"The committee' still powerful force in Durham.
Group stirs reverence, fear in political circles."
Author: SHIFFER; November 17, 1996, The News & Observer
DURHAM - Held together by faith after 239,640 miles, the Greater Joy Baptist Church van rattled over the railroad tracks in East Durham and kept going. It was Tuesday, not Sunday, and Gwen Helms was on a different kind of mission: Getting out the vote for the Durham Committee on the Affairs of Black People
Helms was fetching her seventh voter this Election Day - Valeria Shepard, who had called for a ride because she was running late. A toot of the horn brought Shepard, a West Virginia transplant who found out about "The Committee" when a volunteer nabbed her one day outside the supermarket.
After a bumpy trip to Precinct 18, Holloway Street School, Shepard was handed a pink sample ballot marked with the committee's favored candidates. Shepard voted, climbed back into the van and smiled with satisfaction at choosing her leaders: "It feels good and I'm praying at the same time."
Chalk up six miles on the odometer and one more full ballot for the committee.
For 61 years, the Durham Committee on the Affairs of Black People has built its power one vote at a time. The most effective political action group in the Triangle - and arguably the state - demonstrated its strength this past Election Day, mobilizing thousands of black voters to back its favored candidates.
The result was an affirmation of the group's formidable role in Durham politics, a role that had suffered a blow in the 1994 elections. This year, voters removed white conservatives from local government. Starting next month, committee-endorsed candidates will dominate both the City Council and the county Board of Commissioners.
Such influence has earned it both reverence and animosity.
Supporters say the group is only as strong as its members, who take heed of the committee's endorsements but vote as individuals. The committee succeeds, they say, because it makes the most of a long history of activism in a black community that members and political observers call one of the most organized in America.
Opponents accuse the committee of backing only black candidates and manipulating blacks to vote against their interests. "It's like a dictatorship," contends Republican County Commissioner Ed DeVito, who was voted out this fall. "Now they can pretty much do what they want to do."
But the reality of the committee's power is more subtle. Its endorsed candidates generally win only if they happen to be Democrats and their election depends on a coalition of voters, black and white.
What separates the Durham Committee on the Affairs of Black People from other such groups, according to political scientists, is its ability to channel political sentiment into a get-out-the-vote machine unlike most others.
In politics, however, "the perception of power is power," Robin Dorff, an N.C. State University political scientist, says. And the perception of the committee's influence is spread by supporters and detractors alike.
"We've got a good machine going," said committee chairman Ken Spaulding. "And good folks doing it."
### Historic role: When business executive C.C. Spaulding - an elder cousin of the current chairman - convened a group of black leaders at Durham's Algonquin Tennis Club in 1935, the world outside was divided into black and white. Blacks sent their children to segregated schools and faced arrest if they tried to eat in the wrong restaurant. On the City Council and county Board of Commissioners, white Democrats ruled.
But Durham was also home to a unusually large population of affluent black bankers, insurance executives, educators and other professionals, whose 1935 meeting at the tennis club created what would become the Durham Committee on Negro Affairs.
For the next six decades, the group would serve as an unflinching advocate for Durham's black community in employment, education, court and politics. It took nearly two decades before it got its first candidate elected to a major office. In 1953, a committee-backed candidate, Rencher Harris, became the first black City Council member. By the 1980s, five decades into its work, black majorities were elected to both the county Board of Commissioners and City Council.
Chester Jenkins became the city's first black mayor in 1989. Bill Bell, perhaps Durham's best-known black politician, used his position as chairman of the county commissioners to integrate Durham's two school systems in 1992.
In 1994, the committee helped make Jeanne Lucas the first black woman elected to the state Senate.
But the committee, argues Dorff, the NCSU political scientist, would not succeed without an already organized and active black community. It's the catalyst, not a controller, of political consciousness. "It's probably like yeast in a dough," he said.
Today, the group and its nine subcommittees - civic, political, religious and human affairs, youth, economic, education, housing, health and legal redress - meet regularly to keep themselves abreast of local and national events and trends. The committee raises its collective voice when leaders perceive a threat to the community's interest.
