Truthout - June 27, 2020
Five years ago today, 30-year-old activist Bree Newsome Bass shocked the world by climbing a 30-foot flag pole and taking down the Confederate battle flag at the South Carolina State Capitol Building — a flag that state leaders had first raised in 1961 to tell the budding civil rights movement to “stay out!”
Almost 55 years later, Newsome put her boots, courage and backpack on, and defied those racist warnings in the most daring and audacious way possible, head-on. After taking the flag down with her bare hands, Newsome was quickly arrested and jailed, and she eventually posted bail. Her defiant act of Black resistance had a worldwide impact that can still be felt today.
That was half a decade ago now. Five years later she’s still organizing, still showing up for her community, and even more radical now than she was then. In this exclusive Truthout interview, Newsome discusses her personal journey and political evolution, Black womanhood, the recent mass protests and the continued road forward for the Black Freedom Struggle.
Lamont Lilly: Bree, so good to talk with you. How have you been doing?
Bree Newsome Bass: I’ve been doing just about as well as I feel anyone can be doing in these current circumstances. I think the concept of safety is largely an illusion, especially for Black folk here in the U.S. I’m not even sure what it means to be safe anymore. In terms of am I fed? Do I have stable housing? Is my family good? I’m doing OK. I’m blessed, but the key is to make sure everyone has those things.
I know you’re an organizer, Bree. Do you work with an organization?
For the last few years, the work has been mostly independent. That’s a choice I’ve made since about 2015. After taking down the Confederate flag, I decided to move more independently, not only for my livelihood, but also in regards to my political work. It also worked out that facilitating workshops and public speaking afforded me the freedom to organize politically however I wanted, for free. I do a lot of advising and consulting. With the housing coalition we built in Charlotte, we’re now transitioning that leadership into a different model. I was a facilitator helping us as a community to think through this process. The goal was to have a functioning and independent Black housing coalition. My work is revolution, one step at a time.
You got married in late 2018. You’re Bree Newsome Bass now. How has the other side of the broom been for you?
[Laughing] Very good! I met my husband in the movement. We met at a vigil for Jonathan Ferrell. This isn’t just organizing for me. This is how I exist in the world. We understand that about each other and we support that. When we got married in October 2018, my husband was in full swing, working on electoral organizing here in North Carolina. Two grassroots activists, getting married during the midst of election season in North Carolina can be very intense. We’re very active people and involved in our community. While we’re doing the work, we’re also in love.
In the summer of 2015, you climbed a 30-foot flag pole to take down the confederate flag at the South Carolina State Capital Building in Columbia. Does it feel like it’s been five years?
Yes, and no. I view all of that period as just a prelude to what we are in right now. I do commemorate that moment, as I have every year. But the issues of our people have not been resolved. The Black Freedom Struggle is still unfolding.
You were on the front lines of Movement for Black Lives organizing during the 2013-2018 period. What was it like living the movement from day-to-day?
The early years almost felt like a constant cycle of rapid response. We were just responding to cases as they unfolded, mostly because of these new devices called camera phones. In 2013, I was involved in Moral Mondays and was arrested at the North Carolina General Assembly. The next week after getting arrested at Moral Mondays, several of us drove down to Florida and met with the Dream Defenders, who were protesting and organizing around Trayvon Martin. We come back home and then there was the police killing of Jonathan Ferrell. There was also a group of us who went up to Ohio and did an 11-mile march for John Crawford who was murdered by the police at a Walmart in Beavercreek.
There was this new energy, particularly among young people, pushing for our own movement. It was young people who were being disproportionately impacted by this police violence. Young people were having their clothing criminalized. Hoodies were being profiled as a threat to the police. These topics have become more mainstream now, as well as the overall resistance. But seven years ago, we had to fight just to have an honest conversation, not only with the state but with traditional Black leadership.
For the Black community, the disparities in health care and proper medical attention during the COVID-19 pandemic have been dreadfully glaring. How do we organize as a community to keep ourselves safe?
We have to be willing to pool resources, from the churches to the community groups. It’s about developing mutual aid components — from fresh food to protective face cover. This individualistic mindset is so antithetical to African societies and Black culture. We know how to check on our elders. We should be checking on each other and taking care of each other. Do our elders have the groceries they need? Does Ms. Jefferies have her needed gloves and face masks? Does Ms. Brown have transportation to the clinic? Are we helping our community stay informed? It’s about having a spirit of collectivism and communalism. Many folks are already doing this.
This is what the work looks like, but I do think we’re missing that internalized philosophy of Black self-reliance. We do have to meet needs but we also have to politicize folks. Helping to provide basic needs right now is certainly what’s most pressing. ...
See full interview at Truthout