Farewell to three warriors for justice
Been thinking about Dudley, Charley and Linc. Three men of different means and demeanour. Three warriors for social justice. The three of them now dearly departed.
“Who will be the next warrior for social justice?” one union leader asked as the memorial service for Charles Roach concluded on Saturday at Convocation Hall, the African drummers and dancers exulting in “The Battle Hymn of the Republic.”
It’s unlikely such a warrior will emerge from the usual suspects.
A republic is what Charley always wished Canada to be; it is a battle he took to his grave. An independent, democratic Canada shouldn’t be tied to the monarchy, he argued. And he, as a free black man, would not pledge allegiance to a British royalty with its historic ties to colonialism, slavery and other wrongs.
Charley had to go to court in order to practise law without taking a pledge to Her Majesty. He reportedly turned down an offer to be a judge for the same reason.
Restrained, poignant, carefully planned and delivered, the Roach farewell reflected a life of extraordinary breadth, multi-faceted and encompassing so much more than the public saw in the civil rights activist and lawyer.
Just over a week earlier, the province said farewell to trail-blazing politician Lincoln Alexander. His was a state funeral, the official sign of public acceptance, the final declaration that says, “You played by the rules; you did right.”
Linc, also a lawyer, knew where power was and decided to plug into the source from the inside: by joining the party of John Diefenbaker and becoming a cabinet minister, a first for a black Canadian.
His parents came to Canada from the Caribbean; he made Canada his own, adding flair to his position as lieutenant-governor, the Queen’s representative in Ontario.
Dudley Laws was no lawyer. He argued from the position of what was fair and just and right on a level where the people lived.
Ironically, it was Dudley — the man with the least power and the least access to power — who evoked the most fear in the establishment. Dudley and Charley were both members of the Black Action Defence Committee (BADC), a confrontational organization that demanded civilian oversight of police actions after several young black men died at the end of a police gun. Charley argued in court, his BADC comrades and Dudley watching menacingly close by. Dudley found his voice on the street, with a bellowing Charley right beside him. Dudley, decked out in black T-shirt and black beret, leading a handful of young black men chanting “No justice, no peace,” had a chilling effect. He was the face of the street battle. Charley plotted the strategy. Meanwhile, Linc, carefully skating around the conventions of his political offices, would add his voice at critical points in the fight for justice. When Toronto police threatened the Star with legal action and roundly denied any culpability in the practice of racial profiling, Linc turned the tables, calling the Star to declare that even he, Linc, an upstanding black citizen, had been the victim of racial profiling. Practitioners of wars or conflicts of any kind know that it takes a variety of strategies to accomplish one’s goals.
Dudley was the street fighter, Charles the kamikaze bomber, and Lincoln the general
Dudley took the fight to the streets. Charley plotted the forays, joining the fight like a kamikaze bomber. Linc was the general. These three exercised great influence on life in this city and the province. On Saturday, we celebrated Charley’s many other passions, from music to poetry. The two-hour celebration segued seamlessly from African drum to the steelpan of his birthplace, Trinidad and Tobago, to piano and saxophone; one moment with Chopin, the next with the Mighty Sparrow, Miriam Makeba and Jimmy Cliff. And always, Charley’s recorded voice, urging: “Diddly, diddly, diddly dee / Free the land from bigotry.” Royson James usually appears Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. Email: rjames@thestar.ca