On the occasion of the 50th anniversary of his assassination, CNN Opinion asked a diverse group of activists, academics, public figures and artists: What do you see as the most applicable part of King’s legacy? On this occasion, what do you most want to say about him?
The views expressed here are solely those of the authors.
King’s place in history is still unfolding
Sherrilyn Ifill: King’s work remains unfinished, but the democracy-building work continues
King wrote that the purpose of the letter and the modest contribution — which he wished wasn’t so modest, perhaps because he knew the real costs of legal representation in the trenches — was to express his “deep sense of gratitude” for our work “for not only the Negro in particular but American Democracy in general.”
What’s most touching to me about King’s letter to the LDF is that it came in response to legal victories that were, as he put it, victories for “American Democracy.” The rulings were a recognition, at long last, that the Fourteenth Amendment meant what it said when it was ratified in 1868. That the Constitution’s promise of equality — the command that no state could “deny to any person … the equal protection of the laws” — was meant for all of us, regardless of skin color. That exclusion of anyone on account of race could not be tolerated.
And yet, we’re still fighting to make our Constitution’s true meaning real. We’re still fighting to make sure no one’s vote is suppressed. We’re still suing to ensure that the Fair Housing Act, a law enacted in the very wake of King’s death, is enforced to its fullest extent. We’re still fighting school districts that believe a segregated education is in children’s best interests. We’re still fighting so that police departments that brutalize communities of color are held to basic principles of constitutional policing. We’re still fighting so that immigrants aren’t targeted for expulsion from this country.
Worse yet, when it is the president of the United States himself who is pushing an unconstitutional vision of America — by casting this struggle for basic dignity and equality as a political tool to denigrate black and brown people, all the while stoking white resentment and victimizing himself — it is clear that we’re far from living up to King’s ideals.
Today, 50 years since his death in Memphis, we’re in a moment. A moment when I truly believe we are being driven to confront that rot at the foundation of our democracy. A rot we have papered over for too long. It is weakening every pillar of our democracy — up to and including the highest office in our land.
Just a month before King’s death in 1968, Jack Greenberg, our second director-counsel after Marshall, met with Dr. King to discuss our next partnership: our representation of participants in the Poor People’s Campaign to advocate for fair wages, better jobs, employment training and more — the next logical step in King’s vision of true equality. That he was killed while leading such an effort among striking sanitation workers in Memphis is a tragic testament to what was destined to be the next phase of his legacy.
But to this day, I’m heartened as I look back on that civic-legal bond we shared, and his insight that our connection was “the most powerful and constructive avenue” to bring African Americans to their full measure as citizens. That much is still true today, or else we would’ve given up the fight a long time ago.
King’s work remains unfinished, but the democracy-building work continues — with lawyers and activists working hand in hand to reach the promised land that King saw but couldn’t yet enter.
Sherrilyn Ifill is the president & director-counsel of the NAACP Legal Defense & Educational Fund Inc.
Joseph J. Ellis: The dialogue among Jefferson, Lincoln and King continues
Though it is only a conceit, I like to believe there is an ongoing dialogue on the Mall and Tidal Basin among Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln and Martin Luther King Jr. Jefferson started the conversation with the magic words of American history: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.” He clearly intended the words to mean that slavery was wrong but never acted on that intention as a statesman or slave owner.
Lincoln did act, in a very big way called the Civil War. But Lincoln failed to take the next step by endorsing a biracial American society.
That was King’s mission. He believed that the meaning of Jefferson’s magic words had expanded to include blacks as well as whites. Though he delivered his “I Have a Dream” speech from the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, he claimed he was collecting on a “promissory note” written by Jefferson.
Whether Lincoln would have felt upstaged by the Jefferson reference can never be known. It is possible that Lincoln heard King’s words in the “I Have a Dream” speech as an updated version of his own words in the Gettysburg Address, where Lincoln described “a new birth of freedom,” believing that his own words also had an expansive meaning.
Jefferson’s response to King’s speech is more difficult to imagine. In his own lifetime Jefferson was a truly visionary statesman who could endorse the complete separation of church and state as well as the global triumphs of democracy. But race was his blind spot.
Even though he watched four of his own biracial children by Sally Hemings grow up at Monticello, Jefferson went to his grave believing that blacks and whites could never live together in harmony in the United States. And if and when they did, the result would be the pollution of the Anglo-Saxon race, in his view.
In that sense, King’s dream was Jefferson’s nightmare. The white racist who shot King on the balcony in Memphis could claim to be acting in Jefferson’s name with as much plausibility as King himself.
