In Black America; No Fear, with Dr. Marsha Coleman Adebayo; Part 1

From the University of Texas at Austin, KUT Radio, this is In Black America. And of course, you know, I'm young and I'm enthusiastic about the work I've taken on and it was my dream job because that's what I'd always wanted to do is to work at the United Nations. And the first day I get to Ethiopia, you know, you're sort of tired and you go to bed and the next day I opened my windows and outside of my door made my window. It's like a small little camp of people who are, you know, struggling to cook food over wood and a lot of illness and people who had migrated from the drought area to the city for releases from medical assistance. And I was just that first day was probably the most difficult day because I was confronted with, you know, am I really capable? Do I have the skills? Do I have the stamina? Do I have what it takes?

Dr. Marsha Coleman Autobio, author of No Fear, whistleblower's triumph over corruption and retaliation at the EPA published by Lawrence Hill Books. Coleman Autobio was a senior policy analyst at the EPA when she discovered that a U.S. mining company was responsible for poisoning residents in a town in South Africa. When she brought this case to the attention of our supervisors at the EPA, she was told to shut up and then deny the promotion. In 2000, she won an historic lawsuit against the EPA based on race, sex, color discrimination and a hostile work environment. She testified before Congress twice, leading to the passage of a No Fear Act of 2002 to protect whistleblowers. The notification of fellow employees anti-discrimination and retaliation act passed unanimously by the U.S. Senate and was signed into law by President George W. Bush. It was the first civil rights and whistleblowers law of the 21st century.

I'm John L. Hanson Jr. and welcome to another edition of In Black America. On this week's program, No Fear with Dr. Marsha Coleman Autobio, In Black America. What happened was when I first mentioned this issue to people in my office, I was told to shut up. And I didn't know why. I didn't know why. Every time I mentioned Vanadium, everybody just went blank on me. And everybody was so, you know, it got to a point where it just became one of those things you ever mentioned this again kind of conversations. And I just kept talking about it because I wanted to know what was so horrible. What was going on in South Africa that was so horrible that I couldn't bring it up in a meeting. We couldn't have a conversation about it. And when all of my efforts were rebuffed in the agency, I reached out to the non-governmental community.

The community that I know is interested in Africa. And they tried to get the agency to address this issue. And by that time the agency knew that I really wasn't going to take my teeth out of this. And so they called me into a meeting and they removed me from the project. As a young African American, MIT, PhD, social scientists, Dr. Marshall Coleman, Audubi, landed her dream job at the EPA, working with former vice president Al Gore, assisting post apartheid South Africa. But when she tried to give the government to investigate allegations at a U.S. multinational corporation were responsible for the death of hundreds of South African mining and vital mineral, she found that the EPA was the first line of defense for the corporation. When the agency Stonewall, she blew the whistle. Born and raised and destroyed Michigan, she earned a doctor degree from MIT and worked with the United Nations before joining the Environmental Protection Agency in 1990.

During her time at the UN, she also developed an expertise in African developmental issues. During her tenure at the EPA, she requested that the agency devoted attention to environmental problems in South Africa that were allegedly caused by an American company. In a book, she says the EPA would need on promises to investigate the matter. And the harness she pushed for change, the more she faced a backlash from her superiors. Recently in Black America, spoke with Dr. Marshall Coleman, Audubi. I grew up in Detroit, Michigan, went to Montfort High School, and then from Detroit, it had a really wonderful, wonderful experience in Detroit. Unlike what most people hear about Detroit, Detroit was a fabulous place to grow up, and we were growing up in Detroit with the Motown Revolution and the Trade Union Movement, and just a political environment in Detroit was just incredibly rich.

And left Detroit and went to Barnard College in New York City, which is the sister school to Columbia University, and studied economics there. And then went from Barnard College to MIT, where I received a PhD in political science. I was fascinated in reading a book that your mom wanted you to go smell college air? In Wayne State University. She tells about that. It's really one of my favorite chapters in the whole book, because it was a tribute to my mother. The high schools in Detroit, like a lot of high schools throughout the country, track students into certain categories. And since I was coming from a predominantly black school, doing sort of the integration period, they immediately tracked me into special education. And so when my mother saw that I was in special education, my mother was like a hundred percent obsessed with education. And so when she saw that I was tracked into special education, which is a euphemism saying I was being tracked for the assembly line at Ford or Chrysler, she made a decision to actually go to the school, really confront the principal about this.

