
A Bayard Rustin archive aims to preserve his legacy as a queer Civil Rights activist
The Bayard Rustin Center for Social Justice will launch a digital archive this fall featuring articles, photos, videos, telegrams, speeches, and more tied to Rustin's work. Sourced from museums, archives, and personal accounts, it's designed as a central space where others can add their own stories, creating a living historical record.
"There's this hole in our history," said Robt Martin Seda-Schreiber, the center's founder and chief activist. "And there are great resources about Bayard, but they're all spread out, and none of it has been collected and put together in the way that he deserves, and more importantly, the way the world deserves to see him."
Rare footage of Rustin speaking at a 1964 New York rally for voting rights marchers who were beaten in Selma, Alabama, was recently uncovered and digitized by Associated Press archivists. Other AP footage shows him addressing a crowd during a 1967 New York City teachers strike.
"We are here to tell President Johnson that the Black people, the trade union movement, white people of goodwill and the church people — Negroes first — put him where he is," Rustin states at the 1964 rally. "We will stay in these damn streets until every Negro in the country can vote!"
Rustin mentored the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr.
The legacy of Rustin — who died in 1987 aged 75 — reaches far beyond the estimated 250,000 people he rallied to attend the March on Washington in 1963, when the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. delivered his "I Have A Dream" speech. Rustin also played a pivotal role behind the scenes, mentoring King and orchestrating the Montgomery bus boycott.
And his influence still guides activism today, reminding younger generations of the power the community holds in driving lasting change through nonviolence, said David J. Johns, a queer Black leader based in Washington, D.C.
"Being an architect of not just that moment but of the movement, has enabled so many of us to continue to do things that are a direct result of his teaching and sacrifice," said Johns. He is the CEO and executive director of the National Black Justice Collective, which attributes its advocacy successes in the Black queer space to Rustin's legacy.
Rustin was born into activism, according to the Martin Luther King, Jr. Research & Education Institute. His grandparents, Julia Davis and Janifer Rustin, instilled in him and his 11 siblings the value of nonviolence. His grandmother was a member of the NAACP, so Rustin was surrounded and influenced by leaders including the activist and scholar W.E.B. Du Bois and James Weldon Johnson, who wrote "Lift Every Voice and Sing."
Rustin was expelled from Wilberforce University in 1936 after he organized a strike against racial injustice. He later studied at Cheyney University of Pennsylvania, the nation's first historically Black college, then moved to New York during the Harlem Renaissance to engage more deeply with political and social activism. He attended the City College of New York and joined the Young Communist League for its stance against segregation.
Rustin served jail time and was posthumously pardoned
Rustin was arrested 23 times, including a 1953 conviction in Pasadena, California, for vagrancy and lewd conduct — charges commonly used then to criminalize LGBTQ+ people. He served 50 days in jail and lost a tooth after being beaten by police. California Gov. Gavin Newsom issued a posthumous pardon in 2020, acknowledging Rustin had been subjected to discrimination.
Rustin and figures such as Marsha P. Johnson, a prominent transgender activist during the gay rights movement, continue inspire the LGBTQ+ community because they "were super intentional and unapologetic in the ways in which they showed up," Johns said.
"I often think about Bayard and the March on Washington, which he built in record time and in the face of a whole lot of opposition," Johns said.
Walter Naegle, Rustin's partner and a consultant on projects related to his life and work, said it's important for the queer community to have access to the history of social movements.
"There wasn't very much of an LGBTQ+ movement until the early 50s," said Naegle. "The African American struggle was a blueprint for what they needed to do and how they needed to organize. And so to have access to all of the Civil Rights history, and especially to Bayard's work — because he was really the preeminent organizer — I think it's very important for the current movements to have the ability to go back and look at that material."
Rustin had to step away from leadership for several years
Rustin's sexuality and his former association with the Young Communist League forced him to step away as a Civil Rights leader for several years.
In 1960, New York congressman Adam Clayton Powell Jr. threatened to spread false rumors that Rustin and King were intimately involved, weaponizing widespread homophobia to undermine their cause, according to the Martin Luther King, Jr. Research and Education Institute.
