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But, Black added, "Those at the bottom are really no better off."
By 1966, Congress and the Supreme Court had struck blows against the legal regime of white supremacy upheld by the Bull Connors and George Wallaces of the South.
But King and fellow organizers with the Southern Christian Leadership Conference saw misery in the North as well. Southern blacks who had moved to Chicago in search of better jobs and better lives instead met firebombings and racist housing covenants that squeezed them into crowded slums on the city's South and West sides.
Here, King agreed, was the next great struggle.
Announcing on Jan. 7, 1966, "the first significant Northern freedom movement ever attempted by major civil rights forces," King said Chicago would be the first front in a campaign for justice against the "involuntary enslavement" of blacks in Northern slums.
In Chicago, King said, the objective "will be to bring about the unconditional surrender of forces dedicated to the creation and maintenance of slums and ultimately make slums a moral and financial liability upon the whole community."
Instead of focusing on narrow targets such as lunch counters or buses, the Chicago Freedom Movement would fight everything: slumlords, realtors and Mayor Richard J. Daley's Democratic machine.
"There were people in Chicago who felt proud — both black and white, the activists — that he would come to Chicago," Black said of King recently.
But the going was tough. The civil rights movement had started to splinter. There were more militant activists who disagreed with King's nonviolent tactics, even booing King at one meeting.
On July 10, 1966, King spoke to tens of thousands of supporters at Chicago's Soldier Field and, urging a peaceful protest, vowed to "fill up the jails of Chicago, if necessary, in order to end slums."
Demonstrators inspired by King advanced peacefully into white neighborhoods, where "swastikas bloomed in Chicago parks like misbegotten weeds," King wrote later. "Our marchers were met by a hailstorm of bricks, bottles and firecrackers."
An up-and-coming activist named Jesse Jackson made the boldest play yet: a threat to march into Cicero, a nearly 100% white suburb notorious for violent racism. In 1951, a Cicero mob had attacked an apartment building where a black family had moved; earlier in 1966, four whites had beaten a black teenager, Jerome Huey, to death.
Officials called the march "suicidal" and reached an agreement with activists to improve open housing and desegregation efforts.
By 1966, Congress and the Supreme Court had struck blows against the legal regime of white supremacy upheld by the Bull Connors and George Wallaces of the South.
But King and fellow organizers with the Southern Christian Leadership Conference saw misery in the North as well. Southern blacks who had moved to Chicago in search of better jobs and better lives instead met firebombings and racist housing covenants that squeezed them into crowded slums on the city's South and West sides.
Here, King agreed, was the next great struggle.
Announcing on Jan. 7, 1966, "the first significant Northern freedom movement ever attempted by major civil rights forces," King said Chicago would be the first front in a campaign for justice against the "involuntary enslavement" of blacks in Northern slums.
In Chicago, King said, the objective "will be to bring about the unconditional surrender of forces dedicated to the creation and maintenance of slums and ultimately make slums a moral and financial liability upon the whole community."
Instead of focusing on narrow targets such as lunch counters or buses, the Chicago Freedom Movement would fight everything: slumlords, realtors and Mayor Richard J. Daley's Democratic machine.
"There were people in Chicago who felt proud — both black and white, the activists — that he would come to Chicago," Black said of King recently.
But the going was tough. The civil rights movement had started to splinter. There were more militant activists who disagreed with King's nonviolent tactics, even booing King at one meeting.
On July 10, 1966, King spoke to tens of thousands of supporters at Chicago's Soldier Field and, urging a peaceful protest, vowed to "fill up the jails of Chicago, if necessary, in order to end slums."
Demonstrators inspired by King advanced peacefully into white neighborhoods, where "swastikas bloomed in Chicago parks like misbegotten weeds," King wrote later. "Our marchers were met by a hailstorm of bricks, bottles and firecrackers."
An up-and-coming activist named Jesse Jackson made the boldest play yet: a threat to march into Cicero, a nearly 100% white suburb notorious for violent racism. In 1951, a Cicero mob had attacked an apartment building where a black family had moved; earlier in 1966, four whites had beaten a black teenager, Jerome Huey, to death.
Officials called the march "suicidal" and reached an agreement with activists to improve open housing and desegregation efforts.