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266 f o r t y - t h r e e Young Power the malaise among young blacks that June Johnson observed had disturbing echoes in our conversation with L. C. Dorsey. As a professor who had long been teaching black students at Jackson State University, we welcomed her candid and penetrating insights. L.C.’s astonishing success in the maturing and education of her own five children seemed to be a triumphant validation of the aspirations of the sixties movement. When we spoke of her children, her eyes shone with pride, and there was a buoyant note in her voice. “I’m very satisfied with the lives they are pursuing.” Gloria nodded. “You should be satisfied. It was such a long, hard climb for you and the kids. And you made it! How did you manage to motivate them, L. C.? So many of their peers seem to be aimless and adrift.” “Whether you’re a parent or a teacher, you’ve got to be ‘plugged in’ to where the kids are,” she said. “As a single parent I was very close with my children from the get-go, and it made a difference.” “And as a teacher?” I asked. The usually ebullient woman stared back, her eyes unusually despairing . “As a teacher, I am very depressed about kids today,” she answered softly. “Why?” I asked, disturbed by the resignation in her voice. “You’ve always known kids so well. Are they different now?” She nodded slowly. “They are so different, Tracy. It’s painful for me to be in class with them. I don’t teach anymore. I’m now a mentor. It’s so sad to realize that they don’t equate earning a college degree with unlocking doors to eternal questions that we were meant to answer, or with the mysteries of how things have evolved.” She slumped in her chair, her eyes searching for clarity. “They don’t even want to hear those things. That is Young Power   |   267 the saddest part. What they want is the piece of paper at graduation that means ‘I can go get a job, sit in an office, and tell people what to do.’” Gloria listened intently, frowning at the sad litany. “I feel for you, L. C. It seems particularly strange to hear that here in Mississippi. Where are these kids in relation to the civil rights struggle . . . to politics in general?” L. C. shook her head. “I had a group of graduate students, Gloria, teaching a class in politics. I asked them about their elected representatives , and they had no clue about who they were or how long they would hold office. No clue. Most of them weren’t even registered to vote. If they voted at all, it was only in the national elections. They didn’t understand that the actions that most affected their lives were at the county level.” Her voice was irritable. Curtly, she declared, “Anybody conscientious enough could come in the country and organize . . . communism, socialism, whatever . Anything!” Her bright eyes snapped in anger. “Anything! Because there is no commitment on their part to government of any kind!” “These are black kids in Mississippi, where the vote was so damn hard to get. It doesn’t seem to be a matter of race or gender,” I said. “What in hell is it, L. C.?” I watched as the anger slowly left Dorsey’s face. “I think it’s historical,” she replied. “In the sixties we probably had the ability to make more of a difference than these young folks have. The issues were easier to understand. When I see the many people now who turn out to protest against global marketing, proliferation of weapons, desecration of the rain forests, I’m often confused myself. It’s hard sometimes to get a handle on why they’re so upset. It’s not like fighting Jim Crow. We knew why. I do get angry, but I’m hesitant to write off the young people. Their interest is apparently more internally focused. ‘How will this injustice impact on me?’ as opposed to ‘How will this injustice impact on the people in this county, in this state, in this world?’” “We all feel manipulated sometimes,” I said, “by corporations, by the media, by government. We’re all struggling with these issues, L. C. It’s not just the young.” “Bob Moses’s theory,” she said, “is that if you put the kids out to do community...

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