On the other hand, Jefferson was a firm believer in what he called “generational sovereignty.” Though there surely were external truths, each generation needed to rediscover those truths for itself and not be held hostage to the past. History moved forward along a gradually ascending path that Jefferson described as “the progress of the human mind.”
King had his own way of describing the same idea. He borrowed the words from Theodore Parker, a 19th-century theologian and anti-slavery advocate: “The arc of the moral universe bends upward toward justice.” With these words in mind, I can easily imagine Jefferson smiling from his perch on the Tidal Basin when the Martin Luther King Memorial went up, welcoming him as the third and final member of America’s trinity.
In this uplifting version of American history, all three icons nodded their approval when the Museum of African American History and Culture was dedicated in 2016.
Anyone who toured the new museum, however, would be forced to confront the self-evident truth that Jefferson chose to omit from the Declaration of Independence, though he was candid enough to acknowledge it in his correspondence. Lincoln and King knew it too, and both of them were killed by men who felt it in their very bones.
Namely, American society rests atop a deep pool of racial prejudice that has defined the relationship between blacks and whites for most of American history. It is still there and always will be. The conviction that we can and should become a truly biracial society is a recent, mid-20th-century idea.
King was the chief apostle for that idea, which is the reason we honor him with a place on the Mall. But he knew that he would not live to see the Promised Land.
He also knew, as Jefferson and Lincoln knew, that the upward arc of the moral universe was constantly being pulled back to earth by the gravitational force of racism. Every step forward produces progress that generates a backlash.
We currently occupy one of those backlash moments. As I listen to Jefferson, Lincoln and King discussing Trumpworld, that is what I hear them talking about, in worrisome tones.
Joseph J. Ellis is an American historian who won the Pulitzer Prize for “Founding Brothers.” He is the author of the forthcoming “American Dialogue: The Founding Fathers and Us.”
Peniel Joseph: Radical citizenship is King’s lasting legacy
We too often posit Martin Luther King Jr.’s death, with its attendant outpouring of shock, grief and threats of racial war, as the beginning of the decline of the civil rights movements — as a major force for social change in American society. This is exactly wrong. More people demonstrated, organized, protested, voted and took to the streets in search of racial, political, social and economic justice in the 1970s than during King’s lifetime.
King’s greatest legacy stems from his willingness to speak courageous truths to powerful interests that made up American society. King denounced racial and economic injustice — whether they came from presidents, business leaders or clergy — as political and moral evils that disfigured American democracy and robbed the nation of its boundless potential.
King’s claim that young children risking physical assault and voluntary arrest in Birmingham, Alabama, in 1963 were carrying the nation back to “those great wells of democracy” resonated around the world as a transcendent message that made the particular struggle of black folk in America universal.
In so doing, King expansively redefined the very meaning of the term “citizen.” King’s visit to the Watts neighborhood of Los Angeles against the backdrop of the city’s urban rebellion, sparked less than a week after the passage of the Voting Rights Act in 1965, profoundly altered his understanding of citizenship.
After Watts, King came to realize that in addition to voting, true citizenship began with a good job, a living wage, decent housing, quality education, health care and nourishment. Full citizenship meant equitable treatment from all institutions in American society, most notably the justice system, local, state and federal governments, private businesses, churches and civic and secular organizations.
King worked toward this goal until the day he died in Memphis, a working-class, segregated city whose sanitation workers were engaged in a grueling strike for a living wage and safe working conditions. King’s time in Memphis with black garbage workers, alongside Mexican-Americans, poor whites and Native Americans, formed the core of his final crusade, a mission for economic justice that continued long past his death.
He reimagined America by placing racial justice at the core of our national values and conceptualizing a compassionate democracy capable of resisting the triple threat to humanity — militarism, racism, materialism — that he spent his final year railing against.
Remarkably, King’s dreams of a radical citizenship that allowed America to, in his inimitable words, “be true to what you said on paper,” resonates even more now than at the time of his death.
The litany of social movements for Black Lives, to end gun violence, eradicate sexism and misogyny, and protect the rights of immigrants and Muslims, all reflect King’s most revolutionary legacy: the realization that the myths of American exceptionalism needed to be replaced by what he called a “bitter and beautiful struggle” for the very soul of the nation.
That is to say citizenship meant, according to King, more than the absence of the negative structures of oppression he spent his life fighting. His greatest legacy is his demand for an active citizenship capable of guaranteeing justice for all.
