Fresh Faces for an Old Struggle

By Maureen Dowd

Black leaders master the art of politics

With the passage of the Voting Rights Act in 1965, the struggle for racial equality in America was transformed. The energy that blacks had rammed against the wall of segregation was diverted into an effort to win political power of their own. As millions of blacks began registering and voting, a new group of leaders began to make their way up the electoral ladder, becoming county supervisors, municipal clerks, state legislators and, eventually, mayors. Blacks run three of the nation's six largest cities--Chicago, Los Angeles and Detroit--and are making a strong bid in a fourth, Philadelphia. The N.A.A.C.P. and other civil rights groups have ceased to be the main recourse for blacks facing problems; blacks can now turn to other blacks in office.

Some former civil rights activists, like Atlanta's Andrew Young, shifted to the new battleground and became elected leaders of national stature. But the old guard of the civil rights movement is losing influence to a fresh crop of up-and-coming figures who are developing political bases at the state and local level. Their styles are an intriguing mix: some seek confrontation, most build coalitions that cut across racial lines. But they share a belief in the power of the ballot. Herewith profiles of six of the new generation:

MICKEY LELAND. As a member of the Texas legislature during the 1970s, the flamboyant Leland riled his colleagues when he wore dashikis and railed about black power. Now in Washington, serving his second term as a Houston Congressman, he has muted his style, sticking to three-piece suits and cowboy boots. But while Leland, 38, newly married and a pharmacist by trade, may be more polished, he is still very much the feisty activist. As chairman of the Democratic National Committee's Black Caucus, he spearheads campaigns to lure more minorities into the party's mainstream. He is also a key figure in the black leadership family, an influential group of elected officials and political activists.

His devotion to minority causes has made him popular in the 18th District, which is 43% black and 31% Mexican American. Leland speaks out on global issues as well and knows how to capitalize on his flamboyance. "There's always the risk of going off the edge," says California Democrat Leon Panetta, "but Mickey has learned where the line is." During the House debate on extension of the Voting Rights Act, he was stunningly effective at arguing for preservation of the bilingual provisions by speaking Spanish on the floor. Leland has also attracted national attention for his four meetings with Fidel Castro, which resulted in the release of Texans being held in Cuba on various charges.

"Mickey is a fast burner. He's got the charisma," says Democratic National Committee woman Billie Carr of Houston. "In his soul he believes in what he does."

ALAN WHEAT. Asked for a self-appraisal, Wheat hesitantly responds, "I'm not an expert on everything, but I'm able to understand most things once I get the information." The freshman Congressman from Missouri's Fifth District, which embraces most of Kansas City, is unduly modest. His colleagues laud him as bright and able. His sense of humor is self-deprecatory, but Wheat, 31, a member of the powerful Rules Committee, takes his job seriously. Says an aide to House Speaker Tip O'Neill: "He worries about things like industrial policy."

Wheat soldered together a biracial coalition that helped him to beat seven white Democrats in last year's primary and win the general election in a district that is almost 80% white. In Congress, the well-tailored bachelor is careful to serve the needs of his white constituents but, notes a colleague, "I've never seen him cop out on issues of concern to blacks."

After growing up as an Air Force brat, Wheat graduated from Grinnell College in Iowa. He settled in Kansas City in 1972 to take a job as an economist for the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development. In 1976 Wheat was elected to the Missouri general assembly. During his six-year tenure, he was elected chairman of the 19-member black caucus and pushed legislation benefiting his inner-city constituents, including a tax-abatement plan to spur rehabilitation of substandard housing. Says he: "I had a lot of frustrations and disappointments, but my idealism survived."

AL VANN. Standing beside a framed picture of Malcolm X, Vann scans the blighted streets below his office window in a poor section of Brooklyn. "Rhetoric means nothing here," says the New York State assemblyman. "We are establishing a track record so that politicians everywhere understand that this city's black vote has national implications."

At 48, in his fifth term in the assembly, Vann's zeal is burning bright as he works on his most ambitious political venture yet. Like other black leaders, he is channeling black energy away from protest into a new power at the polls. "Politics is a game of numbers," he says. "And on numbers alone, blacks can win in many cases."

Vann hopes to double the black registration in Brooklyn to 400,000 by 1985 and help some candidate grab city hall away from Ed Koch, who Vann feels is indifferent to black concerns. The soft-spoken Vann spends several nights a week going door-to-door canvassing unregistered voters. "My approach is from the grass roots," he says. "If you don't have power there, you don't have it anywhere."

An imposing figure at 6 ft. 2 in. and 180 Ibs., Vann is a former high school basketball star, Marine sergeant and teacher in the Brooklyn public schools. He has become a power in the state assembly, heading the influential black and Puerto Rican caucus. A lifetime in Brooklyn has taught Vann the value of step-by-step organization. He is in no rush. The numbers, he says, are on his side.

