A Political Pioneer

“Go to School, You’re a Little Black Boy”—The Honourable Lincoln M. Alexander: A Memoir might be an awkward mouthful, but many black Canadians of West Indian heritage will understand its meaning. It was how ambitious black parents reminded their children of the minimum required for success. It was certainly the lesson Jamaican-born Mae Rose Alexander drove home to her son, Lincoln, when he was growing up in Toronto in the 1920s and ’30s. Says Alexander, “she was the one that indicated to me that being black you had to excel and reach for excellence at all times; you had to be two or three times as good,” by which he means as good as a white person. Alexander attributes his accomplishments—his career in law, his election as Canada’s first black member of Parliament and his appointment as the country’s first black lieutenant governor—to his mother’s emphasis on education.

His father’s advice would prove equally valuable. Lincoln MacCauley Alexander Sr. worked as a porter for the Canadian National Railway. On returning from his runs he would dump his tips on the table, the substantial extra sums he earned charming his white, frequently wealthy customers. “[One] of the central messages my father left me with,” says Alexander, “was the value of getting along with people.”

Go to School offers a chronicle of Alexander’s impressive career alongside his lifelong struggle against racism. Without a doubt, he cleared the hurdles of mid 20th-century Canadian racism with astonishing facility, going on, in later years, to head up the Canadian Race Relations Board. He tells his story with warmth and shares the considerable challenges of his private life with candour. The book is a brisk, enjoyable read, but sometimes it is annoyingly superficial, especially when it comes to race and politics. Alexander fails to meaningfully connect his struggles as a black individual with those of black people in the United States and around the world. His saga unfolds as a series of isolated, personal battles largely devoid of historical, cultural and intellectual context. His attitude stems in part from his embrace of somewhat romantic mainstream notions about an all-inclusive Canada, which hinder black Canadians from discerning a distinct racial experience.

Lincoln MacCauley Alexander Jr. was born on January 21, 1922. His was one of three black families in his Toronto community. Being different meant he was frequently forced to defend himself with his fists. But he was a good fighter and was not unduly concerned with racist bullies. As a child he was happy and energetic. The book constitutes a family album, containing wonderful snapshots of a young Alexander: a class photo from grade one at Earl Grey Public School; a picture of Alexander posing on his tricycle, the shadow of his father hovering before him; another featuring nine-year-old Alexander and his pals tobogganing at Riverdale Park.

Childhood ended abruptly when Alexander’s father, a chronic philanderer, infected his mother with a venereal disease. Enraged and humiliated, Mae Rose packed her bags and departed for Harlem. Once settled, she sent for Alexander. His new Harlem neighbourhood reeked of poverty. At the same time, he observed blacks occupying a wide variety of professional positions: “Black was everywhere, and it was important for me to see that. In all professions, in all walks of life, blacks were fully represented, and that was a stark difference from the limited career opportunities I’d come to expect in Canada.”

By the time World War Two broke out, Alexander was back in Canada. He won a place in the air force, although the military did not welcome blacks. He travelled to Portage La Prairie and Vancouver in his capacity as a wireless operator, rising to the rank of corporal. After the war he enrolled at McMaster University in Hamilton. During summer breaks he worked in Stelco’s open hearth. The company was eager to hire veterans and Alexander, who graduated near the top of his class, planned for a job in sales, but Stelco refused to hire a black man.

Frustrated, he decided to study law. Upon graduating from Osgoode Hall he again struggled to find work. He articled with a sympathetic Jewish firm and eventually joined forces with Dave Duncan, Hamilton’s flamboyant, outspoken lawyer. Together they formed the country’s first interracial law firm. In the ensuing years Alexander would reconnect with Jack Millar, a university friend. Their new firm boasted a veritable rainbow of partners: one black, one white, an Asian and an aboriginal.

During this crucial period Alexander married his long-time love, Yvonne Harrison, a Hamilton beauty descended from American slaves. In 1960 a group of local doctors organized a trip to Africa. They invited the couple to accompany them. Sponsored by the United Church, the group visited 23 countries, among them Angola, Senegal, Rhodesia and the Democratic Republic of Congo. Alexander describes Africa as a turning point. Witnessing black people asserting their autonomy—the irrevocable expiration of colonialism—inspired him and stirred up his interest in politics.

He had become involved with the Progressive Conservative Party. Tall, strikingly handsome, accomplished and black, Alexander cut an extraordinary figure in the white circles in which he travelled. In the mid 1960s John Diefenbaker approached him about running for a seat in Parliament. Alexander lost his first bid in 1965. In 1968, however, he was elected in Hamilton West just as Trudeaumania was sweeping the country. The first black man elected to the House of Commons, Alexander would serve five consecutive terms, eventually becoming labour minister in Joe Clarke’s short-lived government. In 1985 Brian Mulroney named him Ontario’s lieutenant governor, the first black in the country appointed to a vice-regal position.

Throughout Go to School Alexander highlights the racial attacks that aimed to cripple his self-esteem and stymie his professional progress. Still, I have never before read a memoir by a black man—a politician—that evinces so little intellectual absorption in the racial movements of the day. On his visit to Africa, for example, Alexander was more preoccupied with the Rhodesian restaurant that refused him service than with the fascinating drama involving Patrice Lumumba unfurling in the Congo. And how is it, exactly, that the first black man elected to the House of Commons has so little to say about the assassinations of Malcolm X and Martin Luther King playing out about that time? That’s just weird.

To a certain extent, race—along with time and place—greatly enhanced Alexander’s chances. This in no way suggests a lack of diligence, intelligence or fitness on the part of Alexander. Still, Alexander exhibits great anxiety about impressions of tokenism. Yet tokenism is one of the main ways Canadian racism continues to flourish. And in a book outlining his struggles against discrimination, he ought to have honestly discussed it. Tokenism describes the way members of the establishment can elevate the “special” black who never makes them feel uncomfortable about race; tokenism is the way that the special black can be used to limit the number of talented blacks in any given department; and tokenism is the manner by which that special black may use favour with white people to hinder the advancement of other blacks he or she may find threatening.

I am not suggesting that tokenism played a significant role in Lincoln Alexander’s admirable and accomplished career. I am saying that if you are going to talk about Canadian racism, you should at least describe its true components, and the way it operates, and who benefits, because sometimes black people benefit too.