Peniel Joseph is the Barbara Jordan Chair in Ethics and Political Values and the founding director of the Center for the Study of Race and Democracy at the LBJ School of Public Affairs at the University of Texas at Austin, where he is also a professor of history. He is the author of several books, most recently “Stokely: A Life.”
Keeanga-Yamahtta Taylor: Nothing in the last 50 years has changed King’s calculus
Martin Luther King Jr. was a man disliked by a variety of people along the political spectrum when he died 50 years ago. His popularity began its precipitous decline after he received the Nobel Peace Prize in 1964. King’s pivot from the battle to end Jim Crow and secure the right to vote for African-Americans in the South gave way to a much harder struggle to confront the depths of racism and discrimination that left black citizens in the worst jobs, housing and schools.
King’s battles in the South brought him into conflict with an array of powerful white racists, but the struggles against housing discrimination, school segregation and police brutality produced a different set of combatants, many of whom were protected by Democratic Party machines and black political operatives who acted as gatekeepers in black communities.
In King’s final months, he made preparations to organize a massive campaign of civil disobedience in Washington to bring attention to the persistence of poverty and to demand government action as a result. As King pointed out, “Our experience is that the federal government, and most especially Congress, never moves meaningfully against social ills until the nation is confronted directly and massively.”
King’s politics had moved further and further to the left as he confronted the recalcitrance of the federal government and as he connected the oppression and exploitation of ordinary people at home to the country’s war in Vietnam. The political conclusions reached by King during the liberal administration of Lyndon Johnson meant that the “racism, militarism and materialism” that lie at the core of the crisis in the United States was not simply a partisan issue. That these issues were systemic in nature led King to the conclusion that only a “radical reconstruction” of American society could solve them.
It was a position that earned him scorn across the narrow political spectrum of mainstream politics. But nothing in the intervening 50 years since his assassination has changed King’s calculus: both in the strategies he pursued and the political conclusions he reached.
Keeanga-Yamahtta Taylor is an assistant professor at the Center for African American Studies at Princeton University. She is the author of “From #BlackLivesMatter to Black Liberation” (Haymarket Books, 2016).
Jason Sokol: King knew when to break an unjust law
Martin Luther King Jr.’s legacy of nonviolence and civil disobedience lives on today in those Americans who continue to practice civil disobedience in the face of injustice: the black athletes who have knelt peacefully during the National Anthem, the hundreds of thousands of youths who took to the streets in the March for Our Lives, and those in the Black Lives Matter movement who are waging nonviolent protests after the killing of Stephon Clark. King himself was often more disruptive and confrontational than these modern-day protesters have been.
History has valorized King. In turn, those who zealously enforce the laws — without regard for whether those laws are just or humane — risk becoming known as the heirs to Bull Connor.
Steven Levingston: King was the rare man who could change a president
Decades ago, many African-Americans proudly displayed three portraits on a wall at home: Jesus, Martin Luther King Jr. and John F. Kennedy. There was little question why Jesus or King had a place of prominence. But how Kennedy joined the wall of honor is a complicated story.
Kennedy has long been regarded as a champion of civil rights. It is true that he pushed forward the movement for black equality, but it is also true that his path was slow and hesitant. When he came into office in January 1961, Kennedy was not a strong civil rights advocate; he was more concerned about his political agenda than the struggles of 20 million black Americans. It took him 2½ years to come around.
So, what changed him?
You could say he had a guiding spirit, an angel on his shoulder. The deeper you look into those 2½ years, the more carefully you look, everywhere you look stands King: his preaching, his reasoning, his leadership and most important, his moral authority. King was instrumental in guiding Kennedy toward his awakening on civil rights — a transformation that was crucial to desegregation and the eventual passage of landmark civil rights legislation.
King challenged Kennedy, instructed him, urged him to think about the legacy of slavery and the meaning of inequality in America. Finally, after 2½ years of bus burnings, beatings, children’s protests, riots and arrests, Kennedy had an epiphany and announced plans for civil rights legislation.
King never claimed credit, but it was he who showed Kennedy the path to his own conscience. What King taught Kennedy remains relevant today. In times of crisis, we need leaders who listen and learn and evolve in office, leaders who have courage, compassion and tolerance for all Americans. But as King observed in Look magazine in 1964: “It’s a difficult thing to teach a president.”
Gilbert King: Both faith and strategy define King’s legacy
Two weeks earlier, Betty Jean Owens, a 19-year-old coed at the historically black Florida A&M University, was abducted and raped at gunpoint by four white men. When deputies arrested the men, they laughed and joked their way to the police station, seemingly confident that the rape of a black woman wouldn’t land them in much trouble.
