A Journey that Began and Ends with Dreams
Delivered by Janis F. Kearney at Federal Judges Conference,
Houston, TX
September 26, 2002
Good afternoon. It's such a pleasure to be here
today, and an honor to have been asked I feel
especially blessed to be standing here
before such an auspicious group, today. I want to thank your program coordinator for all of her help, and for
making sure I didn't forget
to show up here, today.
I really think they were worried about me for a
while.
What a wonderful introduction. Thank you for
that. You know, for some reason, when you hear
other people describe what you've done all
your
life, it sounds so much better than when you say it
to you yourself. Have you ever noticed that?
I meant it when I said, I feel especially
blessed to have been asked to speak to a group such
as you. Frankly, I didn't know there were this many
of you in existence. Over 100 black judges…men
and women, all in one room? No way -- during this
Administration? Sorry, this is not a political
speech, and you won't hear a peek out of me for the
rest of my time up here about the differences
between President Bill, and the Mr. George from
this fine state.
When I was asked to speak to you about the
importance of history, I was thinking, do you
really need me to tell you that, with the Damon J.
Keith Law Collection of African American Legal
History already in place? What a great
organization. I should be up here commending you
for your work on collecting and documenting federal
court and judicial data for the sake of history and
posterity.
Seriously, for a layman, it is rather
intimidating to be standing here in a room of fine,
upstanding, powerful black judges. You are all
very, very important men and women…some of who
have control of people's lives, literally. Some of
you have made decisions that changed the tide for
this country. And, some of you have managed to
attain such lofty goals in spite of the hardships
encountered during your journey here.
But, what makes standing up here a lot easier
for me is remembering what my parents taught me too
many years ago to share… that it's not what
title you wear after your name…or, before your
name that will make a difference in your life. It
is what deeds have gone on between the beginning
and the end of your life. Whether you'll be able to
look back once you make it to the top of that
mountain, and say to yourself: A Job Well Done.
And, of course, I'm speaking to the choir. This
is what some great orator likely told you; or, what
I should be telling young people who aspire to be
judges, mayor, congressmen, senators…and, yes,
presidents. There is nothing between our young
people's realities, and those lofty titles, except
the ability to dream, and to hold on to those
dreams.
Where I come from, way down there in Gould,
Arkansas, dreams were for those whose futures were
already writ in stone. Dreaming was for the
privileged. People like me, a sharecropper's
daughter, one of 17 children and a family who
defined the word poverty…had no right to
dream.
Thank God for parents who demanded that we
dream, who told us the only way you move from point
A to point B in this world is by first, dreaming of
getting there.
You see, when you grow up in the south, in the
midst of the pre-civil rights atmosphere that I
did…there are just some things that you decide
you'll never have to worry about doing, even after
the U.S. courts says it is okay for you to sit in a
classroom with white children; or walk through the
same door to a doctor's office; and, even drink out
of the same water fountain.
Even with those changes, you just never in a
million years imagine that you'll one day be
standing at a podium in Houston, Texas talking
about the journey from the cotton fields of
Arkansas, to the white house!
No, that wouldn't have been on my radar
screen…and, believe me, I always dreamed big
dreams. And, what I've learned above all is that
God works in very mysterious ways.
I was just telling someone earlier, that I was
old enough to vote and marry and have a child
before I saw a black judge in my home state. And, I
was old enough to have married a second time before
I saw a black female judge in Arkansas. I'm very
serious. Black judges were a long time coming to
Arkansas. But, they finally came…thanks to the
same man who helped some of you find your rightful
places on a judge's bench.
And, things have changed in Arkansas, and we
have an impressive number of African American
judges in the state, now…both male and female.
But, Arkansas's past, our infamous past is the
reason why people like me still hold you in such
high esteem, even if we are seeing a lot more of
you in between our daytime soap operas these
days.
Of course…I'm a strong believer in finding
your niche and settling into it. But, speaking of
television and judges, when I was a journalism
student up in the hills of northwest Arkansas, one
of the only other things I wanted to do beside
writing was to be a judge. That is, until somebody
told me you had to go to law school, first. Well,
they didn't tell me then, that some of the smart
judges took a few acting courses on the side, as
well. And I do mean smart…why should judges be
any more one-dimensional than the rest of us?
I commend the judges who are dexterous enough to
act and dispense law at the same time. IN fact,
just a few weeks ago, I was honored to serve on a
panel with the esteemed Judge Joe Brown, the
actor…I mean, the Judge. I am being
silly…Judge Brown was wonderful, and did a
wonderful job of reminding his audience and his
fellow panelists that our civil rights work is far
from over…and told it in a very stately,
judge-like manner.
