Building a Network for Black Leadership : Politics: The annual meeting of the Congressional Black Caucus puts the problems and progress of African Americans in center stage--for a week, anyway.

The Congressional Black Caucus’ 24th Annual Legislative Conference is ground zero of black political meetings.

From its epicenter in the serpentine lobby of the Washington Convention Center to its informal outposts in nearby hotel suites and cocktail lounges, the luminaries of black political life sparkle with the prestige that comes to those holding an elected or appointed position in the federal government.

But to appreciate the glitz of this gathering, you must first understand something: For 51 weeks a year, few people beyond the limited and isolated world of inside-the-Washington-beltway know--or, so it seems, care--much about the African-American lawmakers on Capitol Hill.

During this one special week, however, the Congressional Black Caucus Foundation--a nonprofit educational and policy-making wing of the black lawmakers--does its darndest to place the caucus at the hub of the political universe. For the 40 black caucus members--39 House members (including the non-voting delegate from the District of Columbia, Eleanor Holmes Norton) and one senator, Carol Mosely Braun of Illinois--the conference, which ended late Saturday night, is a celebration of their existence.

Here are selected sights and sounds of black legislators and their friends at work and play:

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Rep. Kweisi Mfume (D-Md.) glides past the bank of television cameras and the crush of well-wishers. He is late. The introductions of his colleagues seated on the riser are done as Mfume ascends to the head table. He prepares himself to deliver his 1994 Legislative State of Black America address, to officially open the five-day conference.

Mfume, chairman of the black caucus, is the most charismatic icon of the week and, perhaps, its most influential. His term ends in two months when the current legislative session closes. This speech--with its references and quotations from President Abraham Lincoln, the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. and the Hon. Elijah Muhammad--is his valedictory address.

“Unlike many in this room,” he says, his almond-shaped eyes narrowing into slits, “I came out of a disjointed family structure. I grew up in the worst possible conditions: I became homeless after my mother’s death, hit the streets and dropped out of school, flirted with every temptation that was around, became a teen parent before my time, felt left out and victimized.”

Life turned around “because of a blessing . . . (I) found myself,” he says. And the challenge of the black caucus is to live up to its conference theme--”Embracing Our Youth for a New Tomorrow”--to reform political institutions so other young black people may live by his example.

Mfume adds that his tenure as leader of the black caucus was bittersweet. “Many Americans see the black caucus as this wide-eyed, crazy, pinko-Communist, liberal, twisted group that can’t think for itself, that’s out of step with everybody, everything and has nothing better to do except to stand up and to put forth and to advance positions.”

The fact of the matter: “We exist because we have no choice,” Mfume says. “We all would like to believe we could live to see the day there would not be a need for the Congressional Black Caucus. Ladies and gentlemen, that day has not arrived.”

*

This year’s conclave is special because the caucus membership is swollen with new-found influence and power--indeed, black federal lawmakers in the age of Clintonian governance are a growth industry, enjoying a historic, high-water mark for black political leadership.

In 1970, when the Congressional Black Caucus was organized, there were 13 members, a record achievement unmatched since Reconstruction.

More than 2,700 people attended the first CBC legislative dinner held in 1971 at the Sheraton-Park Hotel in Washington. Then as now, the affair was showy, causing concern among the organizers and participants that a $100-a-plate dinner “signaled a catering to rich corporations and the abandonment of our commitment to the poor,” Rep. William Clay (D-Mo.) wrote in “Just Permanent Interests: Black Americans in Congress 1870-1991,” his semi-autobiographical history of the Caucus.

Amelia Parker, CBC executive director, calculated off the top of her head that 25,000 people would participate in conference activities. Allowing for multiple counting (assuming everyone does everything every day), her figure jibes with an unofficial estimate of 5,000 registrants for the week of panel discussions, receptions and meals.

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Busy with other matters, Parker is in no mood to answer questions or sit still for an interview. But when asked about how difficult it would be for people to get tickets to the convention-sponsored events, Parker stops in her tracks to set the record straight. From the earliest days down to the present, suggestions of elitism at its annual meetings will extract a rebuttal.

“There are 67 events at this convention, all of them are free and open to the public except three of our fund-raising events,” she says. “There are brain trusts (meetings) and panels on a wide range of issues that are intended to benefit and empower all African Americans, so it would do us a great disservice to only focus on how hard it is to get tickets to the fund-raisers.”

There are, in fact, a wide array of activities, meetings and panel discussions. Most go unnoticed, Parker says, citing the Wednesday morning breakfast where caucus members served homeless people in a Washington shelter.

Her unspoken message is loud and clear: the CBC does more than party during this week. Those fund-raisers--two fashion shows, a cocktail reception and a black-tie awards dinner--do draw the biggest crowds and most media attention, she notes.

“But those events are the only way we can raise money for scholarships for young people,” Parker says. “They pay for the educational and public policy activities of the caucus. It is most unfair to suggest that this is just about expensive partying when 99% of what happens is free.”

*

Overheard in a corridor: “I guess they think we’re the X-generation because of our Malcolm X caps.”

There are young people everywhere. Fraternity-boy types in power suits and kente-cloth neckties. High-school-aged girls jotting notes furiously on lined paper. Freshly minted professionals whispering into cellular telephones.

It is early morning and a spotlighted event is about to take place. Since Bill Clinton rode to the White House on town hall meetings aimed at young folks, it seems everybody is trying to corner that market with the same approach. CBC-style, it is a celebrity-attended discussion titled on “Generation X: Black Voices of Reason, Rage and Responsibility.”

Keeping faith with the convention theme and seeking to break perceptions held by many young blacks of Establishment leaders as out-of-touch old fogies, this convention struck a hip vogue. In addition to the Generation X town hall, there was a mentor lunch for 200 Washington-area high school students, a mock Congress where students from across the nation drafted and passed laws as though they were U.S. Representatives and workshops on issues such as hip-hop culture.

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No one dared arrive here without those ubiquitous 3-inch-by-2-inch slips of paper embossed with their name, title, phone number and, increasingly, e-mail address. Dealing business cards with one hand and raising a cocktail glass with the other is a skill conventioneers master early.

Ask DeNatalie Phillips, vice president for public relations at Atlanta-based World African Network, a 2-year-old firm that programs news about the African continent to U.S. cable providers. She draws business cards from her pocket faster than Billy the Kid unholstered his six-shooter.

Standing on line waiting to enter a ballroom where Vice President Gore spoke at a Democratic National Committee luncheon for the black lawmakers, Phillips shuffles cards to a variety of congressional aides, reporters, business executives and politicians.

“If we had endless pockets, we would spend a lot of money on advertising,” she says. “But we have to make the most of our limited resources. Hence, we come here to meet with key decision makers in African-American community. We’re trying to maximize opportunities to meet with people who influence other African-American people.

“Here,” she says, “take my card.”