Acknowledgments

My life has been enriched through studying the ideas, activism, and partnership of James and Grace Lee Boggs. Of the many things I gained, one of the most important is a deeper respect and greater appreciation for the importance of community, the connections we have to each other, and the relationships that sustain us. One occasion stands out as my favorite illustration of this importance. In 1990, as James Boggs faced an uncertain future in his battle with cancer, fellow activists and friends of James and Grace Lee Boggs held a community celebration to honor the couple. After several people spoke in tribute and appreciation for the Boggses’ decades of activism and mentorship, James Boggs delivered a moving speech thanking the assembled comrades but asking them not to lose sight of the larger community of which they all were a part. “I want to thank you for bringing us together in this kind of setting, because I think in this kind of setting we cannot just celebrate Grace and I,” he insisted. “Let me tell you something, Grace and I in ourselves is nobody. It is only in relationship to other bodies and many somebodies that anybody is somebody. Let me tell you that. Don’t get it in your cotton-picking mind that you are somebody in yourself.” In that spirit, I offer these acknowledgements in sincere recognition of the many somebodies who have made me somebody and who have been part of the journey that produced this book.

Pride of place goes to my wife Sekai, and our beloved son Chaney, the two somebodies who are most responsible for making me feel like somebody. Sekai and Chaney travelled the journey of this book with me daily, and their love sustained me. Sekai and I started building our life together shortly before I began writing this book, and I cannot image completing this work without her love, companionship, and support. I have been working on this book Chaney’s entire life, but I won’t make any easy comparisons or use ready metaphors about the timing and intertwining of his young life and this book. As I think he knows, Chaney has a place all his own in my mind and in my heart. Together, Sekai and Chaney are my light and my joy, and I love them dearly. While it is only in these opening pages that their names appear, Sekai and Chaney have touched every page of this book.

My mother, Cheryl Ward, has also placed her distinctive mark on these pages. Her impact on me is so strong that it could not be otherwise. From my first days to the journey that produced this book, she has been the most consistent, and consistently loving presence in my life. Her generous and radiant spirit was a hallmark of my childhood, and she remains the most influential person in my life. These days she is known by several names and titles—among them Abuela, ‘Buels, Ba, and Rev. Cheryl—reflecting the many lives she continues to touch. For me and my siblings, and now for my son and his cousins, my mother is our family’s beacon of love. I thank her for everything, including for being my model of a loving and grounded human being.

My father, the late Michael Harold Ward, made his imprint on me, and by extension this book, well before I thought of writing it. From my earliest memory, he was there guiding, teaching, and inspiring. He taught me the joy of learning and made sure I was ready to say something intelligent at the dinner table. He also taught me the value of saying “I love you” everyday. In his last years, my father’s wisdom and vision—and when I speak of my father here, I of course include his loving wife Tigi, for they were a beautiful team—helped me to grow in unexpected ways. My father passed away while I was writing this book. I carry his love and the enduring presence of his great intellect with me.

I want to also honor the other family members who set my foundation. This begins with the memory of my Grandmothers: June Ellen Springs Ward, Mary Howe Granberry, and June Fisher White. Though they were not here when I started writing this book, their love and labor made this work possible by instilling in me a sense of justice and a respect for knowledge. I recognize that they did a great deal for me—more, in fact, than I can ever know—while radiating love and faith in the future. Elijah Glenn Ward Sr. (Tio) and Adelaide Ward, are beloved elders, and they, along with my cousins, spread love through the family. Uncle Doug keeps my Dad’s memory alive in word and deed, always reminding me of the pride and love that has flowed from generation to generation.