But Rustin resumed his work in 1963 as chief organizer of the March on Washington, which became a defining moment in the Civil Rights Movement and paved the way for the passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965.
In 2023, Netflix released the biopic, " Rustin. " Filmmaker and co-writer Julian Breece, who is Black and queer grew up in the '90s when, he said, being gay still correlated with the spread of AIDS, leading to shame and isolation. But he learned about Rustin's impact on the Civil Rights Movement and found a peer to admire.
"Seeing a picture of Rustin with King, who is the opposite of all those things, it let me know there was a degree to which I was being lied to and that there was more for me potentially, if Bayard Rustin could have that kind of impact," Breece said.
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NBC News
9 hours ago
- NBC News
A Bayard Rustin archive aims to preserve his legacy as a queer Civil Rights activist
Social justice advocates are creating a queer history archive that celebrates Bayard Rustin, a major organizer in the Civil Rights Movement and key architect of the March on Washington. The Bayard Rustin Center for Social Justice will launch a digital archive this fall featuring articles, photos, videos, telegrams, speeches, and more tied to Rustin's work. Sourced from museums, archives, and personal accounts, it's designed as a central space where others can add their own stories, creating a living historical record. "There's this hole in our history," said Robt Martin Seda-Schreiber, the center's founder and chief activist. "And there are great resources about Bayard, but they're all spread out, and none of it has been collected and put together in the way that he deserves, and more importantly, the way the world deserves to see him." Rare footage of Rustin speaking at a 1964 New York rally for voting rights marchers who were beaten in Selma, Alabama, was recently uncovered and digitized by Associated Press archivists. Other AP footage shows him addressing a crowd during a 1967 New York City teachers strike. "We are here to tell President Johnson that the Black people, the trade union movement, white people of goodwill and the church people — Negroes first — put him where he is," Rustin states at the 1964 rally. "We will stay in these damn streets until every Negro in the country can vote!" Rustin mentored the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. The legacy of Rustin — who died in 1987 aged 75 — reaches far beyond the estimated 250,000 people he rallied to attend the March on Washington in 1963, when the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. delivered his "I Have A Dream" speech. Rustin also played a pivotal role behind the scenes, mentoring King and orchestrating the Montgomery bus boycott. And his influence still guides activism today, reminding younger generations of the power the community holds in driving lasting change through nonviolence, said David J. Johns, a queer Black leader based in Washington, D.C. "Being an architect of not just that moment but of the movement, has enabled so many of us to continue to do things that are a direct result of his teaching and sacrifice," said Johns. He is the CEO and executive director of the National Black Justice Collective, which attributes its advocacy successes in the Black queer space to Rustin's legacy. Rustin was born into activism, according to the Martin Luther King, Jr. Research & Education Institute. His grandparents, Julia Davis and Janifer Rustin, instilled in him and his 11 siblings the value of nonviolence. His grandmother was a member of the NAACP, so Rustin was surrounded and influenced by leaders including the activist and scholar W.E.B. Du Bois and James Weldon Johnson, who wrote "Lift Every Voice and Sing." Rustin was expelled from Wilberforce University in 1936 after he organized a strike against racial injustice. He later studied at Cheyney University of Pennsylvania, the nation's first historically Black college, then moved to New York during the Harlem Renaissance to engage more deeply with political and social activism. He attended the City College of New York and joined the Young Communist League for its stance against segregation. Rustin served jail time and was posthumously pardoned Rustin was arrested 23 times, including a 1953 conviction in Pasadena, California, for vagrancy and lewd conduct — charges commonly used then to criminalize LGBTQ+ people. He served 50 days in jail and lost a tooth after