When Thomson Professor of Government Harvey C. Mansfield suggested at a forum last week that Harvard's Afro-American Studies department ought not exist, it may have seemed like a radical idea to the students present.

But, in fact, such opposition to an Afro-Am program dates back to the department's creation 20 years ago. The subsequent years have seen a constant struggle between those who have supported and those who have opposed--either actively or by casual neglect--the institutional legitimacy that a strong department lends the study of Afro-American issues.

A look back at the origins of the Afro-American Studies department reveals that it was born out of protest and activism, and that there are numerous parallels between the department's nearly-continuous troubles and its controversial roots. Whether by intention or by coincidence, recent protests urging increased faculty hiring echo the activist struggles of the 1960s.

Although some of the radical tervor of student involvement has diminished since the 1960s, many say the current difficulty of filling the ranks of the Afro-American Studies department is largely a legacy of the University's inability to define clearly the program's role in the initial stages of its development.

"My sense of [the Afro-American Studies concentration at Harvard] is that it has never been as good, in terms of the size of its faculty or joint appointments, as departments at other schools," says Robert L. Hall '69, now an associate professor of history at Northeastern University. Hall was an active member of the various student groups at Harvard that pushed for the formation of a department dedicated to Afro-American Studies.

The core of the problem, Hall says, "goes back to the neglect of the subject matter in the existing course offerings of 1965 and earlier, and the general atmosphere at the University that didn't find anything amiss about such neglect."

The original concept of Afro-American Studies was rooted in the racial activism of the 1960s. The Association of African and Afro-American Students (AAAAS) was founded at Harvard in 1963, an organization dedicated to expanding the number of courses exploring the Black experience in America. By the fall of 1967, as the AAAAS became more activist-oriented, its primary objective became the establishment of an Afro-American Studies Department.

The University was at first deaf toward the demands of the organization, with some faculty members questioning the "Societal worth" and the legitimacy of a concentration born out of political activism. The assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr. in 1968 brought the first positive response from the administration, with the formation of a nine-member Faculty committee, chaired by Henry Rosovsky, who was then only a member of the economics department.

After eight months of exhaustive research, the committee recommended the "development of undergraduate and graduate degree programs in Afro-American studies." Interestingly, the recommendations of the Rosovsky Committee were purposefully ambiguous about whether the administration intended to establish a department or an interdisciplinary studies program to facilitate concentrators.

In April of 1969, the Standing Faculty Committee presented its plan to create Afro-American Studies modeled after the Social Studies program, an interdisciplinary field in which students do most of their work in an allied field such as government or history. The only courses in Afro-American studies were to be tutorials. But the Faculty Committee later decided to reorganize the department so that concentrators would have to double-concentrate in order to study Afro-Am.

Many Blacks on campus were incensed by the Faculty Committee's decision, and interpreted it as fundamentally undermining the spirit of the Rosovsky Committee's Report. "The 'Joint majors provision' cut into the autonomy of the field," Hall says. "All the students asked for [and the University denied] was a free-standing major along the lines of Social Studies."

The result of the administration's waffling on the nature of the concentration was a period of activism that Henry Rosovsky describes in his recent book, The University: An Owners Manual. According to Rosovsky, the Faculty, "as a result of intense student pressure, building occupations and open threats" abandoned the recommendations of the Rosovsky Committee. Instead, the administration conceded to the radical demands of the AAAAS, opting for a department, the design of which came from the AAAAS rather than the Rosovsky Committee.

These concessions gave Black students and Black student organizations unprecedented power in developing and overseeing the Afro-American Studies program: six students--three chosen by AAAAS and three by and from concentrators--were voting members of the Faculty committee which supervised the initial stages of the program's development. The Faculty thereby surrendered privileges formerly restricted to tenured professors, including voting power concerning curriculum requirements, term appointments and even tenure.

The unprecedented extent of student power with respect to hiring and tenure review prompted Rosovsky to call the incident an "academic Munich." Rosovsky promptly resigned as chair of the Standing Committee on Afro-American studies.

Critics of the Afro-American Studies department's structure at the time suggested that such student privileges irrevocably damaged the chances of building a solid core of top-notch faculty because no professors of any stature would subject themselves to students' cross-examination. But Hall, who was a member of the student search committee for a chair, says that prospective professors actually commended what students were doing. "They may have thought it bold, but none fundamentally disagreed with it."

In fact, prospective chairs resented the "shabby treatment that Harvard extended," not the students' powers of review, Hall says. "Scholars at the time who were suddenly approached by Harvard resented, more so than student power, the fact that all of these years they had never gotten a whisper of an appointment from Harvard."

Hall says that the initial search committee, as led by faculty members, was "amorphous" in nature, and that its timing and coordination of invitations was poorly executed. The misguided search for a chair prevented a strong core of faculty members from developing in the department.