The other members of my family have also shared in the broader journey of writing this book. My brothers and sisters—Geoff, Toussaint, Tamiyah, Caryn, and Nisa—have been a constant source of support and encouragement. I want to thank Caryn in particular for her beautiful and uplifting spirit. She has inspired me over the years, teaching me to recognize and appreciate daytime in the nighttime. Geoff also deserves special mention. While he is my younger brother, he seems more like the big brother, and not only because he is taller than me. Growing up I marveled at how smart he was, and I have consistently learned from him. He is now making his mark as a scholar, and I am both proud of and inspired by his scholarship. My homeboys Desi Bryant and Damon Woodruff (Dez and Dub) can also be included as family. They may not pay much attention to the content of this book, but they are a significant part of the context in which it was written. They help me stay connected to the place that I still call home, even though I have now lived elsewhere for many years, and we are far removed from our days on Condon, Garth, and Sherbourne. Our friendship, along with the other homies Ramon Evans, Will Alexander, Dion Evans, and Toby Ferguson, has helped sustain me. No matter what may come, we will remain tight, like J. J., Papo, Cool Breeze, and Head.

I extend my deepest gratitude and appreciation to Grace Lee Boggs. She passed away on October 5, 2015, just as this book was coming to completion. While I am saddened that she did not get to see the book, I am thankful that I was able to get to know her during the last thirteen of her 100 years. Grace was quite obviously invaluable to this book. I learned a great deal from my many interviews and conversations with her, and she also shared various historical documents and other material related to her and Jimmy. She took me with her to meetings, speaking engagements, and other events, and she put me in touch with various activists and friends in Detroit and across the country. From the beginning of this project, Grace supported and encouraged me, but she never pushed me in one direction or another. She showed no interest in shaping the narrative or analysis of this book. Indeed, for many of those thirteen years, my interactions with Grace were not focused on my research or the book. Rather, they took place as I worked with her through the James and Grace Lee Boggs Center to Nurture Community Leadership (BCNCL) and in the context of ongoing grassroots political struggles in Detroit. As our relationship grew, Grace became a political and intellectual mentor to me, as she was for so many, and she brought me into a vibrant and inspiring community of activists, thinkers, and builders in Detroit. It is this, even more than her contributions to my research and this book, for which I am most thankful and appreciative.

The heart of this political community has been the Boggs Center, and I am especially grateful to be associated with it. I want to thank my fellow board members, past and present, with whom I have worked and from whom I have learned so much, including: Will Copeland, Myrtle Thompson Curtis, Wayne Curtis, Bernadette Dickerson, Richard Feldman, Michael “Doc” Holbrook, Shea Howell, Scott Kurashige, Tawana Petty, Ron Scott, Kim Sherobbi, Larry Sparks, and Barbara Stachowski. Thank you to Alice Jennings and Carl Edwards for the vision and commitment that led to the founding of the Boggs Center.

I want to make special acknowledgement of Rich Feldman, or “Rick,” as some of us call him. He has been an exemplary comrade and a warm friend, putting into practice the idea that caring human relationships can be the foundation of revolutionary change. Rick supported me throughout the process of writing this book, and I thank him for always being there to provide encouragement, talk through ideas, share material, read draft chapters, and offer suggestions. He has also inspired me with his political passion and untiring commitment to carrying out the work and vision of the Boggs Center.

That passion and commitment are matched by the brilliant Shea Howell, who also deserves special recognition. Over many years Shea has shared with me insights, recollections, and documents that helped me write the book. More importantly, I have admired and learned from Shea’s activism, leadership, and intellect. From Field St. to Sutton, she is keeper of the flame. I also want to honor what I learned from Boggs Center member Ron Scott, who met the Boggses as a young radical during the Black Power movement and spent the rest of his life as a political activist, media maker, and community intellectual. During most of the years that I knew him, Ron described himself as a “transformational anthropologist,” reflecting his commitment to theorizing and working toward human transformation as the essence of revolutionary change. Ron passed away at the end of November 2015, less than two months after Grace. His legacy of activism, particularly the work to create Peace Zones for Life, was an embodiment of the concept of Visionary Organizing that Grace urged during the final years of her life. I thank Rick, Shea, and Ron for teaching me about Jimmy and Grace, about the continuing development of revolutionary theory, and about the emerging possibilities for the transformation of Detroit.