King said he had two reasons for not calling for capital punishment. The first, he said, was because “it might be possible to reach the hearts and souls of some of the white people” who might view the executions as “payback for all of the injustices that have been heaped upon us.”
The second, he said, was less nuanced. “I sincerely believe that capital punishment is wrong.”
In June 1959, a jury of 12 white men found the defendants guilty with a recommendation of mercy, and the judge handed down life sentences. Blacks were grateful for the verdict, but many scoffed at the recommendation of mercy because the jury claimed they had found, according to a report in the Baltimore Afro-American, “no evidence of brutality” when Owens was raped seven times.
Eddie Chambers: How King’s life and death shaped the arts, then and now
The traumatic assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. in April 1968 was a pivotal moment in the manifestation of racial politics but also in the development of the arts in America.
It is, arguably, the duty of arts organizations to respond to seismic moments in our nation’s history, and it was King’s untimely passing 50 years ago that gave, within the arts, a pronounced fillip to manifestations of cultural diversity and the struggle for racial equality.
Eddie Chambers is a professor of art and art history at the University of Texas at Austin.
King’s activism was built for future generations
Bree Newsome: What’s old is new again
Like many in my generation, I was raised to view myself as inheriting rights and privileges for which the previous generations had struggled and sacrificed. The expectation that we should have equality and the realization that we still didn’t have it led to black millennials rising up in mass protest during the latter half of the Obama administration.
Access to public accommodations is the only civil rights issue of the 1960s for which we aren’t still actively organizing and protesting. Voting, education, police brutality, housing and wealth inequality remain central issues of modern civil rights and black liberation. Understanding that King’s mission was violently interrupted in 1968 is key to understanding where we find the nation in 2018: deeply divided along racial lines with great unrest, multiple social justice movements occurring and a government openly hostile to black protest. What’s old is new again.
Marc Morial: We are at a crossroads, but all roads lead to justice
As a child of civil rights activists who worked closely with Martin Luther King Jr., I remember my mother’s despair over King’s fatal shooting 50 years ago this week. But what influenced me even more was my father’s stalwart response to her despair: The movement will go on, he told me. It must.
As one of the civil rights leaders who has the honor of speaking at the official Day of Remembrance in Memphis this week, I can attest both to the achievements that have been reached since King’s murder and the failures to uphold his legacy.
Now, a new generation of activists has revived King’s vision, and the Poor People’s Campaign, led by the Rev. William J. Barber, has begun a series of rallies and protests. Young people across the nation have risen up to protest gun violence — in a sense, echoing King’s condemnation of the Vietnam War.
Fifty years after King’s death, we may be at a crossroads, but to paraphrase a favorite line of his: I do believe all roads lead, eventually, to justice.
Marc Morial is the president of the National Urban League and the former mayor of New Orleans.
Carol M. Swain: Racial oppression is changing; we need new appreciation for King
Martin Luther King Jr. was the imperfect prophet who called upon our better angels. Using religion and philosophy, King appealed to American values and principles, while seeking to connect with like-minded people. He was the right man at the right time in history to change hearts and minds across America and the world.
In my conversations with black students, it sometimes seems as if King’s contributions are seen as something to be endured during Black History Month without practical relevance for today.
George Santayana famously said, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.” We should not allow King’s legacy and the lessons he taught us to lie buried beneath mounds of grievances.
Blacks have achieved enormous success in many areas. Some of the problems that remain are related to social class and culture. Racial oppression is changing, bringing with it new victims, new forms of victimization and a lack of unifying, prophetic voices.
At this 50th anniversary of King’s assassination, we need to reflect on what we can do to instill a fresh appreciation of his vision in those who have not grasped the significance of his life.
Tami Sawyer: King taught my generation not to ask for consensus but to make it ourselves
Martin Luther King Jr. once said, “A genuine leader is not a searcher of consensus, but a molder of consensus.”
In the beginning of 2017, Confederate statues in Memphis were not a major focus of anyone’s political agenda. By the end of that year, the statues of Nathan Bedford Forrest and Jefferson Davis were removed from their pedestals of prominence in our city’s public parks. Beginning in May, a movement, which I titled #takeemdown901 after a sister movement in New Orleans, began.
Throughout the year, #takeemdown901 received many criticisms. While the most obvious ones came from white supremacists and Confederate apologists, the more surprising one came from moderates who did not agree with our methods for change. Their advice to me and the members of #takeemdown901 was to be a bit quieter and have a lot more patience. Studying King, I knew that it was the methodology of the moderate to take more umbrage with the type of protest than the reason behind the protest. So we continued to push with fervor and urgency.
