Communities gain potential black leaders, while city loses out

12:00 PM CDT on Wednesday, June 29, 2005

By GROMER JEFFERS JR. / The Dallas Morning News

Financial planner Trent Hughes, like many black professionals, moved to North Dallas for a piece of the Texas dream. He wanted to build a business, buy a big house and make lots of money.

Mr. Hughes, 30, also wanted to enhance his career by getting involved in public service.

That's when he learned his first political lesson.

"Everyone kept asking me, 'Why are you running up here?' " he said, acknowledging living in a mostly white area. "They told me if I wanted to win anything, I had to move south and run against my own people."

Defying history and conventional wisdom, a new generation of black residents with political aspirations is starting to emerge in Dallas suburbs. To a degree, the trend is a reflection of the increasing number of African-Americans who have moved to the suburbs over the last decade.

These potential political leaders operate on a lonely trail, however, campaigning in mostly white neighborhoods and away from the cradle of black leadership in Dallas' southern sector.

That disconnect not only leaves the new political aspirants without a significant base of operation, but it also leaves Dallas thirsty for the black leadership that's being sprinkled throughout the suburbs.

"They're going out to Plano and Frisco and areas like that," said state Sen. Royce West, D-Dallas. "Needless to say, it's much tougher out there. The reality is that the political establishment is in the southern sector of Dallas."

Leaders in the Democratic and Republican parties are aware of the new pool of potential political talent.

Calvin Stephens, chairman of the African-American Leadership Council for the Dallas County Republican Party, was recently in Washington to talk with the national party about local outreach to newly transplanted blacks.

"I see it as an opportunity to introduce those African-Americans to our party," Mr. Stephens said. "African-Americans who moved to the northern suburbs are more likely to vote Republican because they live in areas where their neighbors are Republican."

Democrats also see opportunities to expand their base, particularly in suburbs such as Cedar Hill, DeSoto and Duncanville, which have a large number of black Democrats.

"There are some out there who are watching and waiting," said former Dallas County Democratic Party Chairwoman Susan Hays. "There's a critical mass of black and brown professionals who are not involved in the party because they have not been asked. It's a matter of how you organize them and get them going."

Among 28 metropolitan areas with at least 1 million people and at least 10 percent black households, the Dallas-Fort Worth area had the fifth-biggest gain in affluent black households during the 1990s, according to an analysis by The Dallas Morning News.

Among the most interesting increases were in suburbs such as Coppell, Frisco, Cedar Hill, Lancaster and Mansfield, where black professionals are concentrating on building careers and raising families.

So far, the increased number of black professionals in the area's suburbs has not translated into increased black participation in politics and government.

And these new potential political players are not competing in the arena that includes established black politicians in southern Dallas.

It was there, when the migration of African-American professionals to the Dallas-Fort Worth area took hold in the late 1980s and early 1990s, that a new era of black politics took shape.

In 1995, Ron Kirk, a former Texas secretary of state, was elected Dallas' first black mayor.

Three years earlier, Eddie Bernice Johnson was elected to the U.S. House after serving in the Texas Legislature. As head of the Senate Redistricting Committee, she was able to draw a congressional district that suited her.

A decade earlier, John Wiley Price became the only black person on the Dallas County Commissioners Court, while southern Dallas activists Al Lipscomb and Diane Ragsdale were elected to the Dallas City Council.

Terrell Bolton became Dallas' first black police chief under Mr. Kirk's watch – and though the appointment was unpopular in some quarters, it was another sign of progress for many longtime black residents.

There were also gains in the suburbs.

In Arlington, Elzie Odom, the city's favorite grandfather, became mayor and presided over much of the city's economic expansion.

Denton County Commissioner Bobbie Mitchell became Lewisville's first black mayor in 1993.

In 2001, Bernetta Henville-Shannon became The Colony's first black mayor.

But since that notable string of successes, black influence in politics and government has plateaued.

A decade ago, six black people were on the Dallas City Council, including Mr. Kirk.

Now, there are four black members on the council and few prospects waiting to replace them. This year's most watched council race was a grudge match between 66-year-old incumbent James Fantroy and Mr. Lipscomb, 80.

Black leaders say the area is ripe for political opportunities for black professionals – when they begin to focus on politics.

"Many African-Americans transferred here to work in telecommunications and other technology fields located in Legacy Park and the Plano area," Mr. Kirk said. "They had no real nexus to the central city or local politics."

Mr. Kirk noted that the priorities of the most recent generation of professional African-Americans are different than the goals of those who sprang from the civil rights era.

That movement produced black leaders such as Harold Washington, Tom Bradley and Andrew Young. They would later become mayors in Chicago, Los Angeles and Atlanta – all cities that enjoyed an influx of black professionals.

"There has been a natural progression to entrepreneurship as the next domain for us," Mr. Kirk said. "The next frontier is all about owning a business and job creation."

