Address of Maurice A. Barboza
Tri-Chapter Dinner
George Washington, Fairfax Resolves, and George Mason Chapters
Virginia Sons of the American Revolution
Army-Navy Country Club of Arlington, Virginia
May 7, 2004

Compatriots and guests, you may not believe what I am about to say. So, I promise to tell the "whole truth and nothing but the truth."

To some, my surname, color, and heritage might seem to be a contradiction. But the genealogical fact is that, like you, I am a son of the American Revolution. Also, I am the son, and grandson, of immigrants from the periphery of Africa. My black ancestors, who were born in the United States, likely, were free before the Emancipation Proclamation.

I am an 11th generation American through my maternal great grandfather who arrived from England ten years after the Mayflower. I am a non-hyphenated, agitating descendant of ordinary citizens.

In the anemic history lessons of my childhood, I thought setting things right was a duty imposed by the founding fathers. Wiser now, I know it includes pruning the still painful thorns concealed in their laurels, as well as those passed on to their descendants.

For over 25 years, my mission has been to prod America to acknowledge its collective history. The world is entering a new era -- an era where power will emerge from integrity, not from illusions, marching bands or the barrel of a gun. In the acts of our ancestors is the world's richest source of the untapped vitamin - integrity.

It is time to discover real American history. There is no more qualified, or tenacious, a group than the Sons of the American Revolution to fire the first volley. When I became a member in 1980, no organization had ever welcomed me so sincerely or made me feel so beloved. You measured up to our ancestors' best ideals whether or not they understood them to apply to persons of my color. The SAR's acceptance of black members is America's most vital lesson in race relations.

The SAR supported a movement to remove the tarnish of slavery and second class citizenship from the memory of black soldiers and freedom seekers. With warmth, I remember a surprise visit from three past Presidents General to plan their support for the Black Revolutionary War Patriots Memorial. Several Sons in high places helped, including Senator John W. Warner, deceased Senator Strom Thurmond, and former presidents George H. W. Bush and Ronald W. Reagan.

Many Americans may think that all hereditary organizations are alike, stuffy, exclusionary, and full of pomp and circumstance. How wrong they would be to prejudge the SAR. You accepted my heritage without hesitation (within five months) once its authenticity had been verified. All that mattered was my connection to the American Revolution.

My eighth maternal great grand father removed, John Gay, came to America inside acceptable white skin. At least one of his progeny, however, chose to change his descendants' skin tones to a darker hue. My grandmother's color might have been described in runaway slave ads, thirty-five years before her birth, as "light" or "yellow." But I know Ida Gay (later Santos) inherited her kindness, stoic nature, and strength equally from her white and black heritage.

Those qualities were perfectly transmitted to my deceased aunt, Lena Santos Ferguson. However, only her "brown" skin mattered when she repeatedly appealed for full membership in the National Society Daughters of the American Revolution, between 1980 and 1984. After I had joined the SAR and suggested she join the DAR, Lena said prophetically, "it won't be easy."

There is a fair probability that in the thousands of interconnections of those generations that we are distant cousins to someone in this room. Then there is the prospect that one set of your ancestors, and mine, were neighbors and friends. Perhaps they stood side-by-side during some contest of the Revolution, civil war, two world wars, or those in Korea or Vietnam.

In the family line, there are Gays, Baldwins, Haweses, Nuttings, Wellingtons, Thomases, Curtises, and Stinsons, among others. I have two maternal great great grandfathers, one from Virginia, the other from Maine, who were Union soldiers during the Civil War. One was black. The other was white.

Perhaps the vision of black kinship is what rankled DAR leaders about my aunt. One local official said it would split up the chapter. The then President General told the Washington Post, "If you give a dinner party, and someone insisted on coming and you didn't want them, what would you do?" In contrast, when the D.C. SAR received my membership certificate from the National Society (issued on April 16, 1980), I was invited to a luncheon to meet my new compatriots - men of integrity, all of them.

Not all DAR members are alike, however. Lena was embraced by a Florida member as a distant cousin. She was descended from one of our 19th century ancestors. I, too, was contacted by a man in Idaho, named John Gay, who is descended, as I am, from his namesake.

Then, you should have had the joy of meeting one of Lena's DAR sponsors, Elizabeth Edson Thompson. At over 80 years old, she was a true patriot and fighter. In support of my aunt, she chose to abandon her lifetime membership in the Mary Washington Chapter. The chapter had refused to admit Lena, even after she became a member-at-large in 1982.

