�ݺ�ߣ

University of Michigan - Michigan Today http://www.ns.umich.edu/MT/03/Fal03/assembly.html

By David Holzel

Donald Anderson's story always returns to Surry
County.

When Anderson arrived in Surry, in rural southeast
Virginia, in 1968, the public school system was in
ruins. The county's white minority had responded to
the1954 Supreme Court ruling that struck down racial
segregation in schools by abandoning the school
system, until only six white children remained. The
white leadership that ran the county government had 'When I left Ann Arbor for the Army,'
choked off funding. Test scores were the lowest in Anderson says in his Washington DC
townhouse, 'I swore I'd never go back to
Virginia. The Black majority lived in a rural poverty Michigan' after an almost friendless
that most urban Americans would have been shocked undergraduate experience But four years
later, attracted by the Law School's
to see. reputation, he was back at U-M as the
only Black student in his class.
Anderson was then a 36-year-old attorney—the only
African American to graduate from the U-M Law School in the class of 1960who, as an
aide to US Rep. Adam Clayton Powell (D-NY), had had a hand in writing the recent
federal anti-poverty legislation.

He came to Surry eager to try his idea of how to organize the county's Blacks so they
could better address the poverty and poor education that seemed to be their
perpetual lot. So he poked around, found out who among the farmers and laborers
were the community's natural leaders, and approached them.

"They were suspicious of me," recalls Anderson, now 71. "'What's he doing here? Is
he a Communist?'"

A Jeffersonian antidote to poverty

The confusion was understandable. Into a community where many homes lacked
running water had come this Black man who had never known poverty. Anderson
was educated, urbane and confident. And he had a plan—one improbably inspired by
the workings of the British Parliament and the writings of Thomas Jefferson—that he
believed would end the cycle of "wasted lives and collective unhappiness," as he
puts it.

He calls his system the Assembly—a structure of mini-parliaments in which local
residents can determine solutions to community and personal problems, and build
political influence to change the way a county is run.

Surry was Anderson's first attempt to put his idea into practice. He has since
replicated it in 74 counties and 2 cities in 5 states, from the Black Belt of southeast

1 of 6 9/8/2010 4:05 PM


Virginia through the Carolinas and Georgia to Mississippi. "The assemblies have
enabled the poor to take the last steps from slavery," Anderson says. And if the
assembly has taught some rural Blacks how to work the levers of political power, for
some 35 years it also has been the force driving Donald Anderson's life.

Surry County is the beginning of the story and the place where it always returns—the
first experiment, the first success and the first rebuttal to the skeptics who told
Anderson that he couldn't organize an entire impoverished community. "With the
$35,000 I spent on Surry County," he says, "no foundation has made so much
change with $5 million."

"They called it 'Sorry County,'" says Clarence Penn,
the county's former superintendent of schools. "Now
everyone says 'Surry' with a modicum of pride."

In 1968, Surry County had a single Black public
employee—a janitor. Three years later, the Surry
Assembly that Anderson helped organize ran three
Black candidates for the five-seat county board of
supervisors. All won.

With Blacks running the county, the schools improved,
as did almost everything else in Surry. Test scores
today are among the highest in Virginia. The
high-school dropout rate is low, and 95 percent of
graduates go on to college. The Surry Assembly,
Anderson is an avid horseman and owns
15 thoroughbreds that he keeps near his which is still going strong, "made a tremendous
ancestral retreat in Virginia.
difference," Penn says.

The revolution in Surry was due to the residents themselves, Anderson contends. "All
we gave them was the structure."

Each ward a 'small republic'

Thomas Jefferson, that great tinkerer of ideas, suggested the structure for the
assembly. Divide each county into wards, Jefferson advised the Virginia legislature.
"Each ward would thus be a small republic and every man in the state would thus
become an acting member of the common government." From the age of 14,
Anderson puzzled how to put this idea of citizen government into practice.

With a symmetry and simplicity that would have pleased an Age of Enlightenment
thinker like Jefferson, Anderson's solution was to divide a community into what he
calls "conferences" of 50 adults each. "If we go into a community with 5,000 adults,
we have 100 conferences," he says.

Each conference meets four times a year to discuss and solve the problems of those
50 adults. And those 50 elect one of their number to represent them in the higher
body, the Assembly. So a 5,000-member community would have 100 representatives
meeting in its assembly, hearing problems and rendering solutions, which the
representatives report back to their conferences of 50.

And here is Anderson's mechanism for keeping this
voluntary system from becoming unwieldy: Each Those residents of the
conference elects seven of its members to be what Black Belt who do move
Anderson calls "committee members." Each committee off the land have, for the
member acts as liaison between six other conference most part, found their
members and the conference's Assembly ways to the dark slums
representative. of Northern cities.
Statistics indicate that
In this way, a representative need contact only seven they are now returning
people to get a sense of the rank-and-file members' to the South. Individual
concerns. Each committee member need speak with initiative has allowed
only seven people—the representative and six some who moved away
members. And the rank-and-file have to inform only a to enter the mainstream
sin.

