See a Magnum Photos gallery of Martin Luther King Jr. and the civil rights movement.
To those who argue that piecemeal health care reform is worse than no health care reform, I have five words: the 1957 Civil Rights Act.
Many of you are no doubt scratching your heads ("There was a 1957 Civil Rights Act?"), and for good reason. This is one of the most thoroughly forgotten pieces of social legislation in U.S. history, in part because it was watered down to nearly nothing—or so it seemed.
But had the bill not been watered down, it would not have passed the Senate. (As is, it passed with 60 votes, which by Senate rules today would be seen as a squeaker.) And if it hadn't passed, the civil rights movements and the more monumental laws of the next few years may have come about much more slowly.
The heart of the bill, in its original form, was a section that outlawed segregation in all aspects of American life—housing, schools, voting booths, public places such as restaurants and theaters—and imposed criminal penalties on violators. Yet it was precisely this section that Senate Majority Leader Lyndon B. Johnson agreed to eliminate in his effort to push the bill through. Prominent civil rights activists, in and out of Congress, were outraged. Many of them argued that it would be better to kill the bill and start over with a new one. (Sound familiar?)
In the end, though, they came around, reasoning that at least this would be the first time the Senate had passed a civil rights bill since the Civil War and that the bill did accomplish a few things, meager though they were compared with the initial goals. They decided, in short, that it was better than nothing.
Robert Caro contends in Master of the Senate, the third volume of his LBJ biography, that the '57 law served as the precedent and prelude to the landmark legislation—the 1964 Civil Rights Act and the 1965 Voting Rights Act—that Johnson would later push and sign as president. Caro is one of the few historians to highlight this connection. Even so, despite devoting nearly 200 pages of his book to a gripping, detailed description of how Johnson maneuvered the 1957 bill into law, he understates—in fact, misses—the impact that the law had just months after its passage.
The '57 law's main accomplishment—which, oddly, Caro doesn't even mention—was the creation of the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights, a bipartisan panel empowered to investigate charges of racial discrimination in housing, education, and voting registration. (For more about the law, click
The first sworn complaint to the commission arrived on Aug. 14, 1958, alleging, as the official docket put it, "that through threats of bodily harm and losing of jobs, and other means, Negro residents of Gadsden County, Florida, are being deprived of their right to vote."
The commission dispatched agents to Florida to look into the charges and to hold public hearings. Encouraged by this development, more black Americans came forward, filed complaints, and told their stories. Over the next 12 months, the commission received petitions about the denial of voting rights from 29 counties in eight states, and it held hearings in all of them.
Medgar Evers, the NAACP's Mississippi field officer, had already been traveling across the state on his own, gathering evidence of voting-rights violations. The commission provided an official public forum for the testimony of the victims he'd found.
Encouraged by this development, the Southern Christian Leadership Council, led by Martin Luther King Jr., launched a Crusade for Citizenship Campaign, shifting tactics from nonviolent protest—such as the boycott that had desegregated the public buses of Montgomery, Ala.—to voter-registration drives. King's staff secretary, Ella Baker, organized this campaign, holding meetings in more than 20 cities across the South, using the commission as an instrument to mobilize black citizens, first as witnesses, then as activists.