Diverse families are not unusual for black Americans -- neither are the ties of friendship between black and white families. Maybe one of your ancestors was the master of one of mine, or theirs. But, one of your ancestors might also have been a conductor on the Underground Railroad or a lawyer or politician who helped a slave file a freedom petition or law suit.

Just as it is wrong to prejudge a black person, it is wrong to prejudge a white person and the spirits on their family tree. Any project to honor the historical contributions of blacks also will illuminate those white patriots who aided, or simply, respected their struggle.

Moral courage of this nature was in short supply in their day. Many founding fathers lived contradictory lives. They were driven more by their own prosperity, and politics, than by the principles of the Declaration of Independence. They were "kings" and masters of sprawling domains, not farmers, laborers, and wage earners, like us, and most of our ancestors.

Whether your forebears were sympathetic to the plight of those forgotten black souls or not, it is your actions that will influence how much respect future citizens muster for the founders, American history, and each other.

Many DAR members, and their ancestors, came from humble beginnings. But for years what the public saw was a posh group. They behaved as if their connection to the Revolution confirmed some special breeding -- superior to those of us who simply consider ourselves "we the people." A lot of women, black and white, will feel uncomfortable in the midst of such a group.

Whether it started in 1939 or before, the DAR had a rap sheet by 1980, as long as a ball gown. They had the nerve to tell the world's most famous opera singer that Constitution Hall was off limits to black performers. A woman of integrity, Eleanor Roosevelt, resigned her DAR membership. An alternative concert at the Lincoln Memorial drew over 70,000 people. Black contralto Marian Anderson captured the nation's conscience for generations.

It would have been simple, and less damaging, for the DAR to have accepted my aunt without resistance. White and black women with Revolutionary war ancestors might have said, "maybe they're not so snooty after all." Instead, the DAR chose to make things hard on themselves and on my aunt.

A front page story in the Washington Post of March 9, 1984, proclaimed, "Black Unable to Join Local DAR Chapter: Race is a Stumbling Block." From the moment it hit the streets, my telephone began to ring: Today Show, AP, UPI, New York Times, Good Morning America, 60 Minutes, Charlie Rose, even Wall Street Journal. They all wanted to know in what century the DAR was living. "Is this what the American Revolution was all about?"

My unspoken response was "what took you so long?" In the words of the inimitable George Costanza, "my stupidity had finally paid off." For two years Lena had gone to teas and receptions hoping to enter the DAR the traditional way - without making waves. Her pleas for help to the National Society went unrequited. My calls got a kind brush-off from reporters: "call me when the story matures," they would say.

The D.C. city council, however, understood the implications of the Post story immediately. The city sacrificed a million dollars annually in tax revenue to the DAR. The expensive real property between 17th and 18th Streets was, and still is, a tax-free zone. At the time of Lena's rejection, the city was about 70 percent black. No black citizen had ever been a member of the DAR.

The drama unfolded for weeks until Lena's law firm, Hogan and Hartson, could iron out a settlement agreement. Signed on May 4, 1984, this document enabled Lena to join with her dignity intact. Although the DAR agreed to bar discrimination in membership, the Continental Congress that April considered an amendment to deny membership to a woman who could not prove "legitimate" descent from a patriot. As is the custom at those boisterous gatherings, there was the traditional plea for "the rebel yell."

The DAR was still barking up the same old tree: although unsuccessful, the amendment was directed toward black women. Many blacks are extremely hesitant to look into the past, for fear of what they might find. The sour fruits of slavery, such as miscegenation, makes some citizens' skin crawl. They run from, rather than embrace, their history. A major hurdle for The Patriots Memorial is convincing these 21st century descendants of slaves that the memorial will uplift them and not cause pain.

When the discussions began with her lawyers, Joseph Hassett and Patricia Brannan, Lena and I knew that suing the DAR for damages was not the way to go. No value could be placed on either her rejection or the rejection of our heritage.

She was convinced there were many decent women in the DAR. This was confirmed by her 20 years of active membership in the Elizabeth Jackson and Margaret Whetten Chapters. After her death, her husband James Ferguson said, "Lena grew to love her chapter and the women. Even when she was near death, she ordered me to pay her dues and show her the cancelled check."

