I can sum up the greatness of this book with the following statement: I believe that the ALA Newbery committee would have been completely justified in making Claudette Colvin: Twice Toward Justice the first non-fiction book to win the Newbery Medal in twenty-two years, after Russell Freedman's Lincoln: A Photobiography, which was given the award in 1988.
To read this book for all it's worth, I think one must use one's imagination to really picture living in a culture in which one's basic freedoms are severely restricted, the kind of freedoms that we take lightly in our everyday lives because they've always seemed to be without cost. It's one thing to look back on a period in history during which blacks were subjected to unfair treatment, and say to ourselves "That's terrible!"; it's quite another thing to really comprehend what it means that the blacks of Montgomery, Alabama, and many other U.S. cities as well, were stuck in a nightmarish world every single day, a world in which their liberty, safety and peace of mind were constantly in jeopardy from the potential anger of a white person seeking revenge for some perceived misdeed on the part of a black citizen. If you can honestly envision what it must be like to be held in bitter contempt by those around you every day of your life because of who you are, and the sadness and internal sickness of having to live like that, then you'll probably better be able to understand what Claudette Colvin is talking about when she relates the story of what happened to her in 1950s Montgomery, Alabama.
Thin and bookish, Claudette Colvin nonetheless grew up as something of a spitfire, observing the dismal situation of the blacks in her hometown of Montgomery and wondering why the adults never seemed to do anything about it. Segregation brought about by the enforcement of Jim Crow Laws was the way things were at the time, with every venue and service separated into two distinct parts, one for whites and one for blacks. Drinking fountains, movie theaters, schools, buses; all of these things and pretty much everything else was divided to keep whites from having to associate with blacks, to maintain a standard of prejudice even after most of the legal provisions for racist idealogy—most notable among them being slavery—had long since fallen by the wayside. Jim Crow separation was sort of a last gasp for the prejudiced white populace of the city to feel that they were tangibly better than the blacks, to leave in place a little bit of the sting of slavery that had once been the whites' most obvious foothold of forced superiority.
Claudette Colvin knew these segregationist measures to be wrong, that they violated the basic human rights of her family, her friends and herself. She knew in her heart that it was wrong for any people to be treated as lesser than others because of who they are, because of the pigmentation of their skin, and she itched for a way to one day stand up against the cruel system and show that she would not sit by helplessly and accept the oppression that had been a significant part of existence for her entire life.
Claudette Colvin's simmering passion for justice came to a full boil one day as she rode the bus in Montgomery, heading home from school. Bus rules in the city were set up so that the back half of the vehicle's seating capacity was designated for blacks and the front half for whites, but a white person coming onto the bus was always given right of way over a black; that is to say, if a black person (or even a whole row of blacks in a single seat) were seated when a white person boarded, the black(s) were expected to leave their seat and let the white person have it. Not just one of them was expected to vacate, but all blacks sitting in that entire seat had to leave their positions, as whites were not asked to "endure" the ignominy of having to sit beside a negro. Officially, Montgomery city rules dictated that no bus passenger of any race could be compelled to give up his or her seat if there were no open spots available, but in the heart of Jim Crow south even that meager mandate was nearly always ignored, and black bus riders frequently were commanded to give up their seats and stand for the duration of their trip should a waiting white passenger come along.
As Claudette rode the bus on the fateful day that would vault her into the light of American civil rights history, a white woman came on board the full bus and stood silently beside her, the known signal for telling a black passenger to move. Claudette was in the mind to do no such thing, though. The driver grew incensed and called the police, yet when they arrived she still sat there, refusing to move from the spot that she saw as rightfully hers. Police officers then proceeded to violently drag her from the bus—this being a small, skinny young teenage girl, remember—and load her into their squad car for transportation to the jail, swearing at her and spewing all measures of grotesque lucre as she sat sobbing, helpless to do anything but absorb the abuse. All of this because a fifteen-year-old girl just wanted to keep her seat on a bus, wanted to retain a small amount of dignity in a culture that had continually stripped her of all such tokens of personal honor. I, personally, don't know what it feels like to be degraded so shamefully for having done nothing wrong, but these passages in the book made me think about what it might be like to be so hated and reviled for the crime of only being myself, and it gave me deep chills at the horror of the idea.