An extended community of people in Detroit also nurtured me. A special thank you to Melba Boyd for her continued support and guidance. I was fortunate to meet Melba just as I began to simultaneously study the city’s history and engage with its contemporary grassroots politics, allowing me to see the city through her perceptive eyes. She has been a wonderful mentor and friend, and she stands as a model of scholarly integrity. My study and engagement has been aided by supportive friends, colleagues, and mentors in Detroit such as Aneb Gloria House, Charles Simmons, David Goldberg, and Richard Levy; beautiful people and places like Janet Jones and the Source Booksellers; visionaries such as Julia Putnam, Amanda Rosman, and the James and Grace Lee Boggs School; creative artists such as Will See, Honeycomb, Jessica Care Moore, and Ill; and veteran activists who shared their time and insights (and photos), like Daniel Aldridge and Kenneth Snodgrass. The overlapping networks of people from whom I have learned about the history and especially the contemporary spirit of Detroit extends beyond the city to people across the country. Among them, a high power thanks goes to Matthew Birkhold. Matt’s grasp of the Boggses’ work and historical significance is extraordinary, and my long and frequent conversations with him helped to shape this book. Matt’s own scholarship along with his efforts to develop the concept of visionary organizing will do much to interpret and extend the Boggses’ legacy.

Unfortunately, I did not have the opportunity to meet James Boggs. He passed away in the summer of 1993, just before I began graduate school at the University of Texas that fall. It was there that I first learned of him and began reading his writings. That was the starting point for my interest, studying, and researching that became this book. My somewhat unorthodox path through graduate school began in the Department of Economics and ended in the Department of History. In Economics I had the good fortune of studying Marxism under the direction of Harry Cleaver, whose contributions to the tradition of Autonomous Marxism facilitated my initial encounter with the Boggses. I thank Harry for that, and for his crucial support during my short time in the economics department. In the Department of History, my good fortune multiplied as I benefitted from the guidance, intellect, and consistent support of Toyin Falola. From his independent study course that helped me see that I wanted to be a historian, to his wise counsel as I made my way to his department, to serving as my dissertation advisor, Toyin was there for me at every turn. The late Robin Kilson was an important influence and supported in the department. I learned great deal from Jim Sidbury as well. Juliet Walker took a faculty appointment in the department toward the end of my time there, and she graciously agreed to serve on my dissertation committee. Outside of the history department, Barbara Harlow was an also supportive and helpful.

I found an intellectual home in Center for African and African American Studies (CAAAS), and I offer a profound thank you to the center and those who made it what it was. The center nurtured, supported, and enriched my early scholarly development, including my initial thinking and research leading to this book. It pleases me to write that the center is now named after John L. Warfield, or “Doc” as most people knew him. Working with Doc during his final years was a formative part of my graduate school experience, and I will always remember him as a giving mentor and one of my first models of a community-oriented Black Studies scholar. The person who introduced me to Doc and brought me into the center became my closest friend at the University of Texas, the late Aime J. Ellis. Aime’s passion for intellectual exchange and commitment to pushing the boundaries of Black Studies helped me to grow intellectually, and our friendship helped me to grow as a person. I still miss his brilliance and camaraderie. Among the other people who contributed to the nurturing environment of the center, Ted Gordon deserves recognition for provided crucial leadership for us graduate students who worked in the center, and Saheed Adejumobi for his refreshing combination of intellect and wit. The late Vincent Woodard, another friend gone much too soon, likewise made unique contributions to this rich environment and to my growth.

The ideas in this book also have a foundation in the political community in which I participated and from which I learned during my time at the University of Texas, and I would like to thank all of the people who helped build this community. This includes a series of organizations culminating in the Anti-Racist Organizing Committee and in several protest actions, including the “UT 10,” all organized by undergraduate and graduate students. Key faculty allies and supporters included Ted Gordon and Bob Jensen.

