As a six-year-old, Ruby Bridges famously became the first African American child to desegregate an all-white elementary school in the South. When the 1st grader walked to William Frantz Elementary School in New Orleans on November 14, 1960 surrounded by a team of U.S. Marshals, she was met by a vicious mob shouting and throwing objects at her.

One of the federal marshals, Charles Burks, who was on her escort team, recalls Bridges’ courage in the face of such hatred: “For a little girl six years old going into a strange school with four strange deputy marshals, a place she had never been before, she showed a lot of courage. She never cried. She didn’t whimper. She just marched along like a little soldier. We were all very proud of her.”

Once Ruby entered the school she discovered that there were no other children because they had all been removed by their parents. The only teacher willing to teach Ruby was Barbara Henry, who had recently moved from Boston. Ruby was taught by herself for her first year at the school due to the white parents’ refusal to have their children share a school with a black child.

Despite daily harassment, which required the federal marshals to continue escorting her to school for months; threats towards her family; and her father’s job loss due to his family’s role in school integration, Ruby persisted in attending school. The following year, when she returned for second grade, the mobs were gone and more African American students joined her at the school. The pioneering school integration effort was a success due to Ruby Bridges’ inspiring courage, perseverance, and resilience.

Bridges, now Ruby Bridges Hall, still lives in New Orleans with her husband, Malcolm Hall, and their four sons. After graduating from a desegregated high school, she worked as a travel agent for 15 years and later became a full-time parent. She is now chair of the Ruby Bridges Foundation, which she formed in 1999 to promote “the values of tolerance, respect, and appreciation of all differences”. Describing the mission of the group, she says, “racism is a grown-up disease and we must stop using our children to spread it.”

From “A Mighty Girl” Facebook page and Wikipedia. Image based on a photo by an unnamed Department of Justice employee.

Ieshia Evans was arrested in Baton Rouge in 2016 while protesting the murder of Alton Sterling by police. “It was silence. It was just a lot of nonverbal communication. Sometimes, silence speaks volumes.” “What did you want your silence to say?” “I’m human. I’m a woman. I’m a mom. I’m a nurse. I could be your nurse. I could be taking care of you. You know? I’m here. We all matter. We don’t have to beg to matter. We do matter … I never really considered myself to be in the definition of brave. But sometimes, jobs are given to you that you’re not really—you didn’t apply for. You know?”

From a photograph captured by Jonathan Bachman

theguardian.com and cbsnews.com

DESIGN NOTE

I began the Female Power Project in 2015. Previously I had been making digital designs that I had printed on fabrics to make scarves and shawls. In 2015, because the Pope was visiting the neighborhood where I have my studio, I made a shawl design representing the iconography of the Virgin of Guadalupe. Something seemed to happen when a woman put on this garment. It was like she was wearing the power of the person represented. I decided to explore this idea using representations of other powerful females. I have made designs honoring Harriet Tubman, Malala Yousafzai, Maya Angelou, Erzulie (the Haitian Lwa of love in her aspects of maternal love), Marie Curie, and Frida Kahlo. Each of these designs required months-long processes of research, visual experimentation, and proofing. It was very slow and expensive, but also transformative. When our woman candidate lost the presidential election—to an abuser of women—my first thought was, “It didn’t work.” The powers at work against us are just too large and sometimes seem metaphysical in scope. I became fascinated by the image of Ieshia Evans’ passive resistance, her power and grace—and beauty—in the face of these bizarrely dressed over-militarized police. I wanted to make work about this woman but a shawl about her seemed absurd. I made mixed medium assemblage and paintings instead. It was after the Women’s March that I realized that I need to work much faster and in an easily distributed medium. I started with iconic images—thinking everyone would know them—but soon realized I need to include the historical background with each print. I don’t work very hard on this part of the writing because I want to be able to make the work really fast so I can respond to events as quickly as possible. I believe the real writing happens when I work on identifying the power or message in the particular story or event—unless I am responding to a meme (“Reclaiming my time;” “Nevertheless she persisted”) in which case the culture has already distilled the words of the message for me. These texts must be very short and avoid cliché. These are micro-poems expressing the urgent actions and attitudes of mind that speak truth to power and activate a transfomative rhetoric of the marginalized.