No, the truth is, I am a member of a family that
has 18 children, and nine of those children are
lawyers -- seven males, and two females. In fact,
two of them have actually dunned that dark
awe-inspiring robe, before. I still contend there
is nothing so satisfying as dispensing justice.
And, if you asked my siblings, I am sure they
would tell you they chose their career in law for
much the same reason as many of you -- a desire to
right some of the wrongs and injustices in their
community, and this world we live in. There is no
question that you are all doing just that, and I
salute you and commend you; and, hope and pray that
in the midst of our new challenges, your critical
organization continues to grow.
But, back to the problem at hand: What does a
lay person such as myself talk about to an esteemed
group of judges from all over the country. Well,
I've come up with at least three things no speaker
should do -- especially right before or after
lunch:
You should not talk long about anything if it's
just before or after lunch.
You should not talk about law, under any
circumstances -- especially if you're neither a
lawyer, nor a judge.
And, you certainly should not make the mistake
of having one of the judges walk out, saying: I
actually miss my black robe about now.
You never know when you might end up in their
court.
So, after all the don'ts were clicked off my
list, I decided I had to talk about something, and
I decided I would take just a few moments of your
time to talk briefly about how I spent most of the
last eight years, and my thoughts on the importance
of documenting and maintaining our history with
programs like the Damon J. Keith Law Collection of
African American Legal History. And, I promise I
will make sure we all get out of here before we
need to get those afternoon naps.
I speak a great deal to young people about
creating their own history, and I usually get some
pretty strange stares. But, let me at least explain
to you. When I say "creating history," I do not
mean, making one's history up, or falsifying or
embellishing one's real history. What I do mean, is
recording chronicling, documenting one's history --
be it, through photos, words, videos, books,
poetry, songs…what have you. The vehicle of
our history is not half as important, as the
completeness of it.
How in the world will we as a people, ever be
able to convince others that our culture is
valuable, if we don't take the time to value it,
preserve it, nurture it -- like so many other
cultures do. In a nutshell, we as a race, have to
learn the simple art of saving, preserving our
stories to assure our place in the future.
I can start by telling you that history and the
documenting of history is dear to my heart. I'm a
collector by nature, and a person who loves the
written word because of it's important as a road
map to our futures, and its validation of our
importance and the importance of the works we do.
No one can take our pasts from us, but we certainly
can lose our own history through neglect or
ignorance.
I am so impressed with the works of the Damon J.
Keith Law Collection, and would love to see that
exhibit in Chicago if it hasn't already been there.
Being new to the Windy City, I'll just have to
investigate that. It was one of your fellow
colleagues, Associate Justice Oliver Wendell
Holmes, Jr., who said: A page of history is
worth a volume of logic. Collecting and
maintaining our historical documents is a must,
today, as the world becomes smaller, and cultures
become assimilated into either, "other," or
"mainstream." As the minority population grows and
diversifies, the African American culture does not
want to be lost. It is our responsibility in this
new millennium to make sure that doesn't
happen..
We are now an educated people with our law
degrees, and our journalism, history, and writing
degrees. We must do a better job of documenting our
own history rather than leaving it to others to do
for us! Remember, George Santayana, in The Life
of Reason, said that, "Those who cannot
remember their past are condemned to repeat
it."
I hope you continue your good work, for the
world and certainly for our community. The lives
and cultures of those who come after us will reap
the rich rewards of your work.
Now, for the next few minutes…if you will
allow me, I will give you a thumbnail sketch of how
I spent the last half of the 1990's. While I was
part of the Clinton Administration all eight years,
I spent six of those years…well, how do I say
it? My role could succinctly be described as the
fly on the white house wall. Now, I know that
doesn't sound real attractive or interesting to all
you fine, upstanding lawyers and judges out
there…but, hey somebody had to do it. Just
remember…this is not a political
speech…
As personal diarist to President Clinton, from
1995 to 2001; I was responsible for documenting his
presidency on a day to day basis. When people ask
me did the president keep a diary, I always say,
absolutely not. It was my job to keep a
diary…not, may I say, to hide any presidential
secrets or distort reality, but to produce a
document that would be meaningful to writers,
presidential historians and biographers,
journalists and students of American history who we
already know will be studying this president till
Kingdom come.
I literally kept a daily diary of the Clinton
presidency. My office was in the west wing, three
doors down from the oval office… Of course,
office is a relative term when you're talking about
the west wing. My space within an office that held
four other people is more like it. Hey, location,
location, location. Being in the west wing was
important to my job. It afforded me access to the
oval office, to presidential events, press
conferences, meetings, and the very important
opportunity to observe the comings and goings of
visitors. My "fly on the wall" status, allowed my
entre' into presidential meetings with a wide, wide
array of leaders and thinkers and doers -- both
national and international..
