Is the NAACP MIA, or has it lost its way?
As Boston's black community confronts political turmoil, some wonder why so little has been heard from this once-vocal civil rights group.
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Outside the Roxbury mall at a corner of Warren Street and Martin Luther King Boulevard, shoppers wrapped in their winter coats hurried with carts full of groceries from the Save-A-Lot market one day last month. Inside, others moved past two glass doors in the middle of the mall with rarely a glance.
There, under a large, blue banner and a "get-out-the-vote" slogan, sits the headquarters for the oldest branch of the nation's oldest and best-known civil rights organization. To enter, you have to ring the doorbell, then walk down the hallway, lined recently with boxes of Christmas decorations, to a quiet office with a front desk, a large conference table, and, sometimes, a single volunteer.
Like the nondescript office it occupies, Boston's NAACP has been largely overlooked in recent years, even as the city's African-American community faces its biggest political crisis in decades.
Two of Boston's most vocal black political leaders, Dianne Wilkerson and Chuck Turner, are facing federal corruption charges. With the economic crash, groups serving minority communities are bracing for hard times. Some in the local black community feel dispirited and under siege.
In more than a dozen interviews, ministers and political and grass-roots activists spoke of the 99-year-old NAACP's historic mission, but many said the Boston branch appears to be a nonfactor in this moment of turmoil.
"There is this conversation in the black community, particularly about the NAACP, and depending on who you talk to, you are going to get different answers because some people are wondering why they are even here," said Marvin Martin, director of the Greater Four Corners Action Coalition in Dorchester.
As other organizations have stepped forward, convening discussions about the future of the city's black political leadership, some observers say Boston's NAACP is a shell of what it was more than 40 years ago, when thousands filled its ranks to fight for political, educational, social, and economic equality for all and to eliminate racial hatred and discrimination.
"There seems to be a considerable amount of lethargy," local political consultant Joyce Ferriabough said of Boston's NAACP, adding that the group needs to retool its focus from civil rights to economic rights. "I'm not sure about the leadership and the passing of the leadership."
At the helm in Boston is Karen Payne. An NAACP member for more than 20 years, she was recruited by members of the branch's executive committee to run for president, and juggles her duties in the volunteer role and her work as a healthcare consultant. Unlike former branch presidents, including her immediate predecessor Leonard Alkins, Payne's name rarely appears in the press. A 57-year-old Hartford native who this month is ending her first two-year term, Payne shuns publicity. It took the Globe nearly two months to get her to meet for an interview.
When she finally spoke - by phone - she defended the branch and its all-volunteer staff, saying she's quietly working on issues that affect people in the community.
"I'm not an in-your-face-person, as you can see," said Payne. "I just do what I can do and take care of the people."
She acknowledged more should be done to boost membership, promote the efforts of the branch, and build relationships with various segments of the community.
But she disputed any suggestion that the branch is out of the loop. She said she's been in discussions about the black leadership gap and the black agenda for more than three months, long before "anything came up in the news" about Wilkerson, who resigned her state Senate seat last month, and Turner, a Boston city councilor.
"If there is an issue of concern, " Payne said, "NAACP members are part of the conversation in the city."
Supporters say the local branch of the NAACP is building on its legacy of success and has never stopped fighting for social justice. Rather than becoming entangled in debates over a new black leadership, these supporters say, the group has focused on its goals of excellence in education, ending health disparities, and empowering voters.
"A good deal of these people [who are complaining] are in the boardroom because of the NAACP," said Louis Elisa, who led the local branch from 1989 to 1994. "It's unfortunate that the number of people who came in forgot how they got there. They got in and closed the door."
Most everyone agrees that the once mighty branch - which shook down barriers to win landmark victories in school and housing discrimination cases decades ago - has fallen.
There is money, but not a huge surplus. Payne initially said the branch spent an estimated $50,000 last year, then later said she was mistaken in that number. She would not provide a current amount, saying the branch doesn't have a budget and doesn't make its finances public.
NAACP officials say the chapter's membership has hovered around 400 since 1995, compared with more than 5,000 in the 1960s. That's a crucial drop for a membership-driven organization.
Kenneth Guscott, the branch president from 1963 to 1968, recalled that years ago the majority of the community stood with the local NAACP as it fought against discrimination.
In the decades since, the group had victories against the Boston School Committee over school segregation, as well as against the US Department of Housing and Urban Development and the Boston Housing Authority over housing discrimination. But the branch fell into disarray.
By the time Alkins took over in 1995, it was in receivership. The national office had taken oversight of the branch's operations and decision-making and removed then-branch president Elisa after allegations of funding and other violations, Alkins said.
He said he was able to help rebuild and restore the branch's reputation in the community, to "one of inclusion, transparency, and one of integrity." But he admits he was not able to boost membership.
Alkins, who frequently serves as the branch's lone volunteer, said the local's biggest problem is finding others willing to pitch in and stick with it. Praising Payne, he said that contrary to the criticism, the branch has been addressing issues such as racial profiling and job discrimination despite its low membership.
Even so, the conditions that drew many to the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People have changed. Black leaders shifted focus long ago from segregation to economic concerns.
Darnell Williams, president of the Urban League of Eastern Massachusetts, said when racial injustice was overt, it was easy to convince people of the need for groups such as the NAACP and the Urban League. Now civil rights groups are searching and struggling to find relevance.
"How do we convince individuals that there is a need to continue the work we do?" he asked.
New leaders have emerged, and Barack Obama shattered a racial barrier with his presidential victory. Even the Turner-Wilkerson debacle has created a window of opportunity for new leadership.
"The condition that brought about the NAACP has changed," said the Rev. Mark Scott, a Dorchester pastor. "The NAACP has to ask itself how does it fit into the conditions of today. It's a very different world. It needs a new story."
Karen Payne has identified new issues.
At a recent news conference in downtown Boston, Payne stood with a labor coalition alleging discrimination by the
It was a rare public moment for the Boston NAACP president, whose leadership style, according to those who have worked with her, is more about substance than charisma. She's quietly reached out to community groups to join in the effort against AIDS and school drop-out rates, for instance.
State Representative Elizabeth A. Malia, who has known Payne over the years for her community work in Roslindale, hailed her as an effective leader, particularly her work in addressing AIDS in communities of color.
"Sometimes the perception of folks depends on where you are standing," Malia said. "This is an organization that is really interested in picking up the yoke and doing the work."
But some wonder why Payne has not done more to reach out to the clergy, whose congregations often fill the ranks at NAACP branches in other cities.
"If the NAACP is going to assume or resume its role as a vanguard for equality of oppressed people, it has to reignite the relationship with the church community," said the Rev. Gregory Groover, of Roxbury's Charles Street AME Church.
"The black church has been a strong base in the NAACP in the country. I have just not seen that in Boston."
Payne said that she'll do her best to strike up a relationship with the clergy, but that the churches could also do their part to reach out to the NAACP.
"I'm here. They know I'm here," she said. "I haven't seen anybody breaking down our doors either."
Meghan Irons can be reached at mirons@globe.com.
