Goldie Taylor: Martin Luther King Jr.’s Dream Is Still Unmet


Decades have passed and progress has been made, but the vision Dr. King had of America has still not been achieved.

Human-rights leaders from around the globe descended on Atlanta this morning.

We squeezed, shoulder to shoulder, into the pews of Historic Ebenezer Baptist Church where Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. once preached. In the halls of that stands magnificent church—a house of enduring hope, a beacon in the darkness—we sang and shouted praises of the man renowned the world over as the greatest civil rights leader this country has ever known.  

Atlanta is truly the land of dreamers, but none great as that noble aspiration unfurled and embraced by Brother Martin—equal protection under the law, freedom from the tyranny of masked marauders, men who would plant bombs in the basement of a church and kill four little girls in Birmingham, Alabama, or who would snatch a boy from a house in Money, Mississippi, torture, lynch, and mutilate the boy. He dreamed of protection from a government that would sanction persecution, prosecution, murder and maiming and then call that justice.

Brother Martin not only fought for our right to the ballot, the right to walk on our own accord as free men and women—children, one and all, of an Almighty God. He gave his very life in an attempt to perfect this union.

We go to Ebenezer each year not only to speak his name, not only to honor his living and his blood, but also to answer his call to service—his call to the Beloved community to rise and clinch the proverbial baton in the name of social justice. We go to renew the fight.

It is important to note that the second wave of the American human-rights movement took root here on the very ground where Dr. King once trod. He stood with people like former Ambassador Andrew Young, C.T. Vivian, and the Reverend James Orange. Together, they paved the way for a new generation of freedom fighters, including a little brown girl like me—born in the heat of 1968.

It was Orange, an early mentor, who reminded me nearly 20 years ago of my own obligation to society. A King foot soldier, he was among a delegation to South Africa who helped oversee that country’s first free and fair elections.

Aberjhani in his Splendid Treasury of Stories once said, “Democracy is not simply a license to indulge individual whims and proclivities. It is also holding oneself accountable to some reasonable degree for the conditions of peace and chaos that impact the lives of those who inhabit one’s beloved extended community.”

Civil disobedience can then be defined as an organized love—love for community, love of country, and love for humanity.

“I became convinced,” Dr. King once said, “that noncooperation with evil is as much a moral obligation as is cooperation with good.”

Some will tell you with assurance that we’ve made substantial progress over the last 48 years, since the death of Dr. King. They will tell you that we’ve come a mighty long way since the passage of multiple civil rights acts—and in large measure they are right about that.

They will tell you with great confidence that the election of a black president, the appointment of two U.S. attorneys general of African descent and with people of color now walking the halls of Congress and various state legislatures that we have overcome. Some will even tell you that as a nation we have done enough—that the rest of the story lay in the bootstraps of those who continue to exist on the margins—lives tattered and splayed under the weight of mass incarceration, fueled by stop-and-frisk and policing for profit.

The truth is the Constitution that we hold so dear wrote a check larger than the very souls of the men who drafted it. Certainly, the progress we have gained over the near half-century is significant. However, progress is measured not in the height of the mountains climbed. It is measured in the depth of the valleys where the forsaken reside.

It is measured in the final heartbeats of a 12-year-old boy, shot dead over a toy gun in a snowy park in Cleveland, Ohio. It is measured by the labored breaths of a man choked to death on a New York street for daring to protest his unlawful arrest. It is measured in a prosecutor and a grand jury’s inability to see the immorality of such horrors.

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SOURCE: The Daily Beast – Goldie Taylor