Black women are still being blacked out of history

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A few months ago, I wrote a column that called for a boycott of Walmart after the retail giant rolled back its diversity initiatives. I researched Black-led boycotts from the civil rights era, looking for parallels between the courageous struggles of the past and the battle for freedom that we continue to fight today.

I found similarities, all right, but not in the way I was expecting.

From the files of the Associated Press, the gold standard of journalism, I found a 1956 photograph of the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., sitting on a city bus in Montgomery, Ala. Taken at the successful conclusion of the historic bus boycott, the picture shows King with the Rev. Ralph Abernathy, the Rev. Glenn Smiley and an "unidentified woman."

As I looked through the files, I found another AP picture of King in 1965, arm-in-arm in Selma at a civil rights march with Rev. Abernathy, James Foreman, Jesse Douglas, John Lewis and, once again, an "unidentified woman."

These two unnamed Black ladies were not random people at the edge of the crowd. In these photographs, taken at the height of the Civil Rights Movement, they both appear as poised and well-dressed as their male counterparts in the snapshots.

Listen, I just started writing for the Minnesota Star Tribune last August, but I've been a broadcaster for a very long time. In fact, this is my 25th year as a journalist. I walked across the stage at the University of Houston in May 2004 and the next day I was working on the assignments desk at KPLC TV, the NBC affiliate in Lake Charles, La., and I've been working in newsrooms ever since.

So I know that when you work in journalism and you have a photo of someone, you better get their name. You get a photo without a name on a story as pivotal as the Montgomery Bus Boycott or the Selma march, and you might be without a job the next day.

But apparently no one asked those questions. An editor didn't ask, "Who is this woman with these other freedom fighters? Surely, she played a significant role. Why didn't you bother to tap her on the shoulder and get her name?" As a result, two Black women remain "unidentified" in historic files.

If it had happened once, maybe I'd think it's an accident or sloppy journalism by the AP writers, editors and photojournalists. But twice? That's intentional. That's a pattern.

That pattern of erasing the contributions of Black women from the fight for civil rights is repeating itself today. Society continues to remain content to black out Black women's names, accomplishments and the work we've done for the past 400 years and continue to do to achieve justice, racial equity and fairness in this country.

On Jan. 30, I joined Nekima Levy Armstrong in front of Target headquarters in downtown Minneapolis. On that cold sunny day in front of about 100 supporters, Nekima, founder of the Racial Justice Network and a powerful civil rights activist, became the first leader in the country to call for a national boycott of the red bullseye retailer.

It's impossible to state the power — political, economic, cultural — that Target wields in Minnesota. But when inclusion suddenly became inconvenient, Target's leadership tucked its tail between its legs and ran away from promises the company made to its customers of color. This shocking betrayal deserved to be called out, and Nekima courageously stood on business and did it.

I'm Flava Flav. She's Chuck D. We've gotta fight the powers that be. I stood with her, speaking about how Black consumers must hold Target accountable. I demanded to know where legacy organizations like the NAACP and the Urban League were and noted that Target is one of their major donors for fundraisers and galas. I wondered aloud if these nonprofits were too scared to say something because they were afraid Target would take back their checks.

Nekima invited me to speak because she knows I have a big platform with thousands of followers. But local media somehow didn't get a photograph of me standing in front of the microphone or mention me in their stories. One news story referenced my comments, but didn't name me. Similar to the character Patrick Swayze played in that movie, I was a ghost. It's like I was never even there.

What's worse is how Nekima's contributions have been erased as well.

Nekima is a powerful thought leader and attorney. She built a strong case against Target's cowardice. According to her, the Rev. Jamal Bryant, a pastor in Atlanta, called Nekima to ask about the boycott. Next thing you know, Rev. Bryant is calling for a "40-day fast" from Target and all the media outlets are calling him the leader of this movement.

Rev. Bryant suddenly became the face and the voice of the Target boycott. Target CEO Brian Cornell met with him; the Rev. Al Sharpton was there, too. To my knowledge, Rev. Sharpton has had no presence in the Target boycott. They were quoted and interviewed about the success of the action. In an appearance on CNN, Rev. Bryant said the "boycott against Target is the most successful boycott by Black people in 70 years, since the Montgomery bus boycott."

But Nekima, who lives just miles away from Target and did all of the heavy lifting and grassroots work to start the boycott, was not invited or included in those meetings. When people in the future want to learn more about this social justice cause, they won't see her name. Or mine.

"This is what we have been dealing with for a very long time, and when I say 'we,' I mean Black women," Nekima told me. "Throughout our history, we have stood and fought and organized, literally put our lives on the line, only to be erased. We put out the call [for the boycott] and others who claimed to amplify the message had the agenda of hijacking it."

This column is meant to set the record straight and give credit where credit is due.

I will also give credit that is long overdue to those two "unidentified women" from the civil rights era. Since the AP didn't bother to name them, I will do that now so that their children and grandchildren can know how significant their work was to integrate schools, colleges, water fountains, neighborhoods, lunch counters and public transportation in this country.

I made a few phone calls and found out the woman sitting on the newly integrated bus in Montgomery in the seat in front of Rev. King was Inez Baskin. A pivotal supporter of the bus boycott, Mrs. Baskin also covered the historic events for the Montgomery Negro News and Jet magazine. This accomplished woman, who died at 91 in 2007, later implemented Montgomery's first Head Start program.

And the young Black woman standing on the front line, arm-in-arm with Rev. King and other civil rights leaders, is Dorothy Frazier. She was invited to that prominent march because of her outstanding leadership at campus protests at Alabama State University in 1965. She was one of the leaders of the Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committee (SNCC).

Mrs. Frazier, now 80 years old, is still alive. I found her phone number and called her. Her voice, sweet yet strong, brought me to tears. Hearing her forced me to think about all the sacrifices she must have made so that I could live in Cottage Grove, send my son to school at St. Cloud State University, vote without first having to take a test, and drink from whatever water fountain I so choose, without being beaten or jailed.

In the words of that great American prophet Beyonce, say our names: Inez. Dorothy. Nekima. Sheletta.

We were not only there, but we were also leaders, pushing for change and demanding action. Identify us. Acknowledge us. And now that I've written this story, you can Google us.

Let history know our names and the significance of our work.