And immediately I was transferred from special education to college prep, and then my mother still wasn't satisfied because she wanted me in the Arnage program. So from the very beginning, the school system was biased towards black students, and it was really sort of the ferocity of my mother that sort of thrust me into an Arnage program. But what my mom would do every Saturday is we would, I had piano lessons in downtown Detroit because I live in a northwest side. And so she would take me to my piano lessons, and after piano, she would always say, you know, I want you to, we're going to sort of drive by Wayne State University. And we would go near the university, and I knew clockwork, she would stop at this one door, and she'd say, Marcia, why don't you go into the door and stand in the corridor and take deep breaths. And I want you to breathe college air. Well, you know, as a 15-year-old, I would have rather tied a monkey around my neck. It was just so embarrassing.

But my mother would just say, well, you know, we'll just stay here until you do it. So, you know, it's up to you how long you want us to stay here. And so eventually, I just became used to every Saturday, walking into the corridors of Wayne State University, standing in the corridors and taking deep breaths, and then leaving. And it wasn't until I was literally sitting in a classroom at MIT. And I had to, I didn't understand it at first, how my mother had programmed me. But I used to always get to the classroom at MIT, like 30 minutes before class would start. And I'd take my books there, and I would just read and prepare for the class that was coming up. And then one day I'm sitting there in a classroom, and I'm taking these deep breaths, and I'm thinking, this is what my mother did to me. This is why I met MIT, because my mother forced me to breathe college air. So, it was one of the tributes that I paid to my mother in my book with this chapter called Breathing College Air.

How did Bernard College prepare you for MIT? It was a women's environment. And at Barnard, we were told that women could do anything that all of us at Barnard is a very small elite women's college. And we were all taught every single day that we were there, that we were the best things since light's bread, that we were the smartest. We were the most beautiful, we were the most talented, we were the most everything. And the drum beat starts the day you enter Barnard, and it doesn't stop until the day you graduate. Every single day they're filling your head, which is how wonderful you are. And in many ways, it reinforced with my mother had taught me in Detroit. And so when I, and now in that, but of course the academics at Barnard was just unbelievable. The resources and the teaching. And we had our share of racism at Barnard. There's no question. We were the largest black class to ever enter Barnard until very recently.

And certainly the college was unused to having a lot of black women on campus. And we lived together. We all lived together on what we call the black floor. And so we created our own community, our own loving relationships with each other that has existed all the way to now. We still meet every two to three years, some part of the country. We get together and we, and we have any events. So those relationships have survived over the years. So when I got to MIT, MIT was totally different at that point. It was like 90 percent male. And I think there were only two or three women in my graduate class. And so it was a totally different environment. But because I had really been so saturated from high school to college and just sort of knowing who I am as a black woman, feeling really comfortable in my skin, and knowing that I was prepared to confront an environment like MIT, I did pretty well there.

What made you give up studying law? Oh my goodness, you really did read my book. Oh yeah. Yeah, I was one of the first JDPHD kind of, you know, I guess, guinea pigs. And at that point, they really, the programs had not been tweaked. So I would go to Harvard in the morning, Harvard Law School, and take courses in the morning, and then have lunch quickly and then race back to MIT to do PHD program. And it was just overwhelming. But also, I was at that point confronted with studying something that I really didn't love, which was law. I didn't love studying law, and I definitely didn't love the very competitive environment within Harvard Law School. And I absolutely adored the PHD program at MIT where people were sitting there and learning, and it was a much more intellectual environment that just suited me better. And so I think if I had taken law and then taken a PhD, I would have probably would have done both programs.

But since it was on the same day, and I loved one and didn't love the other, and I was 22 years old, I dropped out of law school. And you met your husband at MIT, and you thought he was kind of stuck up or didn't see you and come to find out he was somewhat shy? Yeah, yeah. It's interesting how we sort of don't get the signals right. My husband was like, you know, like the smartest guy on campus, I suppose, every moment sort of talking about the boy genius. And so when I met him, I sort of heard all this conversation about this really smart guy. And so when he was just sort of not very friendly, I just assumed he was sort of stuck on himself. And I just thought, well, you know, this is not, you know, he's not interested. And then as it turns out, we ran into each other at a party.

And you know, he just sort of was a bit looser, and we started talking, and then we ran into each other on campus. And then I think he invited me to the Student Center and was sitting there drinking coax and I realized that the guy is just really shy, you know. And then we became friends. We were best friends, buddies for years before, you know, before we even thought of each other as anything outside of being buddies. And that was quite some time ago and two kids ago. If you're just joining us, I'm Johnny O'Hanston, Jr. And you're listening to In Black America from KUC Radio. And we speak with Dr. Marshall Coleman all day bio. She is the author of No Fear of Whistleblower's Triumph Over Corruption and Retaliation at the EPA. First job out of college was after the United Nations? No, the first job out of college was really at the professor at American University here in Washington, D.C. And after I left AU, I went to the Congressional Black Caucus Foundation.

