What is striking in the 50th anniversary edition is that these letters are no longer just presented as being of historical value but are reshaped into a political mood to be emulated. Modern readers are urged to take inspiration, to seek desperately needed connection and, in so doing, to give rise to a similar political impetus. But these writings cannot be so easily transplanted – they are as much a product of their political situation as its architects. The feeling so many Freedom Summer volunteers struggled to capture in their letters home must be understood over the course of the summer.
On arrival in Oxford, Ohio the cream of America - the white, ivy-league educated, post-war boom generation - was for the first time confronted with danger, otherwise only an ill-defined picture at the back of the mind. Gradually reality dawned as several SNCC staff walked out during a film about a Southern voter registrar. What the volunteers had considered a crude caricature of Southern racism was an experience the seasoned SNCC staff were all too familiar with. Anxious for them to grasp the gravity of the situation, one volunteer remembers a staff member telling them: “If you don’t get scared, pack up and get the hell out of here because we don’t need any favors of people who don’t know what they are doing in the first place.” Fear builds but, as one notes, the embarrassment of going home before ever stepping foot in Mississippi was too great. For others, it only registered as they crossed state lines but, for all, there seems to be a difficulty in describing entry to a society at once recognisable from pictures and obscured by distance.
Black communities then housed the volunteers at great risk to themselves, forging deep, often quasi-familial, relationships. Aware of the true virulence of Southern racism and that the violence was only temporarily halted by heavy media presence, the fear of local hosts is often mentioned. An interesting conflict arose between SNCC’s non-violent ethos and the fact that every Black person in the Delta had a gun and kept it loaded. Though the volunteers were welcomed with open arms, even cheered by kids in the street in one account, many had a sense of underlying hatred. “But a white man never turns black in Mississippi. Sometimes you feel you’ve crossed the color line when a woman tells you about her fears and tells how she lies to the white folks but secretly hates them.” This new situation prompted many to reflect on the lives they had left behind. One girl writes to her mother how her relationship to love had changed into something simple and organic rather than over-intellectualised. Another writes how feeling pain, once a virtue, had to be dulled to survive in Mississippi.
Yet, volunteers were required to stay alert to their surroundings – scoping out an area in advance and carefully interpreting the mood of local whites. There is an interesting coexistence between vigilance, resilience and heightened visibility. One expression of solidarity that struck me was of a Black man who, washing the car of a white volunteer and noticing the out of state plates, smiled broadly and found an excuse to talk despite his supervisor lurking nearby. Seemingly minor acts of defiance give shape to a changing pattern of resistance. Freedom Schools were vital in building up this ability to voice frustrations and demand better. Despite the risk of bombings, far more students registered than was anticipated and the ensuing shortage of teachers led to concerns of having to stick to traditional methods of teaching. But, as is beautifully illustrated by the inclusion of students’ poetry in this edition, a new pedagogy was developed in which kids could express themselves. They learned languages, were introduced to literature, and even acted out courthouse scenes. A white teacher expressed concern over being cast as a segregationist, hoping that it wouldn’t reinforce their students’ uncertainty around them. Thankfully, it was understood to be separate.
Finally, many volunteers were torn between returning to the safety of their degrees and continuing to spearhead the movement. Those who did return home often wrote of feeling out of place, unable to talk to Northern Black people but feeling out of place among whites too. The political mood is therefore a cluster of often conflicting emotions – yes, accounts are permeated by intense bonds of love, but they don’t shy away from fear, hate, frustration, or disillusionment. When I read the first edition of this book, I was struck by a complexity impossible to distil into a neat narrative or short Goodreads review ;)