being beaten by police. California Gov. Gavin Newsom issued a posthumous pardon in 2020, acknowledging Rustin had been subjected to discrimination. Rustin and figures such as Marsha P. Johnson, a prominent transgender activist during the gay rights movement, continue inspire the LGBTQ+ community because they "were super intentional and unapologetic in the ways in which they showed up," Johns said. "I often think about Bayard and the March on Washington, which he built in record time and in the face of a whole lot of opposition," Johns said. Walter Naegle, Rustin's partner and a consultant on projects related to his life and work, said it's important for the queer community to have access to the history of social movements. "There wasn't very much of an LGBTQ+ movement until the early 50s," said Naegle. "The African American struggle was a blueprint for what they needed to do and how they needed to organize. And so to have access to all of the Civil Rights history, and especially to Bayard's work — because he was really the preeminent organizer — I think it's very important for the current movements to have the ability to go back and look at that material." Rustin had to step away from leadership for several years Rustin's sexuality and his former association with the Young Communist League forced him to step away as a Civil Rights leader for several years. In 1960, New York congressman Adam Clayton Powell Jr. threatened to spread false rumors that Rustin and King were intimately involved, weaponizing widespread homophobia to undermine their cause, according to the Martin Luther King, Jr. Research and Education Institute. But Rustin resumed his work in 1963 as chief organizer of the March on Washington, which became a defining moment in the Civil Rights Movement and paved the way for the passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965. In 2023, Netflix released the biopic, " Rustin. " Filmmaker and co-writer Julian Breece, who is Black and queer grew up in the '90s when, he said, being gay still correlated with the spread of AIDS, leading to shame and isolation. But he learned about Rustin's impact on the Civil Rights Movement and found a peer to admire. "Seeing a picture of Rustin with King, who is the opposite of all those things, it let me know there was a degree to which I was being lied to and that there was more for me potentially, if Bayard Rustin could have that kind of impact," Breece said.


NBC News
17 hours ago
- NBC News
As U.S. abruptly ends support, Liberia faces empty health clinics and unplanned pregnancies
SARWORLOR, Liberia — Five months ago, Roseline Phay, a 32-year-old farmer from the West African nation of Liberia, set off on a quest to find contraceptives. Phay and her partner have two daughters, and they barely make ends meet. Determined not to have more children, she went to a health worker in her village, but contraception pills, implants and condoms had run out. Phay trekked for hours on red clay roads to the nearest clinic, but they had no contraceptives either. She did not know it, but her mission was doomed from the beginning. Just weeks before, U.S. President Donald Trump abruptly suspended most foreign aid through the U.S. Agency for International Development, which paid for medications in Liberia's public clinics. Tenacious and outspoken, Phay repeated the trip four times. Then she got pregnant. 'I'm suffering,' she said, with daughter Pauline crying in her arms. 'I have this little child on my back, and the other child in my stomach is suffering.' She must continue farming throughout her pregnancy, she said, or 'I will not eat.' After she got pregnant she had to wean Pauline off breastfeeding, she said, and the girl became so badly malnourished that she almost died. The U.S. cuts left no therapeutic food to give her, and she is still ill. Phay is among millions across Africa who have seen their lives upended after the U.S. aid cuts. In Liberia, the American support made up almost 2.6% of the gross national income, the highest percentage anywhere in the world, according to the Center for Global Development. 'The impact of USAID in Liberia cannot be overstated,' said Richlue O. Burphy, who worked for USAID projects for over a decade and manages the National Lottery, a government body. 