And I was one of the people that helped, I think, think through organized, get started, whatever, the international section for the Congressional Black Caucus Foundation. And that was really, really a very, very interesting position that I held. I was the senior policy, foreign policy analyst. And so I got a chance to work on the anti-apartite movement for the Black Caucus and the invasion of Grenada. And really saw how Congress worked from the inside out. And that was absolutely fascinating. And of course, all of that information was instrumental when it came time to mount a struggle for the passage of the No Fear Act. So I was able to sort of really rely on some of the inside relationships I had and just the knowledge I had gained during my early work years. And then after I left the Congressional Black Caucus and the UN had become attuned to my work for the caucus.

And then I was invited to join the United Nations. And it was in the United Nations that I represent the UN, UNF, so at that point, to Ethiopia and to Tanzania. And just had this invaluable and Uganda, just had invaluable work experience at the UN. It's really been the highlight of my work career of everything I've done. The UN was, I think, the most interesting work experience I've ever had. When you were traveling to Africa over a period of time, you weren't having a very first day when you arrived in the country in different places. In Ethiopia. In Ethiopia, right? Yeah, it was, it was, it was a difficult time when I was there. Ethiopia was in the midst of a major drought and famine. And I was bushy-eyed and, you know, a cooler says, I had drugged the coolate, I suppose. I, you know, I thought I was up to the job of dealing with underdevelopment.

And of course, you know, I'm young and I'm enthusiastic about the work I've taken on. And it was my dream job because that's what I'd always wanted to do is to work at the United Nations. And the first day I get to Ethiopia, you know, you're sort of tired and you go to bed. And the next day I opened my windows and outside of my door, I made my window. It's like a small little camp of people who are, you know, struggling to cook food over wood and a lot of illness. And people who had migrated from the drought area to the city for relief and for medical assistance. And I was just, that first day was probably the most difficult day. Because I was confronted with, you know, am I really capable? Do I have the skills?

Do I have the stamina? Do I have what it takes? To really sort of jump into what a situation that was this total misery, total and complete misery and death. Do I have that stuff to do that? And I remember going to a church because I'm, you know, my grandfather was a Baptist minister. And so I was raised in the church. So I remember finding my way to a church just because I needed prayer. And I needed to feel the presence of God. Because I certainly didn't want to add to the misery of the people I had come to help. And so I just remember praying in the church and leaving sort of, feeling strengthened and empowered to do the work that I thought God had set to my hands. And I remember leaving this little beautiful church and this woman walks up to me. And she was beautiful, typical Ethiopian woman with the high cheekbones. Just very graceful and beautiful.

She had this little bundle on her hand. And I had left my own son at home by that time. I think he was maybe six months old. And I was, you know, filling lonely for him, missing him. And then she sort of handed me this baby. And I took the baby and I was so grateful to be able to hold the baby. And the mothers will understand what this means. I was just, I almost had this pain. Because I wanted so much to be with my own child. And as I was sort of unfolding, pulling back the blanket. You know, I realized that the baby was dead. And my knees buckled. We just held the buckles. And I almost fell to the ground. Because I had never held a baby like this before. But I remember just sort of stabilizing myself enough just to hand the baby back to the mother. And I jumped in the next cab and went back to the hotel. And that's another place where my mother comes into the story. Because I waited until at least maybe five o'clock in the morning in Detroit.

And I call my mother. And I just said, I'm on my way home. I can't do with this. This is more misery than I have than I bargained for. Yeah, this is more than I can handle. I didn't come here to do this. You know, this is too real at this point. And my mother and her wisdom, she sat there and she listened to me go on and on and on, babble on and on about what was going on. And then when I stopped to take a breath, she said, are you finished? And I said, yeah? Because I didn't know what she was going to say. And my mother gave me, I think, the most profound, profound advice I've ever heard. She said, you know, you don't cut and run. You do not cut and run. You have the skills, you have everything it takes to help these people. You must stay and you must punch through your fear. I just remember punching through fear because that was, that became sort of a scene throughout, in many ways throughout my life, was punching through the fear.

How did you arrive at the environmental protection agency? Well, after I left the UN, I went, and I went to work at the World Wildlife Fund. I worked there for a couple years doing, again, African development work, but now with people who surround national parks like the Mossai people. And then after I left that, the president of the World Wildlife Fund became the administrator of EPA. And so essentially I followed my boss to EPA. And you became a senior policy analyst there? Yeah, I became an analyst. I had in many ways the dream job because I was the EPA liaison to the United Nations. And so all of my contacts and experience at the UN was brought to bear now for the EPA. And so it was really a complete circle at that point. But that was when I really began to see, when I went to the EPA,

I had not worked for a government agency before. And I felt like I was back in the 40s and 50s at EPA. You know, you have basically white men, white women at the very top, and you have blacks at the very bottom. And everybody expected everybody to know what role they should play. You know, who they could talk to, who they couldn't talk to, who they could have lunch with, who they couldn't have lunch with. It was a very draconian and backward environment that I found there. I was somewhat taken back. You were late for a meeting. And when you arrive at the meeting, I assume your boss said, that's all right. We'll make you an honorary white man today. No, I wasn't late actually. You weren't late. The meeting was at a certain time. And people were sitting around the table. Okay. People were coming in. But I think the majority of people were there. And I walked in.

