On Growth and Compassion and Martin Luther King Jr.

1963 is not an end, but a beginning.

I was inspired earlier last week to read the ENTIRE speech Martin Luther King Jr. delivered at the March on Washington in 1963. I wanted to read it because it suddenly dawned on me that I'd forgotten most of it, outside of the famous few lines we hear repeated on MLK Jr. Day. Clearly, I needed a refresher.

I had forgotten—and I think many of us forget—the part that preceded his famous “I have a dream” sequence. In it, Martin Luther King Jr. talks about how incredulous it was that it had been 100 YEARS since Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation—and yet, inequality and prejudice hadn't fully released its hold on the American people.

That hit me hard.

100 years.

That’s a long time! Black Americans were officially declared as free in 1865, with the 13th Amendment, but their freedoms were restricted—to the backs of busses, the opposite side of the swimming pool, the other side of town.

In the 98 years leading to Dr. King's speech, that's how far we'd come on behalf of a mistreated minority: restricted freedom. That is to say, no real freedom at all.

Progress does not happen overnight.

Progress is a seed. You plant it, and then you work the soil. You work the soil because you want to give it the best opportunity—the best earth—upon which to grow.

Just 54 years after Dr. King’s speech, we expect the tree that we planted in his shadow to have grown strong. But did we tend the grounds upon which we planted it? Did we water it adequately? Did we give it enough light?

It's as though we expected it to grow on its own.

It's not that we ignored it fully—on occasion we would labor over it, but many of us would do so with fear and resentment. Some of us would try to cut the tree down. Others would swear to protect it. And in the midst of all that hostility and strife, still, we expected it to grow.

And has it grown? Undoubtedly, yes.

But is it strong?

Can it be left unattended and still stand?

No, I don’t think so.

Because it's only been 154 years since Abraham Lincoln signed what would become known as the first major step for Civil Rights. It took 89 of those years simply to get from the 13th Amendment, the abolition of slavery, to the abolition of segregation (Brown v. The Board of Education, 1954).

89 years—the full life-span of a healthy human being—to take such a small step!

It takes more than a generation to change cultural norms and behaviors. In 1963 there were 189 million people living in the United States. Today we are estimated to have 325 million people—almost double.

If big change is going to happen fast, most—if not all—of those people would have to be on board.

But that's just not how it works, especially on the heels of a Civil War where half the country was clearly against the kind of positive change that paved the path for Dr. King. That resentment lingers. We see it today: we see it in the rise of hatred and loathing that has surfaced in the voices of the grand-children of those who faced bitter defeat in 1865. The aggression lingers.

When we aren't united, change happens slowly.

It took 100 YEARS to get from the Emancipation Proclamation to Dr. King's speech—where, still, drinking fountains and pools and busses and schools were being divided by color.

What makes us think that in the 54 years from that speech, we'd have solved all of our problems surrounding race and prejudice in America?

What makes us think that a 54 year-old tree would have somehow grown STRONGER or FASTER than the 100 year-old tree planted beside it?

When I read the "I Have a Dream" speech in full, I was shocked by how applicable it is for today's audience. And yet, somehow, I'm hearing voices out there suggesting the Civil Rights fight is "over" and everything is "equal" now and everyone should "stop complaining."

I don't feel like I have a right to talk about race, really. I recognize that I fall into a category in America that can't ever fully understand what it's like to be a minority here. I won't ever fully understand how deeply oppression can wound us. And I won't pretend to.

But I do understand that it took too long to get from Lincoln to MLK Jr.

I do understand that if you want a movement to grow, you have to tend to it for a lifetime. Like all living things, it needs to be nurtured. You can't just throw food at it and expect it to thrive.

I understand that if you want it to grow fast, you have to work like hell to get everyone to help you tend to it—and to decrease the number of people who want to see it fall.

And I also understand that, like all living things, a movement can be cut down faster than it can grow.

So as I think about this holiday today, as I think about Martin Luther King Jr.'s words, and as I think about America's path over the next decade, I am taken by the speed at which we've progressed, but I am also inspired.

I'm inspired by those who have continued to tend to the roots of all the causes that empower positive growth in our culture. I'm humbled by their endurance and strength. And I'm committed to supporting that growth as we move through the next four, ten, twenty, fifty years.

There is so much work to be done, but the "work" is inherent in progress, if progress is to exist at all.

Let's continue to do the work. 👊

"I HAVE A DREAM ... " 

(Copyright 1963, Martin Luther King Jr.)

I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation. Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of captivity. But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself in exile in his own land. So we have come here today to dramatize an shameful condition. In a sense we've come to our nation's Capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check; a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds." But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. So we have come to cash this check—a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children. It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges. But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And they have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone. And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality.We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities.We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our chlidren are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating "for whites only." We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream. I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive. Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair. I say to you today, my friends, so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream. I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident; that all men are created equal." I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood. I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice. I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. I have a dream today. I have a dream that one day down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification, that one day right down in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers. I have a dream today. I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together. This is our hope. This is the faith that I will go back to the South with. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day. This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning, "My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrims' pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring." And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania. Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado. Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California. But not only that; let freedom ring from the Stone Mountain of Georgia. Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee. Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring. And when this happens, and when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! Free at last! Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"