluntary action. It merely forbids the use of governmental power to enforce segregation. The Fourteenth Amendment is a limitation upon the exercise of power by the state or State agencies, not a limitation upon the freedom of individuals.
This interpretation by an exceptionally able appellate court offers the South, if only the South will accept it (and if our more rabid and influential friends in the North will abate their impatient demands), some basis for a tolerable way of life. In its immediate application, the Supreme Court’s decision in the four suits decided by Brown was not, of course, “the supreme law of the land.” It was, as every court opinion must be, simply the law of the case, disposing of the controversies between the named plaintiffs and the named defendants. Even though such suits are “class actions,” the class in each case is limited by such facts as those of geography; a court order directed against Clarendon County does not require the superintendent of schools in adjoining Sumter County to do anything. Thus, under well-accepted principles of law, the counties and cities of the South that are not under court order stand under no legal obligation to alter their traditional school policies. No law or court order requires them to integrate; no law or court order requires them affirmatively to take any action. True, if a point is made of it, and formal complaint of discrimination is filed, local school officials must then yield to the principles laid down by the Supreme Court; they can yield voluntarily, or they can go through the motions of a predictable court proceeding, but they cannot deny the child by reason of his race the right to attend any public school under their supervision.
This deliberate, unhurried view of the school problem tends to madden the professional integrationist. He looks at the progress of desegregation in the South, eight years after Brown, and apart from the border States he sees:
| Desegregation of Public Schools, Eleven Southern States, May 17, 1962 | ||||
| Negroes in Schools | ||||
| Enrollment | With Whites | |||
| State | White | Negro | Number | Per cent |
| Alabama | 523,000 | 276,000 | 0 | 0.000 |
| Arkansas | 320,000 | 109,000 | 151 | 0.139 |
| Florida | 927,000 | 242,000 | 648 | 0.268 |
| Georgia | 642,000 | 303,000 | 8 | 0.003 |
| Louisiana | 450,000 | 295,000 | 12 | 0.004 |
| Mississippi | 294,000 | 287,000 | 0 | 0.000 |
| North Carolina | 787,000 | 333,000 | 203 | 0.061 |
| South Carolina | 364,000 | 265,000 | 0 | 0.000 |
| Tennessee | 663,000 | 155,000 | 1,167 | 0.750 |
| Texas | 1,892,000 | 301,000 | 4,000 | 1.330 |
| Virginia | 657,000 | 217,000 | 536 | 0.247 |
| Source: Southern School News, May 1962. | ||||
These figures arouse the South’s critics, but another fact contributes more significantly to their exasperation: The people of the South, white and Negro together, continue to dwell amiably side by side. Except where hired missionaries from the NAACP can stir up a lawsuit, agitation for an end to school segregation ranges from small to nil. The Southern States have put these past eight years to good use in pouring a fortune into equalization of Negro school facilities. Old patterns persist because many Negro families, to the disgust of the U. S. Civil Rights Commission, find the patterns not intolerable. In Virginia, for example, Negro parents know that they can petition successfully for admission of their children to the nearest “white” school; local officials no longer even resort to court delays. But three years after collapse of Virginia’s massive resistance, fewer than one-quarter of 1 per cent of the Negro parents have taken the trouble to do so.
This slow path toward evolutionary change should commend itself to reasonably minded men. Whatever violence to constitutional law was done by the Brown decision, it is done; we ought not to condone it, defend it, rationalize it, or forgive it, but we ought not to pretend that it never happened. We of the South have to live with these new legal principles, and accommodate our society to them. So far as the education of children is concerned, this can be done (1) by continuing to provide the best possible schools our resources can provide; (2) by continuing to separate children by race, in the certain conviction that such basic pupil assignments violate no law or court order, and are in accord with community wishes; and (3) by approving and accepting individual, particular applications for transfer or admission on a genuinely nondiscriminatory basis. And if, in addition, entirely apart from any racial considerations whatever, a freedom-of-choice program can be put in motion to stimulate the growth of private education, the South’s school problems can be controlled for a long time to come.
Your petitioners are hopeful that such an approach, much as it may annoy the advocates of compulsory integration, will find a favorable response among men who are willing to take the long view. It seems to us wholly in accord with the oldest principles of federalism—principles that have contributed much to the strength and vitality of this Republic. It is the diversity of the States, their ability to experiment, their right and power to respond to a variety of local conditions and customs that together prevent the evils of excessive centralism. “The traditions and habits of centuries were not intended to be overthrown when the Fourteenth Amendment was passed,” said Holmes. He remarked again: “There is nothing that I more deprecate than the use of the Fourteenth Amendment beyond the absolute compulsion of its words to prevent the making of social experiments that an important part of the community desires, in the insulated chambers afforded by the several States, even though the experiments may seem futile or even noxious to me and to those whose judgment I most respect.”