2 of 6 9/8/2010 4:05 PM


"Because the Assembly operates on two levels, it of American life, but for
operates in the interest of the members of each Black people in the
conference as well as the whole community," Anderson United States, both
says. "It allows a channel of communication between North and South,
individuals and the community." opportunities have been
rationed. A few have
Putting his idea to the test made it to the top, but
the great part of the
Anderson put his idea to the test at the height of the population has not
1960s War on Poverty. As general counsel to the House moved from the bottom.
subcommittee that had drafted the anti-poverty From "At Daniel's
legislation, he had serious reservations about how that Mountain" by Donald
war was being fought. Anderson.

"One of the reasons Don did what he did was he didn't
think the War on Poverty was effective," says James T. Riley who, fresh out of Duke
University in 1969, became advance man to the communities Anderson was
targeting. Riley eventually rose to become director of the National Community
Development Organization (NCDO), the non-profit Anderson founded to pursue his
work. "There was a lot of government money and a lot of energy going that way [to
anti-poverty agencies]," says Riley, who now sits on the NCDO's board of directors.

But Anderson didn't see all that money and energy solving the problems Black
communities faced. The Assembly is structured specifically to solve one problem at a
time—improve the educational system or build roads, for example. It is a mechanism,
not a movement. Because the residents do most of the work themselves, NCDO
requires little paid staff to operate. The 14 now on staff act largely as technical
advisers who can point new assemblies to the resources available for solving
problems.

Through their Assembly, the Blacks of Nash-Edgecomb-Rocky Mount, North Carolina,
registered 6,000 voters in a single year and "changed the complexion of politics in
the county," says the Rev. Thomas Walker, the Assembly's president, who has known
Anderson for more than 25 years. When the community elected the first African-
American county manager, it began to receive "all the things that come with political
power. It has a trickle-down effect," Walker says.

If the whole business sounds arcane, it clearly has brought benefits to Black
communities, Anderson says. Yet the reason the Assembly works was unclear at first,
even to him.

"White immigrants brought with them community structures from their old
countries," he says now. "In the case of Blacks, who were segregated completely,
there was no government. Government was enemy territory. Blacks operate
individually, but they sense a common goal."

"It's clearly a good concept," Walker says. "We never mastered it completely. But it
lifted the community."

'The worst experience of my life'

Anderson is a descendent both of slaves and slaveholders. Until he entered the
University of Michigan as a freshman in 1949, he had spent his life on the Black side
of the color bar. His father, Russell, was a geneticist and physician; his mother,
Celeste, a teacher. In Pittsburgh, where Donald was born, and later in Washington,
DC, the family socialized within the middle-class Black community. Donald read
widely, particularly the classics, and soaked up the lessons of the professors,
ministers and other learned professionals who visited the home. "We didn't come into
contact with any white folks," he says. "We didn't go downtown. To tell you the truth,
it was a pleasant experience."

Having bucked the status quo, Celeste and Russell didn't see why Donald had to
adhere to it. "I didn't finish high school. My parents thought it was a waste of time,"

3 of 6 9/8/2010 4:05 PM


he says. "How I got into Michigan, I don't know."

When he boarded the train for Ann Arbor, he began his first sustained encounter with
segregation. He spent the three-day ride in a separate car. Once enrolled at Michigan,
he lived in a segregated section of West Quad. "There were fewer than 100 Blacks in
a school of 18,000," he says. "It was the worst experience of my life. All of a sudden
I was with people who were sometimes outwardly friendly, sometimes not friendly at
all." White students who came to his room and talked for hours into the night didn't
even meet his gaze when passing him on the street.

'I had no friends when I left'

He saw television for the first time at the Michigan Union. Once, when the screen
showed a prisoner, Anderson saw some students pointing at him, as if common skin
color conferred the prisoner's guilt on him. "I had no friends when I left there," he
says.

Two rough years in the US Army further soured him about life in wider American
society. "I said, 'I have to get out of this country.'" A professor at Michigan had
pointed him to the London School of Economics and in 1955 he began his graduate
work there.

At the time, Britain was not yet divided by race. Anderson made friends, and his life
began to fall into place. He could indulge his love of Shakespeare. ("Don could quote
Shakespeare until everyone fell asleep at night," James T. Riley recalls of his early
days working with Anderson to set up assemblies.) And Anderson became an admirer
of the British House of Commons and spent many nights there studying
parliamentary leadership structure.

When he left Ann Arbor for the Army, Anderson swore he'd never go back to
Michigan. But there he was in 1957, entering the U-M Law School, the only Black
student in his class.

Why did he return, after the "worst experience" of his life? "I went back because of
the Law School's reputation," he says. "At that time it was considered better than
Harvard."

