Journalist and filmmaker Sharon La Cruise has taken a seven-year journey to tell the story of Daisy Bates, the activist and former Arkansas NAACP head who helped organize the desegregation of Little Rock Central High School in 1957. The advocate for a group of students historically called the Little Rock Nine, Daisy Bates was glamorous, outspoken, divisive and at times mysterious — a woman viewers get to know in La Cruise’s intimate portrait, Daisy Bates: First Lady of Little Rock. Bates was an central part of organizing one of the most memorable events of the Civil Rights Movement, yet as a woman her name is largely forgotten in black history. TheGrio spoke with La Cruise about what she learned about this critical omission through making Daisy Bates, which recently premiered as part of PBS’ Emmy-winning series Independent Lens. The tale of Daisy Bates is an important one for all those interested in advancing the social perspectives of black women, while filling in the gaps left in our political memory.
theGrio: What sparked Daisy Bates: First Lady of Little Rock?
Sharon La Cruise: I saw a photo exhibit based on [Brian Lanker’s 1989 book] I Dream a World: Portraits of Black Women Who Changed America and took home the companion guide. I saw Daisy Bates’ photo in the book with Little Rock Central High behind her. I wondered why I never heard of this woman. I wrote to her, and that began my journey to eventually telling her story.
WATCH: DAISY BATES TRAILER FROM INDEPENDENT LENS
[youtubevid http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C7EMBa6jqpY&w=640&h=360]
With both being documentaries by black female directors on the subject of black female leaders, your film Daisy Bates: First Lady of Little Rock will undoubtedly draw some comparisons to Shola Lynch’s film Chisholm ’72: Unbought & Unbossed. What would you say is the main difference between the two films?
The approaches to storytelling were very different. Shola Lynch did not appear in Chisholm ’72, and did not have a narrator. She told the story in sound bites, and [to do that] you have to have a million interviews to piece together. That’s a tough thing to do for a historical documentary [like mine]. Shirley Chisholm was still alive [to be interviewed] whereas I had to find out what I could [as Daisy Bastes had long since passed away when I began the film]. By about the ’70s, there wasn’t that much archive material of Daisy Bates speaking for herself, since she had had a series of strokes. There are a lot of limitations to documenting someone who has passed away.
At the same time, it’s quite liberating to do a subject who has passed away. Daisy Bates had a lot of secrets. She would not have been happy for people to know she lived with her husband before they were married, and before he had divorced his first wife, or the fact that she campaigned to have her name put on the NAACP Spingarn medal. Human beings only want you to talk about their best side. There are very few people who will allow you to do a totally honest portrait. Daisy Bates didn’t have siblings; she didn’t have a nuclear family. That was one less burden on me. I was able to focus on the story and not worry about people’s expectations of me.
Speaking of people’s expectations, the film details Bates’ financial difficulties at the end of her life, including how in her later years she would take home leftover food from the events held in her honor. Did anyone have a problem with the film’s mention of that?
The version of the film for TV was more vague than the DVD, which talks [in more detail] about her financial troubles at the end of her life. But Daisy kept up appearances; even at those parties, Daisy always made sure the taking of the food was done indirectly; she would have someone else do it for her.
I went to [Daisy’s extended family] the Gastons Family Reunion and showed the film, and some people were like, “No, don’t say that!” I was asked by their family genealogist, “Could you take that out?” But in the end she said “Oh, leave it in.” We already have too many books and films about people that elevate them to the level of sainthood to the point where people don’t feel they can achieve those same things. We need to see that they are human.
I worked on [the documentary Zora Neale Hurston: Jump at the Sun], a film about [writer] Zora Neale Hurston who in her later years was working as a maid in Florida. She was buried in an unmarked grave, which Alice Walker later [had a monument placed at]. Neither Zora or Daisy had children, and were left at the mercy of extended relatives, friends and supporters. Daisy had put up her house to revive the Arkansas State Press [a highly influential newspaper for the civil rights movement, founded by her late husband L.C. Bates]; that’s when the real poverty set in. Unfortunately, it’s not that unusual that activist and creative people end up that way.
Please talk about Daisy’s mother’s rape and murder, and its impact on her.
It’s really fascinating, this whole notion of black women being raped in the South by white men. What we have is a history of black men being lynched for raping white women, or [the accusation of such]. Yet there was a whole society where black women weren’t safe. A black woman could be free game for any white man who looked at her. The men who raped and killed Daisy’s mother were never punished. Daisy had been a happier kid, but after she find out about what happened to her mother, her personality became much darker, angrier, more confrontational. She had all this pent up rage.
On the day before the Little Rock Nine showed up to the school, the meeting place was changed and the students were to instead go together, along with Daisy Bates, and enter through the rear. Everyone was informed about the change except Elizabeth Eckford, who showed up alone and attempted to enter the school through the front. Elizabeth was turned away by the National Guard, and harassed by a mob of hundreds. The images from that day led to national outrage and galvanized support for the students, but left its scars on Elizabeth. Did Daisy Bates allow Elizabeth Eckford to be a sacrificial lamb?