I was able to complete my dissertation through a Pre-Doctoral Fellowship with the Center for the Study of African American Politics at the University of Rochester. For this wonderful opportunity I thank Fred Harris, the center’s founding director and a gracious scholar. I also thank Valeria Sinclair-Chapman, Ghislaine Radegonde-Eison, Larry Hudson, and the Frederick Douglass Institute for African and African American Studies for their help and encouragement during my year there.

At the University of Michigan an honor role of friends and colleagues has supported me, and a few in particular stand out for special recognition. Charlie Bright has been there from the start. I suspect that he was the strongest supporter of my hiring; I know that he has been my strongest supporter since I arrived. The list of roles he has played for me includes mentor, colleague, collaborator, advocate, co-teacher, critical reader, friend and confidante. I have also benefitted from—and greatly appreciate—Charlie’s years of engagement with the history of Detroit and labors to create meaningful pathways for students and others to learn from and with people in the city. I am thankful to travel the path he laid and follow the model he set. Julius Scott is another dear friend and valued colleague. I have learned and grown a great deal from my friendship with Julius—or Dr. J, as I like to call him. He keeps a low profile, but that cannot hide his brilliance, minimize his kindness, or undermine his generous spirit. To my mind he is the heart and soul of the Department of Afroamerican and African Studies (DAAS). Julius holds it down for DAAS like his namesake did for the Sixers. I have similar respect and appreciation for my man Larry Rowley and the friendship we have developed over the years. Indeed, Julius, Larry, and I have grown together through our passion for the practice and promise of Black History, our shared commitment to Black Studies, and our ongoing conversations (including our Jazz at Julius excursions, real and mythical). Larry’s sharp intellect has pushed and inspired me, and our friendship helps me to be a better teacher and scholar.

There are several other colleagues at the University of Michigan that I am happy to thank for their roles in shaping my experience here and for their varied contributions to this book. A special thanks goes to Sherie Randolph, en excellent historian and even better friend. Her knowledge and insights have influenced and inspired me, and I always grow from our many conversations about the history we study, teach, and write. Matthew Countryman’s mentorship, support, and critical eye have been indispensible. He guided and encouraged me from the beginning of this project, and he especially stepped in at crucial moments helping to ensure that this book came to be. Scott Kurashige told me about the position during my first visit to the Boggs Center in 2001, played a role in my hiring, and remained a steadfast colleague and comrade. Evans Young and Lester Monts provided support and guidance along the way. It has been a pleasure to work with Garrett Felber and Austin McCoy. They have helped to expand my thinking while writing this book, as it coincided with watching their development as emerging scholars and activists.

My joint appointment in the Department of Afroamerican and African Studies (DAAS) and the Residential College (RC) has made for a wonderful intellectual and institutional home, and I want to thank all of the people who make these two places special. Several friends and colleagues in DAAS and the RC have helped to sustain, drive, and support me. In DAAS, this begins with Elizabeth James, who has been a supportive friend from the very start and a stalwart for the department. I also thank other members of the DAAS community, including Faye Portis, Wayne High, Frieda Ekotto, Lori Hill, Martha Jones, Scott Ellsworth, Nesha Haniff, Robin Grice, Robin Means Coleman, Katherine Weathers, James Jackson, and Donald Sims. A special work of thanks goes to Angela Dillard and Tiya Miles, who were wonderfully supportive chairs and whose leadership helped to set DAAS on a solid course. To my good fortune, Angela also served as the Director of the RC, so I had the benefit of her stewardship and guidance in both units. I thank her for always looking out for me. Another person who makes the RC run, and makes it the special place we know it to be, is the amazing Jennifer Myers, and I thank her that and for consistently supporting me. Along with Jennifer, I thank Carl Abrego Charlie Murphy and the rest of the team in East Quad, as well as my Social Theory and Practice Colleagues. A big thank you goes to my Semester in Detroit colleagues Lolita Hernandez, Craig Regester and Alana Hoey Moore. Craig in particular has been there from the start, and I appreciate his support and comradeship throughout the time I have been writing this book.

