This column, which usually lambasts the role Texas and Texans play on the national stage, will take a radically different tack this week. The occasion deserves no less. Throughout this week, the University will honor the memory of iconic stateswoman Barbara Jordan, commencing with a statue-unveiling at the Battle Oaks (24th and Whitis streets) at noon on Friday. Jordan, a Houston native, will be the first woman and second African-American to be honored on the UT campus with a statue.
Of Jordan’s extraordinary distinctions, one thing was clear: When she walked into a room, she commanded attention with her towering stature, booming voice and resounding eloquence. And though the rampant sexism and racism she encountered as she rose to political prominence surely had its effects on her demeanor, Jordan always wore her “magisterial dignity like an armor because she needed to,” as columnist Molly Ivins described it.
For a woman who often said she didn’t intend to become a “run-of-the-mill person,” Jordan’s careers in politics, law and education spanned nearly three decades and were anything but ordinary.
Elected to the Texas Senate in 1966 on the heels of two unsuccessful campaigns, Jordan was the first black woman to hold a seat. In 1972, she went on to win a seat in the U.S. House, representing inner-city Houston.
She would gain national fame after two speeches that openly displayed her remarkable oratorical skills and devotion to America’s founding ideals. Jordan’s 1974 speech to the House Judiciary Committee in favor of President Richard Nixon’s impeachment, televised in full, galvanized a nation that longed for accountability.
The second was her keynote address at the 1976 Democratic National Convention, an invitation she recieved largely due to her role in the impeachment hearings. In a true sign of changing times, Jordan was the first black woman to enjoy such a prominent role in an American political convention, making her a household name.
She retired from electoral politics in 1979, later becoming a professor at the LBJ School of Public Affairs and chairing an immigration reform task force at the behest of President Bill Clinton in 1995, a year before her death.
Jordan was most definitely ahead of her time, and much recent political rhetoric has echoed her philosophy. After decades of politics mired in partisanship and pettiness, Jordan’s words have since made a triumphant return to the mainstream of American politics.
President Barack Obama, who has long stressed a shared responsibility for our country’s future, owes a great debt to Jordan’s belief that “a spirit of harmony” can exist in America “only if each of us remembers ... when bitterness and self-interest seem to prevail, that we share a common destiny,” as she said at the ‘76 convention.
In these times, Jordan’s legacy continues to demand our attention not merely because of the obvious obstacles she overcame (born a black woman into both poverty and the segregated South) or the numerous “first” titles she acquired. Seeing Jordan in a historical context alone does nothing to honor her memory.
Now more than ever, it seems as if we need an abundance of Barbara Jordans in public service. Her standards of perseverance, ethical leadership and courage of conviction are qualities any American would desire in a political leader, regardless of party.
She was unique to her moment in history. It is our responsibility to bring Jordan’s legacy and relevance into 21st-century politics, particularly those of us who are tomorrow’s political elite — many of whom undoubtedly walk this campus today.
Cervantes is a government sophomore.
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