WILLIAM GRAY III. After Ronald Reagan's election, the Philadelphia Congressman quit the House Budget Committee. He felt frustrated with the Democratic leadership and had no stomach to watch a wholesale amputation of social programs. But he returned to the committee this year and proved himself a master at brokering between the leadership and the Congressional Black Caucus to win concessions on social and jobs programs. "If Bill Gray hadn't been there," says Budget Committee Member Panetta, "a lot of those measures would have been in big trouble."

Tall, poised and impeccably dressed, Gray, 42, is a third-generation minister who returns home on weekends to preach at the Bright Hope Baptist Church in North Philadelphia. His critics in the Second District, including old machine politicians and more militant black leaders, fault Gray for his coziness with Philadelphia's white power structure. But his ability to move smoothly between the two worlds has clearly paid off for blacks. In 1978 he formed a coalition with white liberals that defeated a charter-change proposal that would have allowed then Mayor Frank Rizzo another term. Gray was the first black to endorse Mayor William Green after Green won the bitter Democratic mayoral primary in 1979 over a black candidate. That helped him bargain with Green for black appointments to key city posts.

"The difference between myself and the old-line folks is that I understand that the political process is putting together coalitions," says Gray, who helped black Democratic Mayoral Candidate W. Wilson Goode do just that in his successful primary race last May. Gray, married with three sons, relishes the controversy he attracts. Says he: "I see myself as a catalyst for change."

MAXINE WATERS. Her style is sandpapery, her ambition transparent. As a California state assemblywoman, she has made a lot of enemies with her back-room maneuvering and habit of publicly dressing down opponents. "There is no one who wants to square off against Maxine," says Democratic Party Strategist Mickey Kantor admiringly. But foes and fans alike agree that Waters, 45, is articulate, hardworking and creative. She has emerged as the most powerful woman in California political circles and, after Assembly Speaker Willie Brown, the second most powerful black.

One of 13 children from a poor St. Louis family, Waters graduated from California State University-Los Angeles. She owned a public relations firm and then worked as a deputy to Los Angeles City Councilman David Cunningham before her 1976 election to the assembly. She is married with two grown children.

Waters played a pivotal role in the selection of Brown as speaker two years ago, and she remains a trusted lieutenant. She is the majority whip and the only woman on the influential committee that reconciles differing versions of senate-and assembly-passed budgets.

Waters revels in stirring things up. "It's just too easy to hide in these legislatures," she says. She has lately extended her influence beyond California. She was on a panel that questioned Democratic presidential hopefuls at the National Women's Political Caucus meeting in San Antonio. She has helped raise money for black candidates, including Chicago Mayor Harold Washington, and is outspoken in praise of Jesse Jackson's running for President.

Her boosters hail Waters' plan to run for Congress in a few years but warn she may have to file down her sharp edges. "Maxine needs to learn that you don't want to leave a lot of smashed bodies across the landscape," Cunningham says. "They may rise up one day."

MICHAEL LOMAX. His careful diction, preppie style and scholarly background have prompted one black leader to label him an "elitist." It is a term that makes Lomax bristle. "Someone may accuse me of being elitist, but I don't think anyone will say I'm incompetent," says the chairman of the Fulton County board of commissioners, which encompasses Atlanta and ten suburban cities. His job, he adds, "requires not someone who can give a speech and get people to say 'Amen,' but someone who can put together a financial package and get voters to approve it."

Divorced, with one child, Lomax, 35, earned an M.A. in English at Columbia and was pursuing a doctoral degree at Emory University when he became a speechwriter for Maynard Jackson in 1973, during Jackson's first campaign for mayor of Atlanta. After his man was elected, Lomax held cultural-affairs posts in the city administration. And, smitten with politics, he tried for a seat on the seven-member Fulton County board in 1978. He won, and in 1981 was elected chairman. To supplement his $15,000-a-year board salary, Lomax teaches English two days a week at Spelman College.

Lomax helped win voter approval of a county sales tax, part of which will be spent to improve an indigent-care center. Now he is pushing for construction of a new $45 million jail. Says Dan Sweat, director of an organization of Atlanta business and civic leaders: "He's the kind of guy you like to deal with--intelligent, straight up, and he gets action."

Lomax sees his immediate future in local politics. "I've started a lot of things here," he says. "I want to finish them." But in the long range, he harbors hopes that he will be able to start a new agenda in Washington as a Congressman from Atlanta. --By Maureen Dowd. Reported by Joseph N. Boyce/Atlanta and Evan Thomas/ Washington, with other bureaus

With reporting by Joseph N. Boyce, Evan Thomas This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.