He was There at the Beginning, and Now He is with the Ancestors

The first time I ever heard James Myart's voice I did not know if he was an aristocrat or what. I knew he was an attorney, but I seriously could not tell if he was white or Black. It was a Friday afternoon in the Spring of 1994, and I was home after a week of teaching, supervising, and doing therapy. The phone rang, and he told me that my friend, Tom Milholland, had sent him to me. 

We talked. He asked a lot of questions. I answered them, and then he said, "Dr.  Hinson I think I have failed to communicate to you the seriousness of our concerns," to which I replied, "Obviously I don't so tell me about your concerns. 

For the next fifteen or twenty minutes or so he rifted about the injustices done to Black farmers. 

It was there that he snagged me. A few weeks later, he strolled into my office with a gentleman from another state who had been screwed over by the county committee of the FSA/USDA. Game on. Tell me what I need to know. 

James was a powerhouse of a human being. Short in stature but powerful in personality and demeanor. 

What I learned later, which James actually tells in the documentary is that a farmer and his wife were watching television and on the news channel out of Abilene was a Black attorney representing a white couple who had been fostering a Black child, who now wanted to adopt him. Against all odds, James won that case. The farmer couple talked to the attorney and said, we want you to be our attorney, but that required money that they did not have. James never expected to hear from them, but a few days later, a certified check came in the mail. 

My friend told James to call me, and that's how it all started, and I've never looked back, and I have James Myart, attorney, San Antonio, Texas, to thank for that. 

James required reports that had to be filed with the federal government. I complied and wrote and took notes on hundreds of pages. I went from Texas to Louisiana to Georgia. He opened the door by simply telling Black farmers, "you can trust him. He's one of us." And they did. 

Collaborating with James meant suiting up and showing up at a mediation hearing in DC in August, 1997. He was settling their cases via the Administrative Law Procedure, but damages had to be negotiated. That mediation hearing was intense. The representative for the Department of Justice did not want me there, but James argued for my presence. I spoke while the attorney for Justice played taps on the glass table top with his sharpened pencil. Just a few minutes before that, James and this attorney for Justice had almost come to blows. On that day, I knew that what we were up to was huge, so I drew in pencil the table, who sat where, what the relationships were like, and who sat along the back wall. It was a serious event that I'd been invited to. I knew what my role was because James had defined it well. That's a story for another occasion. 

From then on, my office and I were in contact with James often. He needed updated reports or he needed an updated statement of charges. 

Then, after a while I lost track of him. He would appear periodically with ideas he'd run by me. I was always moved by how he'd stay in touch with me and the speed with which he could voice his ideas. 

Simply put, there would not be a Black Farmer Movement without James Myart. I have believed that for several years, and heard it from another advocate just last week. Between 1997 and 1999 fifteen cases of Black farmers were settled with the USDA/DOJ. I don't recall exactly how many had James as their attorney. I worked with him as psychological consultant on four of the fifteen, four of the first that settled with the USDA/DOJ, but he represented more. 

Later, when the Pigford v. Glickman class action suit was filed, I was in touch with James again. We talked on several occasions about how the case had turned out. I think he felt some deep remorse that he did not do more for farmers. On the other hand, I sensed in him a deep rage and resentment that another attorney had taken his work and had made millions of dollars off of the farmers. 

Over the last year, James came into my life again. He had big dreams. He wanted a "do-over" on some things that he'd left undone and he asked for my help along the way. Some things I could do and other things I could not do. 

And then, two months after having talked to him the last time, I was asked a painful question, "Did you know that James Myart has passed?" I had intended to call and catch up with him, but, to my regret, I did not. In the meantime, apparently, his health challenges got the best of him. 

I do not know how he died. Maybe I want to know and maybe I don't want to know. 

His death, however, took the wind out of our sails, several of us. When a warrior goes down in battle, regardless of  our divergent opinions on various matters, it hurts. It leaves a hole in our hearts. 

So, without James Myart there would be no Black Farmer Movement. I am very thankful that he allowed Shoun and me to interview him there in San Antonio a few years back. He does indeed play a pivotal role in the documentary. Whether via film, his friends, or his family, his story will be told for generations. 

I miss him and will for a long time. Without his invitation, I never would have become a part of the Black Farmer Movement. I'm deeply indebted to him and will remain so until my time on earth comes to an end. 

Rest in Power, James, until we meet again.