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Page 2 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