It is a pleasure to recognize the friends and colleagues beyond my institution who have contributed to my scholarly growth and to this book. Cedric Johnson is a solid scholar and a solid friend, and I value him for both. He has been there for me along the long path of writing this book with his consistent support and encouragement, his critical eye, and timely conversations about the academy, contemporary black politics, our families, and the wider world. I shared a similar friendship with Ahmad Rahman, and I am the better for it. Ahmad passed away in September 2015, and I miss his presence and his smile and his “hey brother” greeting. A measure of appreciation goes to Robin Kelley for his support and his intellectual influence. Robin’s scholarship has shaped my thinking and approach to the writing of history, and in this regard I am, of course, one of many. Indeed, a significant proportion of the works in this book’s bibliography bear his intellectual imprint. This is a testament to his scholarly productivity and to his profound impact. Some of the other scholars who have also influenced my thinking, provided scholarly influence, encouraged me in this work, or served as mentors from afar include: Ernie Allen, Dan Berger, Martha Biondi, John Bracey, Pero Dagbovie, Elizabeth Hinton, Kwame Jeffries, Ollie Johnson, Clarence Lang, Donna Murch, Barbara Ransby, Jim Smethurst, Bill Strickland, Richard Thomas, Jeanne Theoharis, Akinyele Umoja, Derrick White, Fanon Che Wilkins, Rhonda Williams, and Komozi Woodard.

Several friends, colleagues, and mentors read early drafts and parts of this work, and I would like to thank them for their time, insights, and contributions to this book. Angela Dillard read an early book proposal and put me in touch with Bill Mullen and Jim Smethurst who also read it. Each of them gave me helpful feedback and guidance that propelled the project. Gina Morantz-Sanchez stepped in at a crucial time, reading my early material, helping to shape the project, and guiding me through the first stages of the publishing process. I would like to thank DAAS for holding a manuscript workshop, where I received great feedback and guidance from Matthew Countryman, Joe Trotter, Chris Phelps, and Angela Dillard, who served as the primary readers, as well as the other workshop participants, including Charlie Bright, Scott Kurashige, and Stephen Berrey. I received great feedback from close readings of draft chapters from Rick Feldman, Matt Birkhold, Frank Joyce, who each had unique insights informed by their familiarity with the Boggses. Beth Bates was extraordinary. She read multiple and successive draft, offering comments and suggestions that demonstrably made the work better at each step. I thank Beth for her thorough and careful reading and for the encouragement she gave along the way. At the very end of the writing process, I had the good fortune of working with Grey Osterud, and the book is surely better for it. Even in this short time, Grey’s sharp eye and magical editing touch amazed me, and I see clearly why she garners such high praise.

I have long admired the work published by the University of North Carolina Press, and I now know something about the great effort put forward by those who make those books happen. Thank you to everyone at the press who helped to make this book. I was lucky to work with Sian Hunter during her last months with the press. Though it was only a short period of time, I am glad to have begun the process with such a knowledgeable and skilled editor. My good fortune continued as I travelled the rest of the road with Brandon Proia. Brandon has been a pleasure to work with not only because of his editorial skill but also his gracious manner. I must also thank him and his colleagues for an abundance of patience, which I surely (and perhaps sorely) tested. My appreciation also extends to Ashley Moore and Mikala Guyton at Westchester Publishing for their excellent work on the book, and to Laurie Prendergast for her sharp editorial eye and indexing. I thank Rhonda Y. Williams and Heather Ann Thompson for including this book in the Justice, Power, and Politics series and thereby allowing my work to sit in the company of the groundbreaking scholarship of Talitha LeFlouria, Dan Berger, and others.

These acknowledgments began with a departure from the convention of reserving for the end the naming of those closest to the author. Instead, I began there, opening my list of people to thank—the somebodies who make me somebody—with my wife Sekai, my son Chaney, and my mother Cheryl Ward. Now, I will in a sense revert to convention. I close by again recognizing and thanking Mom, Sekai, and Chaney. This book is dedicated to them, just as I am and forever will be.