Claudette Colvin's odyssey into the pages of history was not near done, however. Her criminal case resulting from the bus incident—a case that, incredibly, saw her as the defendant, accused of disturbing the peace, violating lawful segregationist policy and assaulting a police officer—was quickly seen by the leaders of the local black community as a potential stepping stone for a challenge to the Jim Crow stronghold, a challenge that could garner nationwide attention and, as appeal layered on appeal, become the cornerstone for a countrywide effort to overturn once and for all the iron grip that Jim Crow had on the south. As it turned out, Claudette Colvin's particular case did not end up being that cornerstone, but the example of civil disobedience that she had set by refusing to leave her seat on the bus bolstered the courage of a more noted proponent of the black civil rights movement, Rosa Parks, to do virtually the same thing nine months after Claudette's arrest, and herself become the heart and soul of the effort to undo the binding ties of Jim Crow.
Finally, Claudette Colvin was called upon by the black attorneys of the Montgomery civil rights movement to be one of five plaintiffs in the landmark Browder v. Gayle federal suit against the state of Alabama. All of the plaintiffs had been involved in their own incidents similar to the one experienced by Claudette and were now taking their position on the offensive, challenging the overall legitimacy of segregation outside of schools, which had already been integrated a number of years before. Claudette's story was to be the lynchpin of the case for the all-star team of attorneys that had agreed to fight in hopes of blowing apart Jim Crow politics once and for all.
I'm amazed by the personal courage it must have taken for Claudette Colvin to agree to stand up and testify about what had happened to her on that bus a year earlier, to stand up in a courtroom in front of white attorneys and white judges, amidst all of the threats of violence against herself and her family that had come because of what she was attempting to accomplish, and boldly tell her story of sickening mistreatment at the hands of those sworn to uphold the law and protect the innocent. Ultimately, it was Claudette Colvin's vigorous, straightforward court testimony that made all the difference, and after so many years of heartbreaking inaction sealed the doom of segregation in Montgomery, Alabama and eventually throughout the south. The bookish spitfire of a girl may not have taken the direct path to being the strong hero of which she had always dreamed, but she had somehow become that hero, nonetheless.
One of the most incredible things about this book is that some of its most powerful moments aren't even primarily about Claudette Colvin. The relation of the story of high school student Jeremiah Reeves, a smart, popular teenager at Claudette's school who suddenly finds himself accused of the rape of a white housewife, an accusation that later would swell to include six other alleged incidents of rape against white women, is probably the story that will shake people more than any other included in the book. There's a good chance that Jeremiah Reeves was being railroaded by the white police for crimes that he didn't even commit, though we can't be completely certain of that all these decades later, yet he was convicted on multiple counts of rape and sentenced to execution at age sixteen (to be carried out once he turned twenty-one). This contrasts bitterly against the normal backdoor procedure of the day when it came to black women being raped by white men, cases which rarely ever even resulted in an arrest in the south of that era. One can't help but think of the horror facing teenaged Jeremiah Reeves, who already had two strike against him in the eyes of law officers just because he was black, and who was caught up in a gruesome situation that very likely had nothing to do with him at all. That is horror in its starkest form, and I could almost feel the sheer weight of his panic just in reading about what happened to him.
I should also mention that the recounting of Martin Luther King, Jr.'s intricate involvement in the book, as he used his forcefulness of speech and uniquely encouraging spirit to keep alive the hopes of the downtrodden blacks in Montgomery when it seemed at times that their taking a firm stand against segregation would do no good, brought him to life again for me in a way that I haven't felt since grade school. Martin Luther King, Jr. has always been something of a hero to me, and what I read in Claudette Colvin: Twice Toward Justice brightly rekindled the embers of my admiration for who he was and all that he did, standing calm yet fierce against prejudice and bigotry, which certainly required magnificent bravery when faced with the snarling hatred of terrorists and thugs who would have killed him had they been given half a chance. This book makes Martin Luther King, Jr. intensely relevant once again to a generation of readers who may not have been as naturally fascinated by his story when it was told in school as I was.
Claudette Colvin: Twice Toward Justice is probably the best non-fiction book that I have ever read. It's filled with facts and information that are pertinent today just as they were in 1955, and loaded with heartrending drama and suspense. Honestly, how often is it that one comes across real suspense in a non-fiction book for young adults? This is a truly marvelous story that just screamed to be told, to be put down in writing by a skillful author who could not only present the facts as they actually occurred, but mine the nuggets of truth from the life of Claudette Colvin to show us today what it means to stand up to injustice and push back in the face of overwhelming opposition, and make the choices that allow one to become a hero despite the personal imperfections that will always dog every one of us here on earth. This book beautifully accomplishes all of that, demonstrating very clearly that our imperfections don't disqualify us from also rising up to be a hero.
Phillip Hoose is a masterful writer, and I could not have expected more from this classic gem of young adult literature. I wish that every kid in the country could get their hands on this book, and see why our nation's history isn't only not boring, it's at least as full of rich, powerful stories and people as the greatest novels of fiction. Claudette Colvin: Twice Toward Justice is a remarkable contribution to American literature.