Lena did not want the D.C. City Council to repeal the property tax exemption. She talked about the good work: the scholarships, the library and museum, the schools for native Americans, and the perpetuation of the Revolution. We came up with a solution that allowed the DAR to satisfy the Council's concerns. They would agree to identify "all the black soldiers of the American Revolution," as penance and a way to attract black members - particularly in the District.

A year into the agreement, however, we were baffled by the lethargic pace. Four years passed before the first thin state booklet was published. No progress reports were forthcoming, as required. Without our knowledge, the distinguished genealogist James Dent Walker was terminated.

Eventually, six different Presidents General would snub our pleas for urgency. There would be scores of letters exchanged and meetings conducted, even as the DAR in public symbolically supported The Patriots Memorial.

We, and the National Society, had a brief run of cooperation. This included an inspiring march to the proposed memorial site on the Fourth of July 1985. The Prince Hall Masons, founded by a black Revolutionary war soldier, marched. The SAR marched. Local politicians smiled broadly along the route, from Constitution Hall. These were the same politicians who had wanted to take away the DAR's tax breaks.

This was the best day of my life. Finally, all the pain Lena and I had felt began to melt away. The DAR later would testify in Congress for the memorial. But, surprisingly, the National Society made excuses for not raising money.

Lena's acceptance, the black soldiers research, and the memorial were opportunities for the DAR to shed its past, win public acclaim, and attract a new breed of members - white and black. Even the U.S. Congress had, at long last, acknowledged the role of black patriots in the nation's Independence.

As I scraped the inside of my head for ways to publicize my aunt's battle and the black patriots, we suggested to Congresswoman Nancy L. Johnson that she introduce legislation to honor black soldiers and freedom seekers. President Ronald W. Reagan signed historic Public Law 98-245 in a ceremony in March 1984. Thereafter, Nancy, and then Senator Albert Gore, Jr., enthusiastically introduced legislation (now PL 99-558) to authorize my dream, the Black Revolutionary War Patriots Memorial. They were joined by scores of cosponsors, including Congressman Charles B. Rangel.

After 15 years, the soldiers identification project was still incomplete. The former President General, concerned about dinner guests, had promised to make Lena whole. Since her 30s, and throughout this period, Lena also battled cancer. As the DAR state booklets were published every few years, gently, she would tell me she still could not find her name, or reference to her settlement, anywhere among the numerous credits.

Lena had wanted to write a "Forward" to explain the research to potential black members. She had felt the steely stares and low chatter each time she dutifully entered the Mary Washington chapter house in search of acceptance. My aunt wanted prospective black members to feel welcome. She also wanted them to feel they would not be ostracized by other blacks -- that honoring those black soldiers made their membership noble.

Over the entire period, from 1984 to 2004, Pat Brannan, and her law firm, stuck by Lena without ever charging a fee. Pat asked the DAR, once again, for an explanation. The best the DAR would do was to bury Lena's name in the middle of the other credits when they published a compendium in 2001.

My aunt was 52 in 1980 when she first applied for DAR membership. She was about to turn 73 when she received the last booklet in the mail. Still, she was not made whole. Before she died, at 75, she filed away in her papers the unpublished "Forward" we had written. All of her kind acts, and public remarks, about the National Society had not been reciprocated.

By 1999, the DAR had identified only 1,656 black soldiers. Lena and I knew there were many more. Using an electronic spreadsheet, I discovered that the DAR had missed hundreds of readily identifiable black soldiers. These include ones with names rarely, if ever, given to whites. The DAR also failed to use census records to identify black heads of households who might have served. They could have simply cross-checked them against military records.

Census records, also, could have been used to identify soldiers from among those whose military records were racially neutral. Here's an example: the military record of Cesar Upton of Massachusetts does not list his race. However, he is listed on the 1790 census as black. Upton's first name also should have tipped off the DAR. The first name "Cesar" was seldom given to whites during the 1700s, but was a common name for blacks.

Besides that, the DAR applied such a narrow definition to the term "black" that multitudes of soldiers, described on muster roles as "brown" and "yellow," are excluded and presumed to be "white." Slave masters and newspapers of the period had used these terms to describe runaway slaves. Pat Brannan again wrote to the President General for an explanation. The response was - the project is nearly complete and the terminology is accurate.