I think I just come from maternity leave, actually, with my second child. And when I walked in, my boss, I think people were sort of making jokes about. You know, the fact that they had black people now in the office, because again, we were the first set of black people. Was you in Franklin? Franklin, right. There were three of us all together. But we were sort of the first set of high ranking African Americans in this office. And they were struggling. They were struggling. What does it mean to have black people at this level? And I think they were just sort of... I think they were probably having their own little conversation when I walked into the room. And so what my supervisor said to me was, you know, look, you're welcome. You're welcome to be a part of the meeting. You know, we consider you an honorary white man. And, you know, I looked... I mean, it was just...

I was so taken back that I literally just had no words. I mean, you know, I mean, I had worked at the United Nations, which is, you know, predominantly colored, you know, brown and black and yellow. And so now I'm in an almost all white environment at EPA. And here I am being insulted. And I remember these are my colleagues around the table that I have to work with every day. And I was the butt of a joke, you know. You're an honorary white man. I looked around the room and everybody was basically laughing at me. And then my other colleague, Franklin Moore, who's a black male, he walks into the office. And they're still laughing at me and having a great time at McFence. And when they walk into Franklin walks into the office and they go, oh yeah, you come in too, you can also be a white man. And Franklin, what? He wasn't going for it. He wasn't going for it. You know, he said, oh no, no, no, no, you don't understand. You are not going to do this to me. You know, I lived in South Africa where I had to have honorary white man stamped on my passport every time I entered the country.

And you are not going to call me an honorary white man. And I remember my supervisor looked at Franklin and said, hold on, cowboy. I went to the same school as Jackie Robinson. So I know something about racism. And Franklin looked at him and said, you do? Just because you went to the same school. And Franklin was a huge fan of Jackie Robinson. So he knew the pain and suffering that Jackie Robinson went through to break the color barrier. Probably it caused his death. And, you know, the stress of what he went through was so horrific. And Franklin just said, no, no, no, you're not getting away with this. How did you become involved with the South African Commission, with the transition from apartheid when Nelson Mandela was president and became president?

You know, I arrived at EPA the same year that Nelson Mandela was released from prison. And so the U.S. government at that point was struggling with how do we, at least on the surface, support the Nelson Mandela government. And so vice president Al Gore, with deputy president, Topo and Becky from South Africa, organized a commission called the South Africa, the U.S. South Africa by national commission. And it was affectionately called the Gore and Becky Commission. Right. And so I was approached, because I was the only person in the agency, who, I mean, I'm a political scientist, but my specialization is in Africa. So I was the only Africanist in the agency. And so outside of Franklin, Franklin had to take a massive degree in African studies. And so they approached me, and I think Franklin had left the agency, he had just had enough of EPA by that time, and he was working for AID. So they approached me and asked me if I would be the EPA liaison to the White House

to provide leadership on behalf of the agency to work with the South African government to help them work through sort of the growing pains of going from an independence movement, liberation movement to a government in the area of environmental protection. And when did you come to find out some of the atrocities that were happening in Brett South Africa? Yeah. It didn't take very long. We had a study tour that I organized to bring the new South African leadership, the ANC primarily leadership, from South Africa to MIT, as it turns out, for training. I had organized a training program for them at MIT and at Howard University. And during a training program, this one South African leader named Jacob Unkind. He approached me and told me that one of our companies, U.S. companies poisoning a community in South Africa.

Dr. Marsha Coleman, Audubile, author of No Fear. We will continue our conversation on next week's program. If you have questions, comments, or suggestions that's your future in Black America programs, email us at jhanssonhansson.org at kut.org. Also, let us know what radio station you heard us over. The views and opinions expressed on this program are not necessarily those of this station or of the University of Texas at Austin. You can hear previous programs online at kut.org. Until we have the opportunity again for technical producer David Alvarez, I'm John L. Hanson Jr. Thank you for joining us today. Please join us again next week. CD copies of this program are available and may be purchased by writing in Black America CDs. KUT Radio. One University Station. Austin, Texas. 78712. That's in Black America CDs. KUT Radio.

One University Station. Austin, Texas. 78712. This has been a production of KUT Radio.