Because of my job, I met people I never in a
million years, in a million dreams would have met:
Kings and queens and their families, ambassadors
from more countries than I can name, people -- much
like you -- who literally holds whole nations in
the palms of their hands. All of this, you see, was
because of my status as the provincial Fly on the
Wall, gathering pertinent information that would be
historically relevant to the Clinton
presidency.
I feel immensely privileged to have been able to
travel with the president on a few occasions, to be
involved in his day to day activities as a member
of the Immediate Oval Office Staff, and to even
assist the speechwriting office with a handful of
speeches during the years I was there. It was, as I
said earlier, a once in a lifetime
opportunity…but, in the end, what is most
important to me is that this president gave someone
like me the opportunity to help shape American and
presidential history through my personal
observations and my daily documentations.
Another question I get very often (after the one
about whether I knew Monica Lewinsky) is whether
they can get a copy of the diary. I'm sure they are
convinced they'll learn something juicier than what
they learned on Fox TV…they'll be
disappointed, I'm afraid. But, the diary is not
available for public view. There is a very good
possibility that it will be a part of the Clinton
Presidential Library in Little Rock, Arkansas when
it opens in November, 2004. And, please allow me to
send out a shout-out for the Clinton Library, and
implore each of you to put it on your things to do
list in 2004. It will be a magnificent center for
world thinkers, educators and historians.
And, this brings me to a final piece that I want
to share with you…how I got from Gould,
Arkansas to the white house -- of all places. And,
that, my friends, has everything to do with the
importance of dreams…then, and now..
But first, just answer me this: Was not that
"fly on the wall," stint an amazing job? Ask me if
I had to pinch myself each time I walked through
the white house gates into the west wing. Each time
I walked down the hall and saw a president of the
United States sitting at the oval office desk, each
time I attended a press conference and witness my
president standing there speaking eloquently,
intelligently about world issues. It makes me want
to get on my knees and thank my God for such
awe-inspiring experiences.
Now, if you asked anyone who knew me or my
family as I grew up in Gould, Arkansas whether they
would have imagined in their wildest dreams that
this would have taken place…you would have
gotten snickers, first, then a resounding "Hell
No!" And, you would get that same answer from every
person -- black or white - who knew of my family
and my family's dire existence.
You would not have ever received such an answer
from James and Ethel Kearney, my amazing parents.
You know what their answer would be: We taught our
children to dream…and, told them if they dream
big enough the sky's the limit.
You see, I have a lot to be thankful for in my
life; but, nothing more than the blessing of having
such visionary parents who allowed their children
to dream.
I am eternally thankful for these two people
who, without a high school education -- until my
mom, at 51, went to my high school and got her GED
-- raised 17 children in an atmosphere of
segregation, discrimination, abject poverty and
humiliation from both whites and blacks…and,
who, despite it all, remained visionaries when it
came to their children.
We're talking about parents who would never,
ever allow their rag-a-muffin children to say we
can't, we're not good enough or we aren't supposed
to because we're black. Parents born in 1909 and
1917 when civil rights was so far away they could
hardly imagine it…yet, they gave their own
children the freedom, the permission, to:
To dream beyond what was in front
of us
To dream beyond the nights we went to bed
hungry
To dream beyond the tattered clothing that
brought jeers and laughter from our
classmates
To dream beyond the fact that my family's
fate had been already written by both blacks and
whites of Gould, Arkansas, and it was, indeed, a
hopeless fate.
I was allowed to dream and believe that
anything I set my mind to, if I worked hard
enough at it, put my faith in a God, it could
become reality.
The Kearney family, Mr. and Mrs. Judge, were
foolish enough in the midst of our poverty and
degradation to be dreamer -- to believe that our
futures could be something completely different
from our pasts. And, that our futures were in
the hands of God and ourselves…not those
who had already written us off.
I wish some of you would visit Gould,
Arkansas, today and ask…just ask anybody
there what a miracle is. They would tell you the
Kearney family is a miracle and James and Ethel
Kearney were the miracle makers. I thank God
each and every day for those miracle
makers.
Then, for whatever reason or plan God had in
store, Governor Bill Clinton became President
Bill Clinton in 1993. And, unbeknownst to him,
he became a part of our miracle, when I was
asked to join his administration in Washington,
D.C. He became a part of a miracle that he had
no idea bout…but that's the kind of man he
is. And, though this speech isn't about him, and
there may be varied opinions out there about the
man and the president, I can't tell you he is
the kind of man, and the kind of leader that
allows miracles to happen around him, and under
his watch. And, he is and was the kind of person
who encourages miracles to flourish in others.
