Same Day

Yates left the United Nation’s premises before the concert finished. Normally a demonstration wouldn’t have been allowed so close to the headquarters, but redirected to Ralph Bunche Park or Dag Hammarskjöld Plaza at 47th Street and 1st Avenue, one block away from the visitors’ entrance, four blocks away from the entrance used by top-level diplomats. The decision to allow the demonstration unprecedented proximity to the United Nations was symbolic, the idea being that unlike the Soviet Union, America had nothing to fear in the face of open criticism. And there he was – Jesse Austin, making full use of the liberties granted by this nation, freedom of speech, a freedom that didn’t exist in the nation he so extolled.

Exiting onto the street, Yates saw a uniformed cop approaching Jesse, interrupting his speech and pointing at the crate he was standing on. Yates hurried forward, grabbing the supervising officer by the arm and shouting over the din:

—Tell your officer to pull back! No one moves Jesse Austin!

—Who is Jesse Austin?

The name meant nothing to this police officer. Yates was pleased.

—The tall man, the Negro standing on the box! He stays where he is!

—He’s not allowed to be so high, not so close to the main entrance.

Yates lost his temper.

—I don’t care about your rules. You listen to me! That man is not to be moved. The Soviets have invited him here hoping that we’ll force him to leave. If we do, he’ll resist and we’ll end up on the front page of every newspaper dragging him away. That’s what he wants! That’s why he’s here! He’s a famous Communist sympathizer, a popular Negro figurehead. Five white police officers manhandling an old Negro singer is not the kind of image we want. We’re in the middle of a propaganda war. I don’t want any displays of force tonight. I don’t care what the provocation is. Do you understand? No one moves that man!