Ethiop (William J. Wilson) to Frederick Douglass, January 25, 1852
From Our Brooklyn Correspondent.
The weather is intensely cold, and the sleighing is fine—finer than it has been for many a year, and
"The ringing bells are ringing, ringing, ringing,
And their music is stealing, softly o'er me stealing."
The East River was so completely frozen over on Tuesday morning, that men, women, and children snapped their fingers at the ferry-master, buttoned up their pockets, stepped off the end of the wharf, and passed over from Brooklyn to New York in safety, to the number of at least sixteen thousand, ere ten o'clock. This living column, moving in the dazzling sunlight of the morning, over this glassy bridge, thus thrown across so might a stream by the hand of Zero, in a single night, presented, from Ethiop's point of view, one of the greatest spectacles the mind can conceive of, and more than compensated for the severity of the previous night. Even sleighs crossed and recrossed during the morning. But twice within the memory of its oldest inhabitants, has this river been thus frozen at this point. Once in 1817, on the 5th of February, and in 1821, on the 31st of January.
No delegation, I regret to say, was sent from Brooklyn to the State Convention at Albany. The Convention being called, the differences of opinion here in relation to it (no matter how feeble either these differences or the opinions themselves) should not have prevented the appointment of a delegation, with or without instructions. It may be well to mention here, the fact that a part of the Committee of Thirteen are residents of Brooklyn; all, therefore, that was done by said Committee, was as much the action of Brooklyn, as New York, and as much for the one as the other. But for some unexplained reasons, Brooklyn thought proper to appoint another Committee of nine, and purely local, whose sphere of action should be similar to that of the renowned Thirteen, and whose efficiency, energy, aye, and transcendent ability, would better answer its demands. The looking after a matter so important to us, to the country, and to the world, as this Convention, in some form, then properly belonged to the committee of nine. I am surprised at the course pursued by it. Where are they? What are they doing? What are their intentions? Who will answer? Delicacy, I am told, forbade that portion of the Committee of Thirteen, residing in Brooklyn, from moving in the matter, and hence nothing was done. But it is no part of my mission to waste a word, nor your paper, upon such petty trifles, and therefore proceed to what seems to me most important.
Among the subjects which attract our people here, that of education stands foremost; but it is attraction only. It may be paradoxical to say that we have education, and we have not education. We have enough for all practical purposes, and yet we have not enough to follow the plainest pursuits of life successfully. In this, as in other things, we have greatly erred. With advantages in educational matters sufficient for the purpose, we have reached after its flumeries and its pageantry to the neglect of the reality; and for this reason, have no use for either. The drapery and tinsel of education being the more easily obtained and pleasanter to the eye, what wonder that instead of merchants and mechanics, we have moralists and philosophers. What wonder that speculation takes
the place of facts; that our young men can make better speeches (borrowing a few big words) than they can foot up an account; talk more philosophically than operate practically. We can find no use for the little learning we have obtained. It is not, therefore, for the want of it, but for a knowledge how to use what we have, that we are not a more practical people. While I do not find fault with high-scholastic attainments by our young men, I would prefer, had I choice to make something less, with more practical application, as the better agent for our present exigencies. I venture to affirm that two-thirds of our wealthiest mechanics and merchants of to-day, have less real literary attainments than the clerks in their employ. The draftmen, book-keepers and salesmen, are the book-worms of the establishments. I know of some, fully adequate to all the demands of an extensive business, who can scarcely write their names respectably, and their knowledge of books comparatively no better, aside from their business. I admit the necessity of a learned body of men amongst all classes of community, but they should multiply no faster than their need.
Think of a horde of beggars, no one able to help the other. Though much stress is laid upon education by our people, it is clear, then, that this is not what they materially want at their present point, but something else. Education, to be productive, must be used as a means, and not an end.—It is but the staging, and not the building.—He who views it otherwise, greatly mistakes its use. Of what avail, is it, then, but as an
instrument? and of what avail is an instrument, without use for it, or a knowledge of its use? And yet in our hands it is neither. A silly plaything, an idle toy, and like children, we look at it, play with it, throw it aside, and finally forget we ever possessed it. The fact is our people here will always get learning enough for their purpose. It is the demand, not the supply in their case, that must be increased; the supply will regulate itself. I am induced to make these remarks, partly from some recent observations of our Public Schools, hereabouts, of which we shall speak more fully hereafter; and partly from a survey of a large class of our young men here, employed in steamboats, hotels, and stores, in menial capacities, by men in no way their superiors in what is commonly termed education; except they are behind the great business curtain, which separates the actual from the imaginary. It is painful to witness, year after year, the departure of our youth from our schools, down town, up town, and across town, with hat in hand, begging permission to brush up the crumbs that fall from the tables, and to roll and to hoist the box, the bale, and the barrel, with no hope of ever ascending higher. Our people complain that these men will not promote these lads to clerkships, &c., but continually compel them to remain outside. Now while the spirit of caste attaches itself to us, this will not be done, and we should, under the circumstances, cease to expect of others, what we should do for ourselves, what others will not, nor cannot do for us. First, create our own stores and workshops for our
sons, and then will others, in addition, freely, aye, gladly be extended to them. We must first show a disposition to do, a spirit and determination to undertake, and a capacity to execute; and then others seeing, will have no hesitation in affording due assistance. But while there exists an entire belief, based upon daily observation, of our indifference and incapacity for these matters, it is surprising that the whites do no more for us.—Have we in fact, any real claim upon them. Have any laudable enterprises ever been undertaken by us, that have not been promptly met with a full share of sustenance and encouragement by them.
The truth is, TIMIDITY, rather than anything else, has been the lion of our way—the lion in the streets. "CANNOT," the bug-bear—"CANNOT." These are words; in their contraction, they form "CAN'T; a hideous monster, pursuing us everywhere. It meets us in the street, and in the house, assuming every possible form. It enters our doors, creeps up to the old man's ears, whispering, bids him say, my son, you can't do it, you can't do anything. It bids the mother tell her daughter, my child, you can't do any better. It stalks up before our young men, as he passes out into the street, and with an angry frown, exclaims, you can't do anything, 'tis in vain to try. It enters the very soul of our young
woman, and she is negative being; she can do no one thing, hereafter, with a due degree of feeling; the worm is gnawing at her vitals. It drives the trader from the stand, the mechanic from the work-shop. It scares our children in the streets, when it appears to them as a being, "with skin not colored like their own, but pearly white of hue," and chases them as they pass. It enters the school-room, and bids the boy to cease his exertions; he throws down his books and his slate, and exclaims, I can't!! I can't!! of what us is all this to me? It clandestinely and otherwise enters our whole being, and we, in terror, all go about the streets and lanes, and alleys, with hands extended, exclaiming, can't!! can't!! can't!! and we are henceforth its slaves! O horrid, but subtle monster, what art thou doing with my people?—How long wilt thou continue to reign over them? Terrible monster!! It betakes to every form, and adapts itself to every circumstance. It even now, impudently steals up behind me, while I write, and seizes my elbow, and I can do no mor than to say,
Yours truly, Ethiop.
Brooklyn Heights, Jan. 25th, 1852.