You see, I believe that in spite of …or,
maybe because of our humanity, our frailty as
humans, God chooses the truly pure of heart to
work miracles through us in big and little
ways.
This, Mr. and Mrs. Judge, was a different
kind of leader; and, yes, a different kind of
white man. And, I am mentioning him only because
he was such an inextricable link to that miracle
that began in Gould, Arkansas…without even
knowing it. Some of you know what I'm talking
about. Some of you were apart of that whole
Clinton miracle-making era. Some of you judges
became judges during those same years that I was
a fly on the wall, and my husband, Bob Nash, was
director of Presidential personnel, and Alexis
Herman was Secretary of Labor and Rodney Slater
was Secretary of Transportation…and there
were 60 white house appointees who looked just
like us -- for the first time in American
history. What you may not know was that there
were people in that white house working very
hard to see you become who you deserved to
become…many like my husband, working until
midnight many nights to make sure that some of
you got past what one mentor called : That Rock
in the middle of the Road, that, in this
instance were congressional hearings, and final
congressional approval.
But, remember, this is not a political speech. I
do, however, recall so well how some of you were
sent through the wringer by a Congress that found
every reason not to appoint good, smart black
judges who had been found to be at the top of their
game at every level. Yet, these same congressmen,
suddenly caught with the shoe on the other foot,
are now calling these filibustering tactics, A
Corruption of Justice, and Political
Obstructionism. Suddenly, questioning a judicial
nominee's ideology is being put up to the light for
analysis…
Of course, my days in the political fishbowl are
long gone, and returning to a civilized life is
absolutely wonderful; but, I have to say: whether
you're a Democrat, a Republican, and Independent,
or "Other," you have to agree that: What was good
for the goose in 1993, has to be good for the
gander in 2001?
It is unfortunate for America that bad politics
so often gets in the way of what's good for
Americans, and I am very thankful that it is people
like you out there working every day to make that
thing called Justice, work for All Americans. .
And, I didn't come here to talk about politics,
but to talk about miracles. And, I daresay my
miracle is no more amazing or incredible than any
of yours. The fact that any of us, especially this
many of us, are sitting in this room, looking this
good, with our impressive degrees and titles behind
us…less than 40 years after were given the
right to vote, and the right to eat with white
America, and to go to school with white America's
children…we've come a long way, baby. It's
nothing short of a miracle.
And, finally, before I take my seat; I want to
take this opportunity to ask you…no, to
encourage you to stay tuned for my upcoming books
that we're hoping will be published next year. One
is a book is called, Conversations: William
Jefferson Clinton…from Hope to Harlem.
This book chronicles Bill Clinton's lifelong work
on the racial issue, and will be centered around
conversations with African Americans about Bill
Clinton, spanning from Hope, Arkansas to Harlem. My
other book is a personal memoir called,
Cotton Fields of Dreams, about my
journey from the Arkansas Delta, to the white house
-- and, my life in between.
Lastly, I want to say that for black America,
the last eight years of the 90's, was a critical
turning point. We almost touched the sky, is the
way I describe it. Almost. There was an opportunity
for the nation to begin healing itself by bringing
the issue of "race" out of the closet and into the
light. Unfortunately, America wasn't ready for
that.
There was an opportunity for America to, at long
last, embrace Africa as a nation worthy of
recognition. We almost did that…not quite.
There was an opportunity for America's health
system and health disparities based on economics
and race, to be addressed head on. The obstacles to
that effort were surprisingly insurmountable.
The 1990's was, in the end, an era of huge
dreams and a reality of our possibilities…of
what we as a nation could do, if we would do. In
the end, it was a fear of change, fear of losing
power and control, fear of losing ground that were
the culprits of what could have been….that
made those eight years less than they should have
been.
I am eternally hopeful in the American people
and our core ideals and God's favor with us. Given
the miracles that have taken place in my own life,
I could be no other way.
So, today, I commend you for this great
gathering, and for all you do in your individual
lives each day. And, today, I implore you in your
very auspicious roles, to continue to make a
difference. Martin Luther King, Jr., during one of
his many eloquent and brilliant speeches, said:
I am here because injustice is here…more
over, I am cognizant of the inter-relatedness of
all communities and states. I cannot sit idly by in
Atlanta and not be concerned by what happens in
Birmingham. Injustice anywhere is a threat to
justice everywhere.
Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice every
where.
Each of you are heroes in your own right. You
are our hopes for our future. So many of our young
men, and, now our young women's futures end up in
your hands. Thank God that you're there, for
injustice remains… everywhere.
Thank you, and God Bless.