The Mountaintop: One Black Leader's Courageous Fight for Faith, Justice and Empowerment

By Ty Bledsoe

In 2001, shortly before the terrorist attacks on 9/11, Ty Bledsoe was elected the first black Student Body President at the University of California, Davis in over 50 years and then shockingly disqualified. What ensued after his election was a hostile battle against blatant bigotry and the societal woes of racial injustice and religious intolerance that plague our nation today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 15, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483589169

Book preview

Freedom

INTRODUCTION

The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy. The true neighbor will risk his position, his prestige, and even his life for the welfare of others.

Martin Luther King, Jr.

In 2001, I found myself embroiled in a battle that catapulted me into a level of public scrutiny that was beyond anything I could have ever conceived. That battle set a trajectory for my life that fueled me ever onward. I learned not only to believe that my dreams were possible, but also to chase hard after them, fighting whatever Goliaths might come before me in the process.

I was born in Oakland, raised in Richmond, lived in Fresno, and entered my fullness in Davis. And while nothing in my California life came easy, I established a foundation early on to dream big, blaze trails, and leave a positive impression through hard work, perseverance, and faith.

By sixteen years of age, I was a licensed Pentecostal Minister for the Church of God in Christ, and by the age of 21, following years of coordinating revivals and preaching across northern California, I was ordained as an Elder, or Reverend, by the same Christian denomination. Then, just weeks before my twenty-second birthday, I was popularly elected as the Student Body President of the University of California at Davis.

I wrote this book for those whose dreams have been deferred, whose flames have been snuffed out, and whose hopes have been vanquished. Hopefully, my epic journey will generate a spark in you that becomes a flame and emerges into an inferno—motivating you to fulfill your life's purpose, serve others, and leave a blessed impact on the world. Hopefully someone, somewhere, reads or hears about my journey, and like myself, says, I’m not a victim of my circumstances; I’m not a victim of my environment; I’m neither a victim of bigotry nor hatred, and I will keep fighting for my dreams.

Regardless of your stage in life–whether you have given up on your aspirations, feel you have lost opportunities, or have attained success and are looking for a new venture—hopefully this book renews your faith, rekindles your passion, and propels you to new heights.

I’m compelled to tell my story for the millions of Tys across this country, and tens of millions of Tys scattered throughout the world. Hopefully my journey, my tribulations, and my triumphs will offer a glimmer of inspiration for those fighting despair, yearning for a higher prize, and dreaming of a better tomorrow. I want you to know God has not forsaken you, justice is not blind, and victory is on the mountaintop. Let us begin.

Ty Bledsoe

CHAPTER 1

You can imprison a man, but not an idea. You can exile a man, but not an idea. You can kill a man, but not an idea.

Benazir Bhutto,

Former Prime Minister of Pakistan

On February 22, 2001, I, along with seven other ethnically, socially, and religiously diverse students rocked the University of California – Davis, by sweeping the Student Body election and winning all eight open seats, including the offices of President, Vice President, and six Senate seats. I’d love to tell you that the election and subsequent results, though hard-fought as most elections are, were received with applause and with the recognition that both as a university and a country we were continuing to break racial and cultural barriers.

But that isn’t what happened. In fact, the next two months would prove that in many ways we had not come very far at all.

How It Began

Our political slate was arguably the most qualified, as well as the most diverse and inclusive ASUCD (The Associated Students of the University of California, Davis) slate in the University’s eighty-six year history. It included me, (an African American, Christian male), one Latin American male, a biracial gay male, one biracial female, a Persian, Indian, and Asian female, and one white male. Our ticket was deemed a full slate, meaning we showcased candidates for all eight open student government positions.

Months of due diligence, sleepless nights, and thousands of hours campaigning were worth the toil when the ASUCD Elections Committee Chair announced we not only won, but also swept all eight seats.