According to Hall, the reason why the faculty of the Afro-American Studies program had so few members well into the 1970s was that it "broke down at the initial chair appointment." By the time Hall left in 1969 to pursue further study at Florida State University and the University of Maryland, the position of chair was still unfilled.

When a chair was finally appointed, the choice resulted in yet another controversy. The eventual selection of Ewart Guinier, whom Hall believes was selected for his ties to the University rather than his ability to lead the department, led to a crisis of leadership, according to his colleagues.

Department members--many of whom claimed it was being woefully mismanaged by Guinier--were unable to agree on hiring and curriculum strategies.

At the time, Martin L. Kilson, professor of government, called Guinier "an intellectual and academic disgrace," while Orlando Patterson, professor of sociology, left the department.

"Guinier lacks the academic, administrative, and personal qualities for the job of chairman," Patterson said at the time. "Not having an academic or intellectual background, he is extremely insecure in his relations with qualified persons, especially any senior or potentially senior person."

While agreeing that the appointment of Guinier made executive decisions difficult, Hall said that the significance of Guinier's tenure as chair is overstated. "Guinier's tenure in the Afro-Am department may have been problematic, but the constant in the equation [of hiring policy], regardless of who was the chair, was Harvard." Hall says that prospective scholars in the department viewed Harvard's tenure policies suspiciously, and credits Harvard's recent failure to attract Afro-Am professors to the same persistent suspicion.

The department's inner turmoil resulted in a restructuring that stripped students of executive privileges in the hiring process. The department finally reached what many call an equilibrium in the late 1970s and early 1980s, with a number of appointments satisfying its concentrators.

But according to Hall, the department was never strong, and has always been composed mainly of junior faculty who, based on Harvard's tenure policy, eventually "found other places to land, and to land well."

The death of then-Chair Nathan I. Huggins, in December, 1989, was the first of a series of defeats for Afro-Am that ultimately resulted in student activism in much the same way that Martin Luther King, Jr.'s assassination 20 years before galvanize support for the department's creation.

The simultaneous rejection of tenure by outside scholars last year, coupled ture of Carolivia Herron, who was then professor, presented the Afro-Am department a crisis that reawakened its activist

Up until several days ago, with the Chair Werner Sollor's spring-term ahead, the department was devoid scholars and leaders. With few tenured professors and no clear leadership, the Afro-Am departments 1990 looked much like that of 1969.

Once again, student activism, sans the radicalism of the late 1960s, took center stage. Nathan Glazer, a visiting professor at the time of the initial controversy, and currently an affiliate of the Afro-Am department, responds to the inevitable compa: "The Afro-Am issue of the '60s was much tenser. The political aspect is much milder this time. The department already exists."

"Now the issue is of staffing the department," he says. "The movement is not politicized as it was. It is not to the same degree."

Although the administration last year said it supported many of the demonstrator's demands, they clearly objected to the methods of protest they chose. This negative reaction was illustrated by outgoing President Derek C. Bok in response to student demonstrations earlier this year. "I think it makes it more difficult to recruit people here because the people we want are very successful scholars," Bok said at the time.

"They do not wish to come to a place where will be perceived that they are there because of student pressure rather than because their faculty peers have decided they would like to have them for their teaching and scholarly contributions."

However, the student activism that administrators seem to resent so today acted as a crucial catalyst for change in the 1960s. "There was a role that Black militant processes played," Kilson said at a recent forum. "They put activist pressure on the American academic power structures to open up curriculum structures to Afro-American Studies."

"I and other progressive minded academics here in the late 1960s--like Professor Stuart Hughes and Professor Henry Rosovsky--recognized that activist pressures represented a major opportunity to open up the academic establishment to... Afro-American Studies."

Hall says he believes that the same factors that led to Afro-Am's troubled origins have not changed. "Inertia still prevails," Hall says. "These problems are complicated by the peculiar problems of the history department at Harvard, its inbred quality that self-selects from its own graduate school."

Hall says that the consistent weakness of the department is a function of the University's traditions of hiring rather than of purposeful scheming on the part of administrators. "There are people who feel that purposeful neglect led to the decline of the department. But I believe it could have happened otherwise. I admit it does look suspicious but I don't subscribe to the theory of an explicit conspiracy."

Administrators and concentrators alike say that last week's appointment of Duke's Henry Louis Gates, Jr.--one of the nation's preeminent Afro-Am scholars--may herald a new era for the department. If the administration's optimistic assessment is correct, Gates stands at the core of a new generation of Afro-Am scholars, many of whom they hope to attract to Harvard.

Administrators acknowledge that Gates's appointment places the Afro-Am department at a crucial juncture. But student supporters of Afro-Am point to the department's troubled roots as proof that such difficult challenges will need to be addressed both persistently and passionately.

The appointment of Henry Louis Gates, Jr. promises a new future for Afro-Am. But the challenge of escaping the struggles of the past is causing some, including a former student activist, to look back to...