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SPOTLIGHT STAFF
Editor-in-Chief—Ida Rose McCree
Associate Editor—Georgianne Thomas
Business Manager—Gloria Knowles
Advertising Manager—Bernice Dowdy
Circulation Managers—Barbara Glover, Wilhemina Richardson
News Department-Wanda Waples, Bernette Joshua, Phoebe Bailey, Bernice
Dowdy, Marsha Goodwin, Betty Stokes, Geraldine Davis
Feature Department—Joanne Merry, Nelda King, Charles E. White, Leronia
Stokes, Judy Tillman, Jeanne Terry, Lucia Holloway, Alice Walker,
Jeannie Holloway
Typists—Cheryl Pride, Betty Stokes, Eleanor Hinton, Gloria Knowles,
Thelma Price
Proofreading—Kercenna McChriston, Eleanor Hinton, Betty Wilson, Eliza
beth Murray, Juanita Price, Leronia Stokes, Nelda King
Cartoonists—Carolyn Simmons, Mary Ann Gaither
Advisor—Mrs. Juanita Toomer
Editorial opinions do not necessarily reflect the views of the administration,
faculty, or the entire student body of Spelman College.
FROM
The past few weeks have been filled with a hustle, a joyous,
sometimes frantic scurry to get things accomplished. Ironically,
this is fall, a time of the year when the leaves are falling to the
ground and the earth drowsily settles down for a cold, cozy
winter. But, to the pleasant amazement of all involved, we are
witnessing a springtime in November, an atmosphere in which
new ideas, good ideas, are blossoming all over. Take your pick
if you have been out of the move of things—join the flaming
sophomores who have recently begun work projects in the At
lanta community or if you fall into the category of “ivory tower
intellectuals”, as one writer puts it, join the recently organized
Tutorial Society and bid those days of selfish seclusion farewell
by sharing your riches with others.
Our busy work, our involvement in many activities seems,
to an observer of the world scene, to be a small scale production
of that larger drama. What next, we ask. How much can the
world stand at one time?—Wheat sales, tax cuts, no China, sta
tionery scandals, Goldwater, Operation Big Lift, and so on and
on. It appears that the addition of so many issues prophesies
a major event, either surprisingly fruitful or devastatingly catas
trophic. Of course, this is election year and no one can be elected
without a few scandals and a few close-call decisions, can one?
Back at the ranch—we are witnessing a fight, a noble striving
for good, effective student leadership, leadership on the campus
and in the larger community. This leadership, now, is hard
working and optimistic because it has set worthwhile goals and
programs for reaching these goals. If we look back to years past,
however, spring always comes this time of year, for us. But,
somehow, to our bewilderment, winter follows and never passes
away. Will this year be different? Will we be the historic ones
who set the seasons right? Do our forthrightness and abilities
have sustenance?
COMING NEXT ISSUE
COMMENTARIES ON
LOMAX AND KING
THE SPELMAN SPOTLIGHT November 15, 1963
Hey!! Where are the Comics?
NOTES FROM DARKNESS
“It is a peculiar sensation, this double-consciousness . . .
One ever feels his two-ness-An American, A Negro;^ two souls
two thoughts; two warring ideals in one dark body . .
W. E. B. DuBois, Souls of Black Folks
SSGA PRESIDENT
SPEAKS
BETTY STEVENS
Women of Spelman College:
This is truly an exciting time to
be alive! The fabric of society is
being transformed before our eyes.
A revolution is taking place—and we
are inextricably bound up in the flux
of things. This revolution has im
plications for all of us—implications
beyond our power of comprehension.
Tomorrow poses challenges, problems,
opportunities—the unknown. The un
certainty of the future adds to our
lives the element of fear. And we
grasp for something in life which is
certain, something which is lasting.
This “something” may vary from in
dividual to individual. Yet everyone
is grasping. And because it is im
possible to ascertain the nature of
tomorrow, we seek the essence of
today. And that is what this confusing
article is all about—where we look
for this intangible—this meaning.
As we live and work in an academic
community, we find it easy to drift
into the world of the “ivory tower
intellectual”. Contact with the real
world is severed. I say “real world”
as contrasted with our situation, be
cause this is not real. We are com-
SERMON IN BLACK
by Leon "Weeder’’ Reynolds
I
September died the other day,
She slipped beneath October’s breath.
Ten thousand deaths visit us daily,
And twenty million dreams
Are buried unborn.
September’s death is only a rest
For she will live next year
In a youthful renaissance,
But our blossoms are destroyed
Without resurrection,
For their buds are wounded
Before the earth is hallowed.