Before the Elections Committee chair completed her sentence, our coalition burst into celebration. I was hoisted up by a supporter. Lifting my hands in praise to God, I pointed my index fingers upward and yelled, Jesus, over the raucous celebration. Fittingly, the California Aggie newspaper's next day cover photo captured me in that very moment and the headline read LEAD Sweeps Elections. Our political party and progressive coalition was L.E.A.D., whose acronym meant Leadership, Empowerment, Activism, and Determination.

I can only describe the experience as pure euphoria. The relief of hearing my name announced took a thousand pounds off my shoulders. And the exhilaration surging through my body was powerful.

As the victory started to sink in, I made my way to my family, who sat in audience chairs. Mom, Dad, my maternal grandmother, and my girlfriend all attended the election night gathering in person and shared the experience.

Upon reaching Grandma, I could see her eyes were bright with tears. I saw her chin stiffen and spine straighten as we grasped each other's hands. Overcome with emotion, I looked into Grandma's eyes and said, I did it. The emotion was so intense I could not crack a smile or hold my face still. Similarly, she nodded and said, Don't cry, and with a smile, she motioned me to return to the festivities with my running mates.

I was reminded of Dr. King’s message when he said, Well, I don’t know what will happen now. We’ve got some difficult days ahead. But it doesn’t matter with me now. Because I’ve been to the mountaintop. And I don’t mind. Like any man, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the Promised Land.

In that moment, I truly felt like we had climbed to the mountaintop and were looking over the Promised Land.

But perhaps making history and shocking our part of the world was too audacious, too monumental, and too unsettling for others to bear.

Straight Outta Richmond

If you knew my life before I arrived on the campus of UC Davis, you’d know it was no small miracle I was even in attendance at a university, much less elected as the Student Body President of one.

I was not born on third base or with a silver spoon in my mouth. I was born into a working class family and was raised by my single mother. I thought other households resembled mine, and I did not give mind to coveting others' possessions or flaunting the few items I had.

The concepts of racism, household economic discrepancies, and single parent families were foreign throughout my formative elementary years. As any child would be, I was naïve: ignorant to society's underbelly, the vast difficulties people faced, and the battle they waged to attain their aspirations.

I’ve often heard it said that I was born with two strikes against me. Metaphorically speaking, my strikes were being born African American and out of wedlock to a single mother.

Now, one should not require any case that being African American, particularly in the United States, is an inherent advantage unless one is the beneficiary of a valuable financial inheritance, a wealthy family, or part of a family with powerful name recognition. Even then, I would argue, an African American with the aforementioned benefits still faces considerable social and structural obstacles that his peers from other ethnicities do not face.

Similarly, there is substantial quality research¹ revealing the benefits of a child raised by both parents² relating to the child's quality of life, economic circumstances, educational prospects, self-esteem, and potential future earnings. Fortunately, my mother and maternal grandparents did not dwell on the precarious conditions of my origins, nor on the existing and future societal discrimination, if not outright racial bias, against untraditional community members.

When you recall your past, some details are vivid. You remember blossoming flowers as spring began, the NFL season completed with a Super Bowl victory, the scent of your aunt's perfume, and countless people’s faces, frozen in the moment. One such face I remember is Jimmy The Walker, our neighborhood homeless person who walked insatiably across Richmond and our adjacent East Bay Area communities.

It seemed like Jimmy was everywhere, at the El Cerrito BART station, the neighborhood liquor store, downtown Richmond, and occasionally in the cities of San Pablo or Berkeley. In some sort of dysfunctional symmetry, Jimmy sported new shoes and seasonal coats with worn, dingy attire. As the years passed, Jimmy’s slim physique and silent speed walking remained the same, but his face and hair reflected advanced aging and life on the streets.

I often thought to myself, He’s someone’s son; someone cares for him and someone is providing him resources, so why is he on the street? Even during a visit back home in my undergraduate years, I caught a glimpse of Jimmy as I drove down the street. And then it hit me, Jimmy had been walking the streets of Richmond all of my life. I had observed abject poverty, substance abuse, and severe mental health issues firsthand through the life of this one man. Jimmy was as much a part of our south Richmond neighborhood as any of us were.

