Color Them Traditional

N.A.A.C.P. is so well established an abbreviation that many forget that the "C" stands for "colored." Negroes preferred to be called that 60 years ago, when the association was founded; "black" was then an insult. For many Negroes today, the connotations have been reversed, as has some of the thrust for the traditional goal of integration. But the N.A.A.C.P. is an institution, and one that holds fast to nomenclature and aspiration.

At the organization's annual convention in Jackson, Miss., last week, a small band of young dissidents bent on defecting to the gun-toting Black Panthers tried to change the initials to N.A.A.B.P. They got nowhere. The incident demonstrated the association's continuing dilemma: how to stay in touch with the impatient younger generation of Negroes and still function as a moderate alternative to those who preach violence and racial separation.

Our Thing. The present leaders, many of them middle-aged or older, believe that they can retain the group's established ways and still keep it vital and strong. They feel no need to apologize. WE'RE DOIN' OUR THING, said the orange-and-black buttons worn by many of the 2,000 delegates. To A.M.E. Zion Bishop Stephen Spottswood, 72, N.A.A.C.P. board chairman, "our thing" meant the full sweep of Negro-American progress in this century. "What has been achieved, we have achieved it," he declared. "What remains to be done, we shall do it."

To Clarence Mitchell, 58, director of the Washington office, "our thing" meant continued faith in integration, a rejection of black for black's sake. "I make no claim to importance merely because I share common ancestry with the people of Africa," Mitchell said. "I am a part of the people who mingled our share of toil with the labors of immigrants from Europe. This is my country, it is the land that I love." To Roy Wilkins, 67, N.A.A.C.P. executive director, "our thing" meant a rebuttal to charges that the N.A.A.C.P.'s middle-class base is an overwhelming handicap in leading the black masses. "Dammit, we are middle-class," Wilkins said. "It's the middle class that has sparked every revolution. We came out of the working class, just the way other immigrants did."

Aid to Critics. Wilkins argued that the N.A.A.C.P. is no less relevant today simply because many of its historic legal battles have been won. The organization is pressing ahead with its own housing program. It has also received a new federal grant of $173,760 to promote development of Negro-owned building-contracting firms. Wilkins pointed out that the N.A.A.C.P. has supplied legal aid to the very campus radicals who charge that the association has lost touch. Said Wilkins: "When they're in trouble, who in hell comes to their rescue but the good old N.A.A.C.P.?" Convention resolutions backed such traditional goals as a higher minimum wage, extension of the antipoverty program and stronger antidiscrimination laws. They also paid lip service to black power by backing community control of schools and cooperation with other black organizations, such as the Black Panthers.

Superficially, there is ample evidence of N.A.A.C.P. strength. While most radical Negro organizations count their membership in the hundreds, the N.A.A.C.P. has 450,673 dues payers--an increase of 5% in a year. Its annual income is $3.3 million. Below the surface, however, there are signs of weakness. Membership has slipped by 16% from its 1963 peak, and many remaining members are inactive. While the convention saw no serious attempts by young militants to take over, the reason was that many young people had already quit. To stop such attrition, the N.A.A.C.P. needs more help from white America. The organization must show that its reasoned approach can still satisfy black ambitions at an acceptably rapid pace. Whether that can be done remains in doubt.

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