It is so sad to see a dream
Slaughtered before being real.
Take your spears from our
Infant dreams.
Let the paths our hopes
Be free from your stumbling blocks.
We are human!
We cry when sad!
Bleed when stabbed!
Has not your hatred proven this?
September died the other day,
She slipped beneath October’s breath.
Hail democracy!
Blessed be freedom!
Say man—are you hip to God?
II
Is it possible to be hip to God?
What about your brother?
You see—
My eyes have gathered much,
They saw selfishness spit
In love’s face,
And ignorance cast from paradise.
They saw silent lips at the game
Where cool little deities
Chained their soul in hypocrisy,
They saw the individual frowned
upon;
They also witnessed the realization of
soul
W. E. B. DuBois gives poetic ut
terance to what all Negroes feel, most
assuredly what all Southern Negroes
must feel and do feel every minute
of every day.
Even if the most inarticulate among
us could suddenly find clarity and
depth of expression they would, I
feel, in some form, reutter DuBois’
classic statement.
Nevertheless, the Negro has his
torically remained true to American
ideals even though he is, himself, ex
cluded, in the main, from active and
full participation in the complete
drama of America. Gunnar Murdal
labels this dualness, this incongruous-
Whose seed was the father of my
blossom,
They beheld the sweet slaughter of
the seasons
When nature devoured the old
And the new slipped from her belly,
I have seen my seasons die,
But they were only babes,
The clear summer brooks
Were stabbed by Autumn’s leaves,
And Autumn’s colors were
Raped by winter’s snow,
Spring’s warmth kidnapped the rav-
isher,
And summer delivered old age
To the infant buds .of spring.
Is man’s nature like a season?
Can we find rapture in a blade of
grass
Yet ostracize a brother for wearing
a beard
Or a sister for dressing
Beyond the prison of the masses?
Is a beard not rooted
In a sacred body?
Is her dress not born
From her democratic choosing?
Oh realness!
Sooth us with your harmony
So that our melodies
May gently caress the ears
Of our brothers and sisters.
Ill
Now let us groove.
Oh rain that flys in vain,
The wind, thou navigator,
What be his purpose?
To wash the heat from my brow?
To transfer the smell of nature’s green
Which lives from your potent self?
Oh Rain!
Cry! Scream! Sing!
Sing to the passions of our souls,
Scream to us our longings,
Cry to us our bitterness,
Caress us with your damp cloak
ness of American ideals and practices
as the “American Dilemna,”
The Negro has been relegated to
an inferior position within the whole
of society. He suffers from a world
known stereotype and, even when
he aims high and accomplishes an
extraordinary feat, he is met by such
praises as “brilliant Negro deed,” or
an “excellent work by a Negro.” The
qualification is always there!
However the Negro is no longer
satisfied with being the best of a
small group. The Negro pond is
minute, indeed, when compared to
the ocean of society.
The time to effect a change is now!
America has reached a brink in the
life-death balance. One wrong turn
and life would suffer an instantaneous
annihilation, the mere thought of
which staggers the imagination. Be
cause, just as it is said that a drown
ing man will grab at a straw, so it
seems that America—trying to erase
its “ugly” caricature abroad and try
ing to save herself from sinking fur
ther beneath a wave of adverse, often
vehement criticism—will, too, grab at
a straw, any straw. She will not have
time to notice whether the straw is
pure white, nice yellow, teased tan
or charcoal black. Certainly, with
the emergence of Afro-Asian nations,
and with the need to maintain diplo
matic relations, America needs to uti
lize all of the potentials she possesses.
Perhaps, then, it is just such a turn
of events which will enable Negroes
to be fully accepted into the total
scheme of life as Americans period.
Maybe some sensing of the need for
collective action for survival will en
able America to transcend her slavish
obedience to her skinocracy.
Surely, let us hope then that this
internal fire which rages constantly
—this “ever present two-ness: Negro,
American”—will be quickly extinguish
ed before it saps completely the crea
tive offerings of its host.
Leronia A. Stokes
And never cease,
Tarry here.
Pour into our minds—
Agony, sorrow, pain, despair,
Gloom, frustration,
Vain hopes, vain happiness, vain joy,
And vain love.
Let thou blood of suffering
Drench our souls
And strip us bare of complacency
So that darkness may escape our eyes,
Wisdom reveal her tenderness,
And black soulful meaning groove
Lift the yoke of square, flimsy,
And uncool cool NOTHINGNESS.
Oh Rain!
Mighty teacher,
Deliverer of light
WHY????
Leon “Weeder” Reynolds
(Continued on page 3)
Exchange From Morehouse