Ms. Mitchell agreed.

"The doors are not locked, but you've got to make an effort to push them open," said Ms. Mitchell, who got involved in local politics in 1985 because she had a high water bill and was somewhat bored.

When she ran for mayor, black residents made up 5 percent of Lewisville's population, but only two contributed to her campaign.

"People are working, raising families and doing other things," she said. "They are waiting for someone else to get involved. They don't realize that they can have an impact, no matter where they live."

Ms. Mitchell, originally from Grapevine, urged black professionals not to be intimidated by the mostly white political environment around Dallas.

She conceded that her road to election was perhaps more difficult than her white predecessors and that she frequently had tough re-election contests.

But overall, her political experience was positive.

"I am so at home in Lewisville," she said. "I can go anywhere and be treated with such grace."

While Ms. Mitchell was able to break through in fast-growing Denton County, few new leaders have emerged in Dallas.

What's more, local African-Americans don't have established political clubs or organizations that can introduce them to politics or train them to be candidates.

While the Democratic and Republican parties recruit black candidates, most of the area's cities have nonpartisan elections.

Some fear that the lack of political recruitment and training programs for black residents could result in a new generation of leaders being locked out of the process.

And with most of the growth being in the suburbs, potential leaders are scattered across the metroplex.

"We don't gather together to discuss the issues," said Dallas Urban League executive officer Beverly Mitchell-Brooks. "We're so busy surviving in our own zone that we don't see the importance of strategizing."

Ms. Mitchell-Brooks said that Dallas-area African-Americans are missing out on the economic benefits that black political leaders can bring.

In Atlanta, Dallas native Maynard Jackson not only opened up City Hall for a bevy of new potential leaders as mayor, but black business owners were able to win numerous contracts for projects that included the development of the Atlanta airport and other public-driven ventures.

On a smaller scale in Dallas, black contractors were able to score work on American Airlines Center, which Mr. Kirk shepherded through the council and a public vote.

Some transplanted black professionals, particularly those who live in Dallas, complain that older politicians locked them out of the process.

"If we wait on the leadership to create additional opportunities for us, then it won't happen," said Linus Spiller, an information technology manager from Flint, Mich., who has run for Dallas City Council twice and lost. "People are used to the status quo, and it's hard to scratch the surface with new leaders in the southern sector."

But Mr. Price, the county commissioner, said new black transplants should not expect to get prominent political posts immediately.

"When I came along, there were people who said, 'Come and work in the vineyards,' " Mr. Price said. "It's about how much work you're going to do in the vineyards. It's about sleeping on floors and working in campaigns."

That philosophy is shared somewhat by Dallas lawyer Michael Sorrell, who dreamed of being mayor of Chicago when he was growing up on the city's South Side. When he moved to Dallas in the 1990s, he was inspired by the Kirk mayoral campaign.

"I was willing to do anything and everything to help him get elected," Mr. Sorrell said. "The experience helped me develop relationships with people who helped shape Dallas during the last 10 years."

Mr. Kirk's 2002 Senate campaign introduced many suburban blacks to politics.

"There are fewer and fewer African-Americans living inside the city limits," Mr. Sorrell said. "The Kirk campaign gave those living outside the city the ability to participate in a major political event."

Since 2002, not much has happened in the political arena for suburban blacks. But political analysts say those transplants driven by the pursuit of wealth or career eventually will gravitate toward politics.

"When you talk about political growth, it can take quite a long time," said David Bositis, a senior analyst for the Joint Center for Political and Economic Studies, a black political think tank based in Washington, D.C. "It takes time to come up through the ranks."

Meanwhile, a new but small crop of black politicians is appearing on the political landscape.

In 2006, Dallas lawyer Craig Watkins is expected to make another run for Dallas County district attorney.

He will be opposed in the Democratic primary by longtime federal prosecutor Larry Jarrett, another African-American transplant. There may be more contenders when the field is set next year.

Southern sector blacks also are hoping for a new beginning.

In May, black voters overwhelmingly rejected a strong-mayor proposal pushed by Dallas Mayor Laura Miller. Some political observers called it a political rebirth for the southern sector.

"I see a new generation of African-Americans that are starting to throw their hats into the ring," said Mr. West, the state senator.

There is also hope for the political prospects of Mr. Hughes and Mr. Spiller.

After beating him twice, former council member Sandy Greyson appointed Mr. Hughes to the influential Citizens Police Review Board. Council member Steve Salazar, who beat Mr. Spiller, appointed him to the city's Environmental Health Commission.

Some are trying to develop ways to initiate black professionals into the political process.

Veteran political consultant Kathy Nealy later this summer will conduct candidate classes.

"They don't know how to get connected, and we don't have the organizations to help them that we used to have," she said. "But we have to make sure our new talent learns how to be successful candidates. We have to develop the leaders of the future."

E-mail gjeffers@dallasnews.com