Philipp: There is far more to the story of Robin Wilt and Wynette Vickers

Julie Philipp | Democrat and Chronicle

Show Caption Hide Caption Robin Wilt drops out of state race to focus on Brighton Brighton Town Board member Robin Wilt is dropping out of the race for the 136th Assembly district

Severely underrepresented in all levels of government, women of color are accustomed to having others determine their fates. They abide by social and economic policies that are created by our leaders, the overwhelming majority of whom don’t have a clue what it is like to be black or brown and female in America.

Robin Reynolds Wilt and Wynette Vickers do.

Their stories are vastly different. But, the local political campaign that brought these two black women together demonstrates how many hurdles they both face as they try to raise their voices in a culture that does not care to listen. It is designed in a way that keeps them quietly in their place. If you are wondering what systemic racism looks like, this is it.

Entry into activism

Wilt, a first generation American whose parents came from Guyana, graduated Phi Beta Kappa with a degree in government from Dartmouth College. Vickers, a Syracuse native who grew up in a poor neighborhood with her mom and five sisters, was gang raped when she was 13 years old.

Neither of them like to talk about these experiences.

Wilt notes white male politicians are rarely called upon to rattle off their educational credentials, while it is often demanded of her. Nineteen years after the gang rape, Vickers is clearly shaken when she says those two words aloud. She still feels pain.

Shortly after her brother was wounded by a bomb in 2004 while serving in Iraq, Wilt plunged into politics. She credits the military’s single-payer health system for saving his life as he underwent surgery and recovered from a leg amputation. When New York’s State Children’s Health Insurance Program, or S-CHIP, was threatened, Wilt became a champion for its 400,000 young enrollees. She co-founded the Genesee Valley Chapter of Progressive Democrats of America, which launched a national “Healthcare Not Warfare” campaign.

Vickers' entry into activism occurred inside a federal prison.

Troubled times, harsh sentence

The rape tore Vickers' family apart for two years, and the publicity surrounding the related court case made it extremely difficult for her to attend school. When the case ended, her mother pulled the girls, who had been housed with different relatives, back together and moved them to the city of Rochester for a fresh start. But trauma’s ugly grip does not let go that easily.

Vickers was doing well in high school, but seriously struggling with the psychological fallout from this hideous crime, as well as the burden of helping raise her five younger sisters. Like many teenage girls, she often viewed her mother, who is a nurse, as the enemy.

“If I needed to look at a strong woman, she was. But I saw something different,” she says. “I complained because we didn’t have this or we were not doing that. I did not realize the gift of my mom.”

A troubled teenager in a troubled environment, Vickers began tumbling down an all too predictable hole. In our society, there are no easy escape hatches for young black women like her. She thought she found one in Kenneth Vickers, two years her senior. However, in addition to sweeping her off her feet, she says, he swept her into his life of crime.

“Slowly, you get so caught up into it, you don’t realize that it is not the norm,” she says. "I disregarded all that I had been taught in one instant because I thought I was in love."

She was 18 years old with a new baby when the indictment came, accusing the couple of stealing from the disabled residents of a group home where they both worked. The pretrial period took more than five years. During that time, she had another child with Kenneth. She enrolled as a psychology major at Spelman College, carrying their second baby to class with her. She started searching for successful black women to model herself after.

At sentencing, the public defender suggested that Vickers be given a minimal sentence, a few months behind bars, so she could raise her children, finish school and work to repay her victims. She presented numerous letters of support to the judge.

More: Robin Wilt faces questions about campaign manager's criminal past

“I needed somebody to see me, to say, ‘What good is going to come from me being incarcerated?’”

There would be no mercy. Vickers was still nursing her 8-month-old baby when the sentence for mail fraud and identity theft came. She was locked inside Danbury Federal Correctional Institute for the next five years before being released to a halfway house in February 2016.

‘I found my voice’

A few days ago, Vickers' daughter turned 8 years old. The pair went to Marshalls on Monroe Avenue to pick out a small birthday present for the child. While standing in line, Vickers heard the customer behind her loudly suggest that she should not be out shopping since she has not fully paid $150,000 in restitution that was required as part of her sentence.

Vickers did not tell the stranger that she is working full time as an administrative assistant and, while she says she cannot always afford the court required monthly payment, she has been whittling away at the balance. Also a full-time student, Vickers did not explain that she plans to quickly pay it off after she graduates from Rochester Institute of Technology in a couple of years and becomes a software engineer or data scientist.

There was no mention of how Vickers spent her time in prison, helping other inmates earn their GEDs, and learn to send emails to loved ones or write a simple motion applying for release. She started advocating for rape victims, spreading her belief that doctors who automatically prescribe medication for trauma could be interfering with a woman’s healing process. Upon release, she and several of her “Danbury sisters” have actively taken on criminal justice reform, racism and other issues within their communities.

“I lost time with my children and family,” she says of her captivity. “I found my voice.”

Building a coalition

That voice brought her to Wilt, who is currently serving on the Brighton Town Board. Vickers was concerned about police presence in her older daughter’s school, and Wilt helped her put together a well-attended forum with the town police chief this past spring.

Wilt was running for Congress at the time, seeing it as an opportunity to address issues she felt were being ignored.

“Nobody was talking about income disparity, housing insecurity, putting people before politics or profit," Wilt said.

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She says her experience as a candidate mirrored that of others who were part of a Rutgers University study on black women in politics. They typically rely on small donations, and raise less money than their opponents. They battle gender stereotypes, particularly if they are mothers who will be leaving their children to govern. They experience subtle, and not so subtle, racism while going door-to-door to drum up support.

“There were some hair-raising micro aggressive moments,” Wilt says, adding at least one woman demanded that she get off her property.

In addition, black women candidates, who are less likely to be recruited by the party machine, are not usually surrounded by handlers. When Wilt lost her congressional bid and entered the race for New York State Assembly, she says she intentionally sought to build a coalition — not surround herself with people who know how to win. She says Vickers' work ethic, organizational skills, community connections and enthusiasm led to her appointment as campaign manager.

If Wilt had been part of the entrenched machine, Democratic officials almost certainly would have stopped her. Or, party leaders would have crafted a glowing, carefully worded announcement about how having a convicted criminal in that position demonstrates her commitment to criminal justice reform. Wilt cringes at the thought.

“I would no sooner announce that she was a convicted criminal than announce she is a Jewish woman. I liken it to any other issue of nondiscrimination,” says Wilt, who feels very strongly that people who have served their time are due full re-entry into society. “I viewed it as part of her qualifications, quite frankly. Her perspective, her ability to identify with those who struggle — that was a contributing factor in her being able to help my campaign.”

End of the campaign, not the end of the road

The campaign is over now. Wilt ended it abruptly amidst rising concerns over racism in Brighton, several media reports, including one in the Democrat and Chronicle, about Vickers' past, and a question about Wilt's residency.

But both woman treat this as just one more hurdle to overcome.

Wilt is forming the Women of Kolor Electoral political action committee, or WOKE PAC. It will raise funds to support progressive women of color who are running for state level office. And Vickers is hoping Wilt is the first recipient.

Neither woman will be silenced.

More: Robin Wilt drops out of race for state Assembly, citing racism in Brighton