The committee successfully lobbied for the merger of the predominantly black city schools and largely white county schools. It fought back an attempt in federal court earlier this year to dilute black representation on the school board.
"Without the committee, I would hate to even speculate what Durham would be like," said Delores Rogers, a committee activist and retired lab technician. "It could be different if we didn't voice our opinions and stayed quiet. It could be bad for people overall."
### How much influence?:
State Rep. Paul Luebke looked flushed and agitated when he showed up at the committee headquarters on Election Day. On a visit to one of the precincts, Luebke discovered that some of the committee's 38,000 sample ballots were incorrectly printed, falsely suggesting that the committee favored the state's $950 million highway bond.
Luebke, an outspoken highway bond opponent, thought the mistake could swing the referendum in Durham County. "It's terrible," he said. "We're talking about shifting 30,000 votes."
The mistake was corrected and the bond failed in Durham County, but Luebke's concern shows politicians' recognition of the influence of the committee's endorsements.
A steady stream of Durham politicos - including Bell, Jenkins, County Commissioner MaryAnn Black, City Council member Cynthia Brown and others - visited the committee's Grant Street office that day to help out or just greet the campaign workers.
For each election, the committee spends months plotting strategy. It analyzes the races and conducts extensive candidate interviews. To build suspense, it waits until a few days before an election before announcing its recommendations.
Then, having made its decision, the group musters an army of volunteers to coordinate rides, distribute sample ballots and work the polls. It doesn't rely on good will alone: The committee pays as many as 40 poll workers $40 each to hand out literature and perform other duties at certain precincts.
The result, election after election, is a black voting blitz that has put the committee's endorsed candidates into office, despite a black community that represents only 37 percent of the county's population, according to the 1990 U.S. Census.
When Durham County conservatives looked at the ruins of their campaigns after the 1995 and 1996 elections, they blamed the committee in a flurry of editorial cartoons, letters to the editor and public statements.
DeVito, the toppled Republican commissioner, blamed his loss on blacks voting only for other blacks and suggested the committee has too much power.
"It's very difficult to overcome an organization like that," he said.
Russell Barringer Jr., who has supported a string of unsuccessful conservative candidates, said the committee aims to control local politics. The group's power, Barringer suggests, depends on blacks thoughtlessly following its recommendations.
"They can say that they vote their individual minds; however, the facts certainly don't indicate that," he said. "The fact of the matter is that they vote along racial lines. For them to say otherwise is absolutely ridiculous."
Brown, the City Council member and the director of the anti-poverty nonprofit Southerners for Economic Justice, bristles at such comments. She says the committee has never tried to tell her how to vote on any issue.
The rhetoric that followed this year's election, she says, bears a tone of white supremacy. The system has traditionally held blacks powerless, so when they start to identify leaders and organize, "we become the focus and are told that we have too much control over politics."
An analysis of the Nov. 5 election shows that the results are not simply the product of some political machine.
All but one of the committee's endorsed candidates in Durham County won their races. But voters in the black districts cooperated with the committee's sample slate only when the recommended candidates happened to be Democrats.
The committee failed when it tried to steer a majority of the same voters toward GOP candidates. Its endorsed candidate for state treasurer, Republican Ann Duncan, lost this year to Democrat Harlan Boyles, even in some of the committee's key precincts.
Such results confirm one political scientist's suspicion that the committee lacks the power attributed to it by its supporters, detractors and the media.
"The power is really in the hands of the individual citizen who makes up his mind," said Gordon Diem, a political scientist at N.C. Central University.
### Always there: Politics and the Durham Committee on the Affairs of Black People have been inseparable for Lillian Cutler. Legally blind, she and her late husband, Cagy, ran a snack bar at NCCU for years. She also has been the first voter to show up at her Pearson School polling place on election days for decades.
To do so, she relies on volunteers from the committee to take her to the school, read the endorsements, mark her choices on the ballot and take her home.
Cutler, 82, said she always knew whom she wanted to vote for in certain races, but she would depend on the endorsements to help her with unfamiliar names. The committee has always been there for 61 years because it serves people like her, she said.
"They've been doing something, something that benefited their own race. They realized that we needed them, and we still do."
