I blew it. That's what I'd planned to tell the viewers of Politically Incorrect, an edgy, late-night talk show on ABC. I skipped the Million Woman March last October because I thought only a couple of thousand '60s throwbacks would show up in Philadelphia. And then, just a week later, I was grateful to get the opportunity to tell the world I was wrong.
The irony is, I was born to march. As a child, I marched with my mother to protest segregation in the New York City public schools. In high school, I marched across the Brooklyn Bridge in support of school decentralization. As an undergraduate student at the City College of New York, I marched on the administration to present a list of "non-negotiable demands." (Hey, it was the '70s.)
In 1983, I even marched in observance of a march -- the 20th anniversary of the March on Washington, when Martin Luther King Jr. revealed his dream.
I also marched when I was told I shouldn't. You see, I was one of about 3,000 women who attended the Million Man March -- the "mother" of all marches. Or it was, until an estimated 1 million to 2 million mothers, grandmothers, sisters, wives, daughters, aunts and granddaughters took to the streets of Philadelphia.
Just my luck. I had cavalierly dismissed the Million Woman March as inconsequential because it was neither well organized nor promoted, and its goals, with the exception of increasing black women's political participation, were rather amorphous. Besides which, I'd been there, done that. Who knew?
Fortunately, I could go on Politically Incorrect and redeem my breach of sisterhood before a nationwide audience.
As I waited backstage, the only thoughts on my mind were, "Dear God, please don't let me trip as I walk across the set. And please don't let these false eyelashes fall off." Why did I ask the makeup artist to put those things on anyway?
Now I had to remember to suck in my gut, sit up straight, smile not grin, and try to forget about those feathers fluttering around my eyes.
Having made it across the stage without tripping, I was ready to commend the organizers of the Million Woman March for their vision and belatedly to embrace their message of unity, spiritual renewal and collective responsibility. I was going to extol the virtues of African-American women, who have been the backbone of every struggle to uplift black families and communities, but who, too often, have been voiceless and invisible.
What I actually said was rather more prosaic. When you mix a TV personality ("Downtown" Julie Brown), an economist (Julianne Malveaux), an actress (Victoria Rowell) and a lawyer-cum-policy wonk (me) with a studio audience, well, things happen. And what did happen that night was that four intelligent, articulate women appeared on national TV and talked about sex. Not sex discrimination, gender gaps or glass ceilings. Sex. Or, as our genial host, comedian Bill Maher, asked gingerly, "Are you talking about booty?"
So much for my intention to be serious. I ended up discussing the shortage of eligible men and repeating every mother's admonition about cows, free milk and marriage (read: commitment). And get this: My futile attempt to change the subject by grabbing Brown's hand triggered an accusation of same-sex harassment. Could it get any worse?
Yes, it could. As I was entering the Green Room after the show, Jerry Springer, who was a guest on a later taping of Politically Incorrect, said, "You were wonderful." Such a compliment from the king of trash TV gave me pause. Did Jerry think I was "wonderful" because I had just spent the better part of 30 minutes talking about sex? Such talk, coupled with my boneheaded decision to skip the Million Woman March, no doubt qualified me to join the select band who regularly appear on the Jerry Springer Show.
Fortunately, time will march on.
Faye M. Anderson, JD '76, is president of the Douglass Policy Institute, which urges minority women to participate in the Republican Party.