'Everywhere you go, you see the USAID (signs). And almost all the government institutions ... had some kind of USAID partnership.' The sense of betrayal runs deep in Liberia, established in the early 1800s with the aim of relocating freed slaves and free-born Black people from the United States. The political system is modeled on that of the U.S., along with its flag. Liberians often refer to the U.S. as their 'big brother.' Liberia was one of the first countries to receive USAID support, starting in 1961. Its officials thought they would be spared from Trump's cuts because of the countries' close relationship. Following civil wars and an Ebola epidemic, Liberia's survival has depended largely on foreign aid, mainly from the U.S. and the World Bank. Despite abundant natural wealth, six out of 10 Liberians live in poverty, according to the World Bank, and Liberia is among the world's 10 poorest nations. The aid cuts pose 'a serious challenge,' especially for the healthcare system, Deputy Finance Minister Dehpue Y. Zuo, responsible for drafting the development budget, told The Associated Press. To make sure the system stays afloat, he said, 'we have to take a dramatic switch to see where we will be cutting funding for other areas.' Liberia received an average of $527.6 million in aid annually between 2014 and 2023, according to the finance ministry. This year, Liberia was supposed to receive $443 million, but the total estimated impact of the cuts is $290 million — essentially what hadn't been disbursed yet. USAID funding built schools and health clinics, provided training for teachers and doctors and gave scholarships for study in the U.S. It supported small-scale farmers and paid for school meals. But most of the U.S. funding went to Liberia's health system, making up 48% of its budget. It funded malaria control, maternal health programs, HIV/AIDS treatment and community health programs. It financed hundreds of health projects run by aid groups. Now in Bong county, where Phay lives, medicine shelves in health clinics are almost empty. The USAID-funded ambulance cannot function because there is no money for fuel. Hospitals are running out of hand sanitizer and gloves. Training for medical staff has stopped, and community health workers have not been paid in months. Moses K. Banyan, head of the nearby CB Dunbar Hospital, described the U.S. cuts as 'beyond a shock.' He worried about the future, especially now that Bong county has begun to see a handful of mpox cases spread from neighboring Sierra Leone. Warning of the cuts could have helped in finding options, he said. 'But it's like you were sleeping, you woke up and you were told: 'Hey, leave this house.'' The withdrawal of U.S. support is an opportunity for others, especially China, experts and officials said. Chinese companies have been operating Liberia's gold mines, building roads and training aid workers. Chinese beer is sold alongside local brands. Many Liberians who would have sent children to universities in the U.S. are now choosing China. Last month, China opened a cardiology wing in the capital's main hospital, which is named after John F. Kennedy but was commonly referred to as 'Just For Killing' because of its scarce resources, even before the U.S. cuts. 'There are gaps to be filled, and that cannot be covered by the government of Liberia,' said Zuo, the deputy finance minister. 'We are open door to the rest of the world, including the United States.' In Phay's village of Sarworlor, community health worker Alice Togbah still wears her USAID vest though she hasn't been paid in months. She has no more malaria medication for children. She is running out of cough medicine and diarrhea treatment. A 4-year-old resident, Promise, got malaria a few days ago. Her mother, Grace Morris, obtained only a limited number of malaria tablets at the nearest clinic because of the U.S. cuts. Now they are finished, and the child still feels ill. 'Children die from malaria here,' she said. Last year, her neighbor's son died because he did not get medication on time. Morris and other women also seek contraceptives. Liberia in recent years made strides in bringing down teenage pregnancy rates and maternal mortality rates. For women in traditional, conservative communities, access to contraceptives meant reclaiming some control over their lives. 'If ... my man touches me, I cannot say no because I need to satisfy him,' Phay said. 'But if I have no medicine, I will get pregnant.' Her 9-year-old daughter, also named Promise, is living in the capital, Monrovia, with her aunt. Phay wants her to finish school and have a different life from hers. 'I am begging, if you people have the medicine, you people need to help us,' she said. 'I don't want her to suffer like me.'