Therein lies the true strength of the committee, supporters say: longevity and diversity.
While the organization and Durham's black community have changed since 1935, the committee has consistently brought together blacks across the political spectrum. It charges no membership fees and is open to anyone who wishes to participate.
"It's been the leadership over the last 60 years," Spaulding said. "There is great respect for the organization by members of the black community."
It has endured setbacks. In 1991, white conservatives swept the black liberal majority off the City Council. Three years later, two white Republicans replaced the two committee-backed black Democrats on the Board of Commissioners when a conservative tide swept the state. But the committee bounced back each time. Similar organizations, such as the Raleigh-Wake Citizens' Association, have struggled to maintain their influence in changing political times.
If the committee achieves anything, advocates say, it keeps politics in the forefront of the black community's consciousness.
"It makes people aware of what's happening," said Don Williams Jr., an IBM computer salesman whose bid for a school board seat in May failed despite the committee's backing. "Without the Durham committee, there's lots of things I myself would not know."
### Getting out the vote: But it is at election time when the committee's diverse constituency comes together as a machine, fine-tuned by decades of experience.
On this past Election Day, stalwarts gathered before dawn in a small office building next to a boarded-up, battered duplex on Grant Street. For the next 12 hours, one tiny, cramped office would serve as the committee's election headquarters.
By 9 a.m. committee headquarters already had received 400 requests for rides and information. Four constantly ringing telephones and a stream of visitors seeking orders or answers made the office, in the words of one campaign staffer, "frantic and frenetic." Staffers shoved papers bearing the names of voters into the hands of drivers, who fetched them in station wagons, rental cars, church vans and other transportation.
"This man was supposed to be picked up at 8 o'clock," shouted committee activist Hazel Rich, the phone in her hand at 10:20 a.m. Sandra Battle, the committee's political director, yelled her response.
"We're backed up, we're backed up. Tell him the polls are full!"
Throughout the day, Spaulding stopped by to talk strategy with Battle. At midmorning, poll workers started calling in turnout at targeted precincts. Volunteer Hollis Shaw checked the numbers against the total of registered voters. Workers would later "flush" or recruit registered voters who had not yet shown up to vote.
Finally, 15 hours later, the rides, number-crunching and fingernail-biting paid off: Turnout in some core black precincts topped 68 percent, and most were higher than the county average of 59.3 percent.
Battle summed up the day, her mission, with two words: "We delivered." Again.
Copyright 1996 by The News & Observer Pub. Co.
Record Number: 1996321120
After a bumpy trip to Precinct 18, Holloway Street School, Shepard was handed a pink sample ballot marked with the committee's favored candidates. Shepard voted, climbed back into the van and smiled with satisfaction at choosing her leaders: "It feels good and I'm praying at the same time."
Isn't that illegal--the premarked "sample" ballots?
Without the committee, I would hate to even speculate what Durham would be like," said Delores Rogers, a committee activist and retired lab technician. "It could be different if we didn't voice our opinions and stayed quiet. It could be bad for people overall."
Words fail me. Someone get an interview with her now. No wait--she's dead, victim of a drive by drug related shooting. (Not really, but she could be)
"Shepard voted, climbed back into the van and smiled with satisfaction at choosing her leaders: "It feels good and I'm praying at the same time."
These are the type of people who go into churches and hold rallies with the NBBP, the Nation of Islam, etc.
They'll be praying as the send white people a message by convicting three innocent players, because they want to stand strong with their "sister", the AV.
(No white person will ever enter one of their churches and be called a "sister" or a "brother"; but the NOI and the NBBP will all be brothers and sisters.)
Pardon me, but where do I vomit?
We need to get back to the power sturcture in Durham.
I am convinced it is the only way those boys will walk away from this.
Back to the Committee:
"It has endured setbacks. In 1991, white conservatives swept the black liberal majority off the City Council. Three years later, two white Republicans replaced the two committee-backed black Democrats on the Board of Commissioners when a conservative tide swept the state. But the committee bounced back each time. Similar organizations, such as the Raleigh-Wake Citizens' Association, have struggled to maintain their influence in changing political times.."