Scared Straight

In the mid 1990’s, my family and I moved from south Richmond to north Fresno. Fresno was growing into a bustling Central Valley city with increasing residents from northern and southern California. Fresno was also defined by glaring economic and racial divisions, wherein one’s quality of life and status was partly impacted by the section of Fresno in which they resided. Similar divisions exist in countless American cities today.

North Fresno was predominately Caucasian, with affluent households, high quality public schools, and expensive homes. Being the polar opposite from the north side, west Fresno was overwhelmingly African American. It had less affluent households, higher violent crime, underperforming public schools, and rampant urban decay. And east Fresno had sizable Latino, Hmong, and Southeast Asian populations, with lower median household income, struggling public schools, blighted neighborhoods, and increased gang activities.

Fresno was the first city where I observed distinct ethnic and economic segregation, whether it was intended or unintended. Driving from one part of town to the next, you could not overlook the obvious demographic discrepancies. Upon conversing with residents across the city, I could not ignore divergent opinions about law enforcement, public education, economic opportunity, and race relations among residents.

Based on my experiences, your ethnicity and the neighborhood in which you resided impacted how you viewed problems and opportunities in Fresno. Ironically, I lived on the north side, and I attended Edison High School on the west side. Centered in the projects, Edison matched a traditional urban high school, yet it also featured a college-track magnet program. The magnet school attracted students from more affluent homes who would have typically attended a north side school. It was the magnet program that brought me to Computech (Edison’s Middle School) and subsequently to Edison High School, right in the middle of the projects of west Fresno.

Foolishly, I spent the first two months of my freshman year being a rebellious knucklehead. In the blink of an eye, I went from being a model honor roll student in Middle School to cutting class and hanging out with troubled teens. One fateful morning, I joined two guys I didn’t know and left campus. Not only was this a violation of school policy, it was just about the dumbest thing to do at Edison.

As I mentioned earlier, Edison High School was in the heart of the west Fresno projects, where the majority of the residents were good people, but some neighborhoods were rife with gangs and violent crime. Although I attended Edison High, I did not reside in the immediate, predominately black community, but was bussed in from the predominately white and more affluent north side. I didn’t speak the slang, didn’t understand the rules of the road, nor did I look the part. Traversing on foot during school hours in the proverbial hood was not smart for any adolescent and very dumb for an impressionable freshman with zero street smarts.

Just before returning to the campus grounds, I found myself confronted by two local gangbangers and had a gun pointed at my head. The five of us, two gangbangers, two fellow students and I, stood less than ten yards from the school’s auto shop fence.

The confrontation was over which one of us threw a rock at the wall of an apartment a block away. Unfortunately, I threw the rock and led the sprint away from the projects back to campus grounds. I was oblivious to the fact that the rock had struck the residence of a gangster’s grandmother. I was also oblivious to the fact that two of the gangsters watched the entire event across a barren field.

Upon interrupting our mad run to campus grounds, the gangsters stopped us and began demanding immediate answers. No one claimed responsibility for throwing the rock. Getting severely beaten or stabbed was not an option, so I kept my mouth shut.

Actually, I was the only person to throw a rock, so when asked if I knew who threw the rock, I shrugged my shoulders. And while the other two quickly denied they had thrown the rock, they did not implicate me. Neither revealed that I threw the rock or even so much as gestured in my direction. It seemed as if they had developed instant amnesia and did not remember what just happened. Totally baffled that they did not rat me out as the culprit, I silently prayed that God would somehow allow me to escape a certain horrible ending.

One of the gangbangers pulled out a .22 revolver, pointed the gun at each of us and asked one poignant question, Did you throw that rock at my grandmother’s mother-fuckin’ house? Internally fearful and outwardly poised, I looked the gangster in the eye and said No. Telling the truth would have killed me, I still feel certain of that today.

His growing frustration evident, he yelled, Unless y’all say who threw the rock, I’m gonna put a hot one in yo’ ass.

Edison’s auto shop students watched, only a few feet away, as the gangster spewed his