Not only is this approach in accord with a wise federalism; it also offers the greatest opportunity to the Southern Negro himself. In the course of a debate in the Saturday Review with William Sloane Coffin, the New York-born William F. Buckley, Jr., said this: “If it is true that the separation of the races on account of color is nonrational, then circumstance will in due course break down segregation. When it becomes self-evident that biological, intellectual, cultural, and psychic similarities among the races render social separation atavistic, then the myths will begin to fade, as they have done in respect of the Irish, the Italian, the Jew; then integration will come—the right kind of integration.”
The South has begun to look upon its Negro people, since Brown, in a new way. Shortcomings of the Negro that earlier had been merely sensed are now acutely seen. But this is no bad thing. Before any social ill may be remedied, it first must be diagnosed and understood. Many a Southerner is now sensitive to the outward and visible signs of segregation; he was not so before. Today the detritus of a crumbling institution may be observed at every hand, and there are times when he squirms a little inside. This retreat to neutrality on the white man’s part is a necessary condition if the Negro, by his own exertions, is to find an equal place in the sun. In the end, the white man cannot do the job for him; Jim Crow is dead, but the legal shot that felled him also put Massa in the cold, cold ground. It is said that the high court “cast off the Negro’s shackles”; it cast off his crutches too. The paternalism of generations is vanishing year by year, to be replaced by a healthy skepticism: The Negro says he’s the white man’s equal; show me.
No decree of court, no act of Congress, can give the Negro more than this. He has no right—no legal right, no moral right—to intrude upon the private institutions of his neighbors. If individual liberty means anything, it must mean that each individual, regardless of color, is at liberty to choose his own personal and business associates, and to choose them for whatever reason. This the Negro must understand. If he is to become a part of this association, on equal terms, he must do what every other race of men has done since time began, and that is to demonstrate his worth to the community he seeks to enter. For more than three-hundred years, the white South by and large has regarded such entry as impossible. I would be less than honest if I did not acknowledge that a great part of the Deep South still views the slightest yielding as anathema. But elsewhere in my changing and unchanging land, the old unequivocal “no” to Negro equality slowly merges into a doubtful “maybe.” On the day that I write these concluding paragraphs, the local transit company in Richmond has announced employment of its first Negro bus drivers. The story made page one; but it made just the bottom of page one, and the Capital of the late Confederacy will not voice the slightest ripple of objection. If these drivers make it up the hill, others will follow. If the first Negro clerks in local retail stores can sell themselves, the experience of one merchant will persuade his neighbor. And the more the Negro people can do within their own neighborhoods and business communities, the more the white community’s retreat to neutrality will continue.
I believe the South will maintain what I have termed essential separation of the races for years to come. This means very nearly total segregation in education, where the intimate, personal, and prolonged association of white and Negro boys and girls, in public schools, in massive numbers, as social equals, is more than community attitudes will accept. The sad example of Prince Edward County, where a resolute rural people abandoned all public schools, offers an instructive lesson to the advocates of frontal assault. “We see the wisdom of Solon’s remark,” Jefferson once observed, “that no more good must be attempted than the nation can bear.” This essential separation also takes in such wholly social institutions as private clubs. I cannot foresee the integration of Protestant churches in the South. And whatever the Supreme Court may do in time to the miscegenation laws, ostracism, swift and certain, awaits those who would cross this marital line. But my guess would be that in areas of higher education, in many fields of employment, in professional associations, in such quasi-public fields as hotels, restaurants, and concert halls, doors that have been closed will open one by one. And a South that once would have regarded these innovations with horror will view them at first with surprise, then with regret, for a time with distaste, and at last with indifference. As the migration of the Negro out of the South continues, other parts of the nation, at once benefited and handicapped for want of the South’s experience in coexistence, will grapple in their own fashion with the cultural and economic assimilation of the Negro. They will not find it easy, but they can rely upon this: The South will not intrude its views upon theirs. This is a big country, a great country; it remains the freest country on earth, and the Negro people are a part of it. The law has done what it can for Negroes as a whole; the law will do more, in specific situations. The rest is up to time, and up to the Negroes themselves.