Daisy Bates genuinely loved children and would never have harmed them intentionally. A lot of the Nine she didn’t know until the day of [their going to the school]; they were not kids in the NAACP Youth Group or involved in the [related] lawsuit — Superintendent Virgil Blossom made sure those kids were not picked to desegregate the school. What happened to Elizabeth Eckford was not deliberate, it was a miscommunication that Daisy always regretted. Segregationists accused the NAACP of staging Elizabeth’s entrance but it was not staged. There’s still some hurt with Elizabeth Eckford to this day.
For all of the Little Rock Nine, their youth was sacrificed. They were physically attacked in the school — hot water, being thrown on glass, pushed down stairs, kicked. It was a whole community bullying them, with kids taking orders from adults. Little Rock Central High School was massive; it had 2,000 students. There were about 100 who were totally dedicated [to bullying and attacking them]. Superintendent Blossom kept the black students in different classes, separated at all times except at lunch.
There’s the constant question of why black students tend to sit together in the school or college lunch room. There is even a book titled, Why Are All The Black Kids Sitting Together in the Cafeteria? Does this dynamic have its origins in Little Rock?
I wouldn’t say it has its origins in Little Rock. I think it’s just a matter of people naturally gravitating to what they feel comfortable with. It was even like that at Adelphi University on Long Island, where I went to college. It was nine percent minority, and a lot of times we’d sit together in the cafeteria.
What is the legacy of Little Rock in terms of school integration?
Little Rock’s an interesting thing. I think the legacy is how our high schools [in America] have turned out; today they’re more segregated than ever. Whites have always been very resistant to integration, and that resistance has taken on different forms. When Ernest Green [,the first black to graduate from Little Rock High School,] graduated in 1958, people saw the tide was turning. Prince Edward County in Virginia closed down the public schools in their county for five years [and gave tuition grants to all-white academies until the practice was outlawed by the U.S. Supreme Court]. There is white flight, [there are] white academies, and housing patterns mirror our schools. I’m resigned to the idea of fighting for equal education rather than integration.
Tell us about your education.
I grew up in the Bushwick section of Brooklyn, New York in the 1970s. I always went to neighborhood schools; I never realized they were segregated. The only white people were our teachers. I was tracked as college bound. Bushwick High School wasn’t the best but it still had some great teachers. The school no longer exists; it has since been broken into pieces [to create multiple schools and programs based in the same building]. I was happy. I got a great education; I had wonderful teachers. But when I got to Adelphi, I realized there were gaps in my education and preparation for college. I had to work harder in order to close those gaps. I had thought my SAT scores were great but then I found out how they compared to those of other students. I also noticed more confidence from other students; they were raising their hands and sounding so brilliant in class. But when their tests came back, their grades weren’t any better than mine.
I worked on the school paper in undergrad and followed Sam Donaldson’s career; I found it fascinating. So I was on this track to journalism even then. I majored in History at Adelphi and then I got my master’s in Journalism from NYU.
What was Daisy Bates’ role in the March on Washington, and that of women in the Civil Rights Movement in general?
Before I learned about Daisy Bates, I didn’t know any women spoke at the March on Washington. Daisy Bates was invited to speak once but wound up speaking twice. She gave two speeches: “We Had to Walk it Alone” and “I Wonder if I Can Ever Be an American Citizen.”
First, it was all men on the program, then they said, “we’ll [include a segment to] honor the women.” Women were an afterthought. Women had been doing the groundwork , but the women felt the biggest enemy was racism. There were no references by Daisy Bates to sexism or women being overlooked. She accepted it.
The March was probably a breaking point for a lot of the women. They realized they were second class citizens in the movement.
In this age of computers, you still utilized the library for some of your research. Talk about the library as an important resource.
There’s definitely a lot you can do on a computer but there are still some things that are housed at the library. At the library, I was able to search through the 1930s phone book from Memphis, Tennessee to see where Daisy Bates was at that time. I bought the original manuscript for The Long Shadow of Little Rock: A Memoir by Daisy Bates [her autobiography], but I could only view it on the microfilm machines at the library. Some of that may have changed during the course of making the film; this film took seven years to make.
Seven years! That is quite a journey.
Yes, I worked seven days a week for seven years. I made a commitment to Daisy Bates, to people in Arkansas. I kept telling myself, “You can’t turn back, you’ve got to finish this film.”
I didn’t expect it to take that long! Once I committed to doing it, it was like I jumped off cliff without a parachute, there was no going back. There was a time [a few years in] when I thought I was on the fast track to getting it done, but there was so much more to do. That’s the nature of the beast.
I’m now getting my life back. It’s strange to have time to myself again. I work full time job at the Ford Foundation, and I’m focusing on how to get the Daisy Bates piece out into the world, beyond broadcast, into schools — so she can take her rightful place in history.
Olu Gittens is a writer and filmmaker based in New York City. Follow her blog at ohgeeproductions.wordpress.com. Follow Olu on Twitter at @bushwickbelle.