Martin Luther King Jr. wasn't the only, or even the first, civil rights activist. The King's Bench in jolly old England was setting precedents against slavery when America was still a colony. The Quakers and Frederick Douglass were fighting for civil rights before it was called civil rights.
But there was something about Martin Luther King Jr. that grabbed the observer. By the hand, or by the hair. We suspect it was because he was a preacher (and, boy, could he preach). But we also suspicion that the times, they were a-changin', and somebody at that particular time had to walk out front. MLK could do that. And did.
After World War II, after black men had gone to war to free other people around the globe, they came home to the same old Jim Crow. In a 2006 book by Jason Sokol, There Goes My Everything, this passage still sticks in the mind:
American soldier Dempsey Travis, stationed stateside in 1943, "had been put in charge of a troop movement on its way to Camp Lee, in Richmond, Virginia. It was the first time Travis, a Chicago native, had witnessed the life of the South. Some sights singed his northern eyes. German POWs rode in the front of the city's streetcars, blacks in the back."
That's right. Black veterans came home to these shores and still had to ride in the back of streetcars and buses, while white Germans--prisoners of war--rode in front. That says a lot about the times Martin Luther King walked in, and nothing good.
Who, as a people, would put up with such things? And we didn't. (Eventually.) But there had to be somebody, or many somebodies, to lead. Call them founding fathers of the civil rights movement. And there had to be a Jefferson in the mix, too, the writer.
Take another look at "Letter from a Birmingham Jail," maybe the finest among American letters that isn't a part of our government's founding documents. Which we are tempted to print here today in its entirety, and let stand. If that letter isn't taught in American schools this very day, in either history or literature classes, shame on us all once again.
A body can't read that letter, that plea to white clergymen, and still come away thinking that Martin Luther King was just a two-dimensional poster. Or, maybe worse, a three-dimensional statue, such as that awful memorial in Washington, D.C., the one in which he hovers over people like a stern taskmaster, arms folded in anger or maybe intimidation. No, to read "Letter from a Birmingham Jail" is to realize that Dr. King was a living presence, a man, rather than just an influence and only an influence.
That is something Martin Luther King Jr. has in common with other American icons. Their birthdays may be proclaimed official holidays, and their words rolled out for decorative purposes, but what they stood for may be only assumed, not debated and therefore not discerned.
The image of Martin Luther King Jr. over the decades has joined that of George Washington--on the shelf. His memory has become the province of scholars and aficionados rather than a living presence. His papers may be debated, but are they read? He is the object of ceremonial devotion but not much thought. Certainly in that way, he has shared Washington's fate.
What a strange, sad destiny for a leader whose greatness was found specifically in moving people. First as a Baptist minister, then as the organizer of the bus boycott that some say started it all, and finally as the voice and embodiment of the demonstrations that reached their zenith in the massive March on Washington in 1963, when, standing before the Lincoln Memorial, he galvanized a nation.
Martin Luther King was a man, by which we mean full of faults. (We've all fallen short.) And his critics at the time weren't just white men in the South. Remember how he was derided by his fellow activists as De Lawd? As if the man could separate his religion from his duty! His pleas for nonviolence weren't welcome in some precincts.
Then one day, only hours after he predicted it, a shot rings out in the Memphis sky. . . .
THAT'S the thing about humans. We kill our prophets. No matter the century.
Thank heaven, we can't kill what they tell us. Their words will echo. Their work will continue. And Martin Luther King's last speech still speaks to America.
We wish the Reverend would have dodged that bullet, and the other bullets that would surely have followed. We could use him today.
We'd like to think that, after the buses and restaurants and hotels and schools and statehouses were integrated, Martin Luther King Jr. would have kept on keeping on. That he would have chided the race hustlers in his camp and moved to new challenges. Like, say, reforming education. Challenging the prison system. Lifting up black families. Encouraging kids to remain in school and off the streets.
We'd like to think that, once the official and state-sanctioned kind of discrimination ended, Dr. King would've turned his attention to the next dragons clawing at Black America. And not just Black America. For there are plenty of white kids dropping out of school, plenty of opioid troubles in rural America, plenty of poor families falling apart. And isn't this day, maybe of all days, in which we should avoid the word Them, but concentrate on Us?
Some of these topics remain troublesome. Or at least uncomfortable to discuss. But we get the feeling that Dr. King would have discussed them just the same. In front of a microphone. With a multitude listening to his words and cadences. After all, he had a way of making all of us uncomfortable, which is what telling the truth will do.
This country's educational establishment, the one that can't think of any better solution to our problems than tossing more money at them, could use a Martin Luther King to give 'em what-for. So could we all.
The nation lost Martin Luther King Jr. not that long ago. He might have lived to this day. But we didn't lose his words, his vision, his call to action. Strangely enough, we all have been granted his dearest wish: to live in the present, in this place, and fight for the right. Like Dr. King, let's seize the moment and make a difference. This time is the only time we've got.
Editorial on 01/15/2018