The Independent
a day ago
- The Independent
A Bayard Rustin archive aims to preserve his legacy as a queer Civil Rights activist
Social justice advocates are creating a queer history archive that celebrates Bayard Rustin, a major organizer in the Civil Rights Movement and key architect of the March on Washington. The Bayard Rustin Center for Social Justice will launch a digital archive this fall featuring articles, photos, videos, telegrams, speeches, and more tied to Rustin's work. Sourced from museums, archives, and personal accounts, it's designed as a central space where others can add their own stories, creating a living historical record. 'There's this hole in our history,' said Robert Martin, the center's founder and chief activist. 'And there are great resources about Bayard, but they're all spread out, and none of it has been collected and put together in the way that he deserves, and more importantly, the way the world deserves to see him.' Rare footage of Rustin speaking at a 1964 New York rally for voting rights marchers who were beaten in Selma, Alabama, was recently uncovered and digitized by Associated Press archivists. Other AP footage shows him addressing a crowd during a 1967 New York City teachers strike. 'We are here to tell President Johnson that the Black people, the trade union movement, white people of goodwill and the church people — Negroes first — put him where he is,' Rustin states at the 1964 rally. 'We will stay in these damn streets until every Negro in the country can vote!' The legacy of Rustin — who died in 1987 aged 75 — reaches far beyond the estimated 250,000 people he rallied to attend the March on Washington in 1963, when the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. delivered his 'I Have A Dream' speech. Rustin also played a pivotal role behind the scenes, mentoring King and orchestrating the Montgomery bus boycott. And his influence still guides activism today, reminding younger generations of the power the community holds in driving lasting change through nonviolence, said David J. Johns, a queer Black leader based in Washington, D.C. 'Being an architect of not just that moment but of the movement, has enabled so many of us to continue to do things that are a direct result of his teaching and sacrifice,' said Johns. He is the CEO and executive director of the National Black Justice Collective, which attributes its advocacy successes in the Black queer space to Rustin's legacy. Rustin was born into activism, according to the Martin Luther King, Jr. Research & Education Institute. His grandparents, Julia Davis and Janifer Rustin, instilled in him and his 11 siblings the value of nonviolence. His grandmother was a member of the NAACP, so Rustin was surrounded and influenced by leaders including the activist and scholar W.E.B. Du Bois and James Weldon Johnson, who wrote 'Lift Every Voice and Sing.' Rustin was expelled from Wilberforce University in 1936 after he organized a strike against racial injustice. He later studied at Cheyney University of Pennsylvania, the nation's first historically Black college, then moved to New York during the Harlem Renaissance to engage more deeply with political and social activism. He attended the City College of New York and joined the Young Communist League for its stance against segregation. Rustin was arrested 23 times, including a 1953 conviction in Pasadena, California, for vagrancy and lewd conduct — charges commonly used then to criminalize LGBTQ+ people. He served 50 days in jail and lost a tooth after being beaten by police. California Gov. Gavin Newsom issued a posthumous pardon in 2020, acknowledging Rustin had been subjected to discrimination. Rustin and figures such as Marsha P. Johnson, a prominent transgender activist during the gay rights movement, continue inspire the LGBTQ+ community because they 'were super intentional and unapologetic in the ways in which they showed up,' Johns said. 'I often think about Bayard and the March on Washington, which he built in record time and in the face of a whole lot of opposition,' Johns said. Walter Naegle, Rustin's partner and a consultant on projects related to his life and work, said it's important for the queer community to have access to the history of social movements. 'There wasn't very much of an LGBTQ+ movement until the early 50s,' said Naegle. 'The African American struggle was a blueprint for what they needed to do and how they needed to organize. And so to have access to all of the Civil Rights history, and especially to Bayard's work — because he was really the preeminent organizer — I think it's very important for the current movements to have the ability to go back and look at that material.' Rustin's sexuality and his former association with the Young Communist League forced him to step away as a Civil Rights leader for several years. In 1960, New York congressman Adam Clayton Powell Jr. threatened to spread false rumors that Rustin and King were intimately involved, weaponizing widespread homophobia to undermine their cause, according to the Martin Luther King, Jr. Research and Education Institute. But Rustin resumed his work in 1963 as chief organizer of the March on Washington, which became a defining moment in the Civil Rights Movement and paved the way for the passage of the Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965. In 2023, Netflix released the biopic, ' Rustin. ' Filmmaker and co-writer Julian Breece, who is Black and queer grew up in the '90s when, he said, being gay still correlated with the spread of AIDS, leading to shame and isolation. But he learned about Rustin's impact on the Civil Rights Movement and found a peer to admire. 'Seeing a picture of Rustin with King, who is the opposite of all those things, it let me know there was a degree to which I was being lied to and that there was more for me potentially, if Bayard Rustin could have that kind of impact,' Breece said. 'I wanted Black gay men to have a hero they could look up to,' he said. ___ The Associated Press receives financial support from the Sony Global Social Justice Fund to expand certain coverage areas. The AP is solely responsible for all content. Find the AP's standards for working with philanthropies, a list of supporters and funded coverage areas at