With his law degree, he applied for a staff position with Representative Powell,
whose clerk had assumed the young applicant was white after reading his resumé.
Anderson's experience in government sharpened his vision and, as the 1960s were
ending, he decided to test his idea for the Assembly.

He had left Capitol Hill, but not Washington, not entirely. Since 1964 he has rented
the same townhouse in a leafy development a mile from the Capitol. It has shelves of
books, art on the walls and a constantly ringing telephone. But Anderson does not
consider it his real home. That is a cabin he built in 1968 in Botetourt County, at the
head of the James River in the mountains of southwest Virginia.

'Paradise' on a slave-owner's land

"It's paradise," Anderson says, sitting in his cramped townhouse and looking across
the room to a framed photograph of the view from the cabin's window. Anderson's
great-grandfather bought the land, 72 acres of a larger piece of property once owned
by the family's plantation-owning, Scottish-American ancestor. His slave ancestors
are buried in a plot not far from the cabin's front door.

A few blocks from Anderson's townhouse, young men stand near the street, ready to
sell drugs to passersby. Once, Anderson absentmindedly pulled his car over to a man
he saw waving at him, and was stopped by a police cruiser after he drove away.

He is now turning his attention to big-city poverty and is looking for foundation
money to fund assemblies in Washington and Cleveland. "In the cities there is more
crime, but the essence of poverty is still the same," he says. But even with the
money, organizing the urban poor seems a longer shot than the rural communities

4 of 6 9/8/2010 4:05 PM


ever were.

Alvertus Tyler has seen the changes in Portsmouth, Virginia, one of two cities with
long-time Assemblies. "Right now our Assembly isn't meeting anymore," Tyler says.
With the worsening crime in the city, Assembly members "got frightened and they
won't come out."

Passing the torch is difficult, too. "It's hard to get young folk to understand the
concept," Tyler says. "They're too involved with drugs and crime. Those who we
enticed to become involved thought they were way ahead of those who were
seasoned. They just wouldn't stay."

James Hill, president of the Assembly of Prince George County in Virginia, says the
slow pace of rural life was conducive to making the Assembly work. Now, things
move faster, even in the country and, with little for young people to do after high
school, many are leaving.

Still, poverty remains a shocking fixture in this country. "The inequality is the thing
that gets me," Anderson says. "Lack of education is the source of poverty in this
country. People don't understand that only the middle class and the wealthy can
educate their kids."

James Riley is blunt about the current climate. "It's not fashionable now to care
about the poor."

But Anderson, who seems never to have cared about fashion, says his job is not
nearly done. "There are 258 rural counties that are largely Black and poor. I want to
get in all those counties. With money, we could do it in two years, three at the most."

That is all the time it took to turn Surry County around and begin to erase the stigma
of "Sorry County." And that is where this story ends, back at the beginning.

"Why should we have this problem with all our wealth?" Anderson says. "Our
government allows us to ignore these problems. They have abrogated the Declaration
of Independence."

MT

David Holzel '80 is a writer in Washington, DC.

The color bar and prejudice dominated our lives
from beginning to end, but my earliest memory of
the race question goes back to when my father
was asked to attend an international genetics
conference in Edinburgh, Scotland, in 1939.

The war broke out while he was there, and the
British were placing the American conferees on
the first ships out. One such ship was the Athenia,
but my father was prohibited from taking it
because his intended cabinmate refused to room
with a Black man.

In a sense it was a voyage of some importance
for, as Winston Churchill mentions in his war
memoirs, the Germans accused Churchill of
personally having placed a bomb on board the
ship. The Athenia went down, drowning over a
Anderson says he doesn't know 'what hundred people, 28 of them American, including
this Scottish ancestry did to me,' but
while traveling in Scotland in 1969, he my father's intended cabinmate.
heard the bagpipes for the first time and
'was hypnotized by them; I rushed out For three weeks we believed that my father had
and bought a set the next day.' Now he's
a medal-winning piper, including one in also perished. Afterwards I remember, as a child
East Coast's largest competition at of 7, believing prejudice to be a virtue, for it had
Grandfather Mountain, North Carolina.
saved my father's life.From "At Daniel's

5 of 6 9/8/2010 4:05 PM


Mountain" by Donald Anderson, a chapter in Why the South Will Survive: by 15
Southerners, University of Georgia Press, 1981.

Contents | Letters | Alumnae/Alumni News | U-M Books | Archives
Send us a Letter | Update Your Address | About Michigan Today | Sign up for Michigan Today News-e

Copyright 2002 The Regents of the University of Michigan
Ann Arbor, MI 48109 USA 1-734-764-1817

6 of 6 9/8/2010 4:05 PM

�ݺ�ߣ

Assembly Man

Recommended

More Related Content

Similar to Assembly Man (8)

Assembly Man