By 2000, we applied some external pressure. I began calling the media and posting press releases on the Internet. I sought opinions from 16 outstanding colonial historians. I searched the DAR Patriot Index to determine if any DAR members had joined based upon descent from a "brown" soldier. I sent the President General a list of 300 possible names. To her credit, she conceded that as many as 57 "brown" soldiers were listed.

The Associated Press and others wrote about our displeasure with the research. Without telling us, the DAR, apparently, thought it best to go back to work. They found several hundred more overlooked soldiers. Then, in 2001, the DAR added the new research to the existing batch and published "African American and American Indian Patriots of the American Revolution." I updated the spreadsheets. Still, the research missed hundreds of readily-identifiable men. While the DAR oddly clung to the narrow definition of "black," they did add some "brown" and many "yellow" soldiers, as well as those with traditional black names.

"African American Patriots" now lists five soldiers described as "brown" on muster roles. These men are also listed in the "DAR Patriot Index" of proven Revolutionary war soldiers. At least one of those men, Solomon Bebe, sired two women who became DAR members, perhaps before 1939.

Historian Benjamin Quarles had estimated that 5,000 blacks had served. James Dent Walker, upon becoming the project's genealogist, said "Every estimate is "deceptively low…. No one took the time to examine the records."

Before his termination Mr. Walker revealed, "neither time, money or personnel are available to complete the research." My estimate is that Lena may have saved the National Society more than $20 million by not encouraging the District to repeal the property tax exemption. Even today, District residents may not be getting their money's worth.

In a June 4, 2002, article in the Hartford Courant, "Injecting Race Into The Revolutionary War," the DAR had no real defense to my allegations. Recently, I was told by a writer that they have conceded that "white" women had joined the DAR on mixed race ancestors -- before my aunt and before black contralto Marian Anderson's rebuff.

At the time Lena applied for membership, the DAR boasted a membership of around 250,000. There were 38 chapters in the District of Columbia. Today, the DAR has only around 175,000 members, and just 12 chapters in the District. With Lena's death, unfortunately, there are no black members in the District.

I am offended each time a DAR official pleads colorblindness when asked for the number of black members. Lena's settlement requires chapters to track, and report to the National Society, the names of black women who present themselves for possible membership. The moment the Mary Washington Chapter laid eyes on my aunt, they knew her color.

Once in the DAR, and while the black soldiers research proceeded, Lena and I formed the Black Revolutionary War Patriots Foundation. Eventually, we asked her other DAR sponsor to sign the incorporation papers. Later, I invited her to chair the board, which was composed mostly of black people.

A great historian, and wonderful man, Dr. Benjamin Quarles, had warned me: "beware of politics in a black institution. Keep a journal," he advised.

By 1992, the memorial was well on its way. Everything had been accomplished except the final funding. There was a coveted site reserved on the Mall, near the Washington Monument. The preliminary design, as it appears today, was approved. There was seed money in the bank and a cadre of national supporters.

But friendship turned to spite -- cooperation to chaos. Yada, yada, yada, I was, as a Washington Times headline phrased it, "dumped." Me, my dream, and all the goodwill that Lena and I had worked to build for the black patriots was washed away by vanity.

Because Lena was a woman of integrity, she resigned. She made it clear that she thought the Board, and the woman she had considered a friend, had made the "unkindest cut of all." Lena, now an active member of a DAR chapter, was being forced out of a black organization she had founded. Those men and women had outdone the DAR.

For 12 years, from the outside, I did all I could to make the Foundation accountable and bring back integrity to the cause. Gradually, they began to stew in their own failures. Their pledges rang hollow, and they had no personal story to interest donors. One by one, they dropped out. Lena's DAR sponsor is long gone. The black general, who supported her, is gone.

Sometimes it takes a lifetime to understand the meaning of a struggle. All these years I thought I knew what the memorial was about - it was a memorial to black patriots. But not until after I began to think about my conversation with Compatriot Russell Shearer had I realized this is not a memorial about color. It is a memorial about integrity.

Although my dream had been stolen, I came away with my integrity and fire still intact. I had sold my house and mortgaged my future to move this project along one centimeter at a time. I had always admired the beauty and simplicity in those words of the Declaration of Independence, "we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor."

Now, even after the passage of 12 empty years, there is renewed hope for The Patriots Memorial. And I'm willing to take that pledge all over again.