Bill Lucy's Lifelong Marathon

By Fredrick Ingram

Many think of Bill Lucy as an honored leader of labor. 

As the secretary-treasurer of AFSCME and the first Black president of Public Services International, Lucy was a paragon of the kind of drive and long-term strategy it takes to get the little and big things done. And for that, his name and his legacy will never be forgotten.

But that is not my primary characterization of Mr. Lucy. 

For me, Lucy was a marathon runner. Not in the literal sense, but in a more relevant way.

Lucy understood that the fight for what is right and righteous is not a sprint. It cannot be achieved in one lifetime because the goal is too great, the effort too large for one generation, let alone one person.

I learned this by watching civil rights giants like Bill, Malcolm and Medgar who worked, sweat and too often died trying to set a table they never imagined they would sit at. To pursue the dreams of equality was to accept that it may never become real for you, but, if you're lucky, it will be tangible for your children and grandchildren.

And at the young age of 35, Lucy began setting a table that I would eventually take a seat at.

It was 1968, just a few years after the historic March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom, and Black sanitation workers in Memphis were fed up after two of their colleagues were killed on the job. And while these men had not yet gained the freedom to join unions, they had enough self-worth and dignity to know theirs was being disrespected by their employers. So, they did what any worker does when backed against a wall and forced to choose between justice and peace: They chose justice, leading perhaps the most significant work strike in American history, the Memphis sanitation workers' strike.

It was historic for many reasons. The first being, they won — a rare feat for Black workers doing what was considered the most menial of jobs. Second, that strike not only saw the death of 16-year-old Larry Payne, it also saw the death of Martin Luther King Jr. Famously, King's speech at the strike would be as stirring as it was prophetic when he told the crowd that while he had seen the promised land, he didn't expect he would get there. King was shot dead the next day on the balcony of his hotel. 

The third reason why the strike was so momentous and so impactful, especially for me, was that with the slogan "I Am a Man," Lucy coined a phrase that has resonated in the Black community and the labor movement ever since. 

That slogan means so much to me, especially in this current political moment, because Black men so often feel they must remind others of their humanity. This is true for our sisters as well, let's be clear, but those words speak so directly to Black men, it cannot go unnoticed. 

It is a reminder that our race is not done, not even close. Yes, we have seen a Black man become president, but we also know that Black men are disproportionately imprisoned. For every Black CEO, we also know our unemployment rate often nearly doubles that of white men. And while we cheer the victories, the setbacks are often too devastating to put into words. 

But I have some words here for all Black folks, and specifically for Black male voters in this moment when the whole country has their gaze fixed on what boxes we tick on our ballots: 

Your vote is a direct tie to your dignity, your humanity and the long race for equality.

If you want the respect our fathers and grandfathers fought and died for, all we need to do is remember what Lucy did and stood for. Remember that labor unions offer a real path to the kind of economic equality and recognition of dignity we want the world to see when they see us.

Through unions, the historic wage and wealth gap between Black and white workers is reduced — with Black workers seeing a 14 percent wage boost from collective bargaining. Black union workers also earn more than their nonunion peers: They earn 34 percent more in wages, are nearly 25 percent more likely to have employer-provided healthcare and are almost twice as likely to have employer-provided retirement plans. 

There are many ways to define a man, but I was told a man could stand on his own two feet. And unions, as Lucy illustrated his entire life, give Black men the platform to do just that. Now it is our turn to preserve and strengthen it. 

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Fedrick C. Ingram is secretary-treasurer of the AFT, serving 1.8 million members, including pre-K through 12th-grade teachers; paraprofessionals and other school-related personnel; higher education faculty and professional staff; federal, state and local government employees; and nurses and other healthcare professionals.