"‘Cause franchise isn’t just the right of a man"

January 11, 1885 a Quaker girl was born who would grow up to be prominent in the fight for women's right to vote. Alice Paul grew up learning about the importance of public service as well as women's suffrage because her mother was a member of the National American Woman Suffrage Association (NAWSA). After graduating from Swarthmore College, Paul became determined to join the effort to end injustice. 

Photo: nj.com

She moved to London to continue her studies and while there she became involved in the militant Women's Social and Political Union, where she learned to use the tactics of parading, picketing and speeches -- and the message that an arrest can send. Paul was arrested several times while helping Englishwomen fight for their rights.

Photo: simpson.edu

Upon her return to the US in 1910, Paul joined the same group her mother had been a part of, the National American Woman Suffrage Association, applying the radical tactics she had learned while in England. Her goal was to focus national attention on the issue of women's suffrage and she succeded by organizing a parade in every state of the Union the day before President Woodrow Wilson's first inauguration. Although some marchers were attacked, the nation became aware of the women marchers and their goal.

Photo: americaslibrary.gov

Due to a disagreement in tactics, Paul left the NAWSA and started the National Women's Party, a radical organization based on her experiences in England. She chose a prime location to picket: the White House. She and a group of women stood in front of the White House, silent, holding banners asking President Wilson what he would do for the right to vote for women. The protestors were arrested and sent to a workhouse, where Paul began a hunger strike.

Photo: nwhm.org

Paul's tactics of attracting national attention to the issue put pressure on President Wilson and in 1918, Wilson publicly supported women's suffrage. He tied the issue to the Great War because women were more involved in the war effort than ever before. But the proposed 19th Amendment to the Constitution failed to pass by two votes in the Senate until the next year, when it was passed and sent to the states for ratification. Eventually, it was Tennessee's decision if the amendment would pass or not. The Tennessee state Senate voted to ratify while the state House of Representatives was in a deadlock, until Representative Harry T. Burn changed his vote because of a note his mother had given him:  "Hurrah, and vote for suffrage!...Don't forget to be a good boy."

Photo: rarenewspapers.com

With Tennessee's ratification, the 36 states required for an amendment to the Constitution was achieved and women had the right to vote. However, Paul's work was not finished. She continued to fight for women's equality in the US and abroad. In 1977, Paul died in Moorestown, New Jersey, where she was born. She has been honored with her image placed on a postage stamp and on a gold coin. Most recently, Lady Gaga's Bad Romance was re-written to be about Alice Paul and her fight for women's right to vote.

"Finding My Black Identity"

A Guest Blog for Black History Month by Meshayla Cox

(Meshayla Cox is a student studying Spanish Education and African American studies at the University of Montana - Misssoula)

My life thus far has been, to a great extent, a struggle of searching for my black identity. I have spent a large part of my life trying to ignore the hardships that come with being a woman of color, as well as trying to ignore my own self-identity as one. My mother and father are both black but "black history" wasn’t necessarily something preached in my household and it definitely wasn’t something I was learning in my history classes at school.

Photo: Meshayla Cox

Although I grew up in Southern California, a place known for its racial diversity, I always found myself grouped in with the white kids at school. Looking back now I realize this was due to my need to be accepted as one of them. I went through my younger years always being the token black friend, the butt of the jokes, or the one exoticized and aestheticized.

To the untrained mind there are plenty of “subtle” racist stereotypes and characteristics about black people that inevitably affect the way we view ourselves, as well as the way the world views us.

As a result, I grew up slowly learning to hate my skin.

I would avoid being in the sun too long in fear of becoming “too dark” and steer clear of using certain words in fear of sounding “too black”, and never get too mad, because you don’t want to be the “sassy” or “ghetto” black girl that’s portrayed in the media.

The moment I started noticing boys was easily the best and worst time of my life. I quickly started to realize that I wasn’t the girl they were going to actually date or pay genuine attention too, and as a result I felt the need to distance myself from my black identity. Looking back I can remember the exact moment when this happened. When I was a young girl, my mother would braid my hair, but in ninth grade one incident changed my appreciation of my beautiful black braids. A boy I had a crush on decided to call me "the predator" in reference to the move Alien and Predator, which showcases a ugly alien thing that had dreadlocks. That is definitely the last thing any 13 year old wants to hear from the cute boy in her class.

Photo: imdb.com

This ignited a long four years of weave-wearing, sun-avoiding, and race-denying. Over this time I found myself claiming all of the different, non-black heritage in my family to try and distance myself from my suddenly unappealing African ancestry, and finding refuge in the phrase “You’re so whitewashed”. I began associating solely with white people, anything to hide from my inherent blackness. I was terrified of being seen by others as the ugly, angry, black girl that I saw myself as.

Photo: Meshayla Cox

It wasn’t until my freshman year of college at the University of Montana when I finally got the confidence to once again travel into the scary land of afrocentric hairstyles. The braids were back! And they were a success. Unknown to everyone else, this moment was most definitely the first step toward accepting my black identity.

This process was propelled forward by the shooting of Michael Brown in 2014, an unarmed black teenager killed by a white policeman in Ferguson, Missouri. This situation brought to my attention the widespread epidemic of police aggression against people of color, which in turn sparked a national conversation about race and racism in America. Until this moment, I thought racism was only present in bitter old white people or the wannabe cowboys that attended my high school.

Photo: bet.com

As a result I signed up for a college class that very simply changed my life, my views, and my way of thinking. The class was “Black: Africa to Hip-Hop,” taught by Dr. Tobin Shearer at my school, the University of Montana in Missoula. In this class we talked about the side of American history that my previous history teachers seemed to have avoided like the plague, the part that spoke about the genocide, injustice, and oppression of African Americans. I would leave every class just bursting at the seams, needing to tell people about all that I had learned about my people. . . MY people. This college course showed me that I do have a people and a history, and although we have been through terrible times and are still working against a system put in place to keep us down, I have so much to be proud of and so much to stand up for! I have learned to accept my wonderful kinky hair, my perfectly sassy personality, and my wonderful dark skin, all gifted to me by my strong and beautiful black ancestors.

Photo: Meshayla Cox

My journey to discovering and accepting my black identity has been long, but I am so glad I can finally stand up and proclaim:

 I am black, oh so black, and I am proud!   

Photo: Meshayla Cox