Knowing that the 50th anniversary of King’s assassination was approaching on April 4, 2018, #takeemdown901 set that day as the deadline for the removal of Memphis’ Confederate statues. King was assassinated less than five miles from both Confederate statues and their parks. It would have been extremely hypocritical for our city to launch a wide-scale commemoration for the 50th anniversary of King’s assassination and still allow the statues of slaveholders to stand in positions of honor. There were many who felt we didn’t take the right tenor with our boisterous social media outreach, protests, petitions and traditional media campaign, which called out our city and state for their complicity in the statues remaining. But when we stood outside Health Sciences Park on December 20 and watched the removal of the statue of Forrest, we knew we had made the good kind of trouble to achieve our end goal.
There are many systemic issues, such as extreme poverty and educational segregation, which are unacceptably the same in Memphis as they were in 1968. Promisingly, there is a growing movement of political and grass-roots leaders who are no longer seeking only a consensus. We are molding the consensus into the change we want to see in our city. Because we did not wait for approval of our methods, #takeemdown901 was able to ensure that the physical landscape of Memphis is different as we commemorate King’s legacy.
Policy and leadership in Memphis urgently require great change in the near future. I believe that this change will come from the consensus molders that we see stepping up in greater numbers to answer King’s call for the radical economic and political redistribution that is necessary for true equality.
Reginald Dwayne Betts: I’m not sure at all that I do King’s memory justice imagining that today’s civil rights issue is mass incarceration
My mother, barely a grade-school student in 1968, remembers Martin Luther King Jr.’s assassination. But I came up in a different era. By the time I’d reached middle school, King had become only a holiday. Streets and schools commemorated his life. And each year, though at some point during the month of February, a teacher would tell us that he led the Montgomery bus boycott, he was more myth than man. But what’s worse is that for me, born 12 years after King’s assassination, by the time I’d become a man, the issue confronting my peers and me had stopped being civil rights and had become keeping black and brown people out of prison.
A little over 10 years ago, one Sunday morning, I sat inside of a packed African Methodist Episcopal church just outside of the nation’s capital. Back then, I’d just begun dating my wife, and every moment of every day, it seemed, was about impressing this intelligent college student who had taken a chance on a guy who still carried the funk of jail cells in his pores. I’d read King’s “Letter From a Birmingham Jail” while incarcerated in a similar cell and that morning, I thought about how different it was to go to prison for robbing someone, as I had, than to go for marching.
The pastor asked for each man in the sanctuary 26 years old or better to stand up. I was a jail-weary 26 and stood with the sea of black men who rose, and if there was a sound we made it would have been thunder. You know the moment, when everyone feels like by standing they belong, that’s where we all were, feeling like we belonged. Then the pastor went on to explain that at 26, King led the bus boycott. And we all started wondering how we’d pilfered so much of the time we’d been given.
We’re 50 years after the assassination of King, and I’m not sure at all that I do his memory justice imagining that today’s civil rights issue is mass incarceration. So many of us, young and old men and women of color, have walked into jail cells and prisons with the memory of crimes we committed. I just don’t know how to juxtapose the fight to integrate the public school system with wanting parity in drug sentencing laws and police enforcement. Some days, I stare at my sons and wonder how we messed it all up, how we went from engaging in an irreproachable fight for justice to just wanting our crimes to count for less.
Reginald Dwayne Betts is a poet, memoirist and graduate of Yale Law School. He is an Emerson Fellow at New America, working on a book that examines the criminal justice system through his experience as a formerly incarcerated person working as a public defender.
N.K. Jemisin: I pray it won’t take another 50 years
In 1963, as Martin Luther King Jr. sat in solitary confinement in Birmingham, he lamented the failures of white moderates, who at the time seemed to prefer “a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice.”
It must have seemed clear to King that even white people who claim to support equality are unreliable allies — willing to talk the talk and walk a few steps, but only if their own anxieties are put first.
Which is why the civil rights movement made what progress it did by effectively shaming white moderates into doing the right thing. This makes me wonder what America is to do in 2018, when our society daily endures a shameless embarrassment of a President, abetted by his shameless party and the shameless media — and when, too often, some white liberals and moderates openly wonder if there’s some way to ease tension between themselves and … fascists.
I have no solutions to offer, other than to survive and to try and help as many others survive as possible. It saddens me that we’ve progressed so little in the 50 years since King’s death. I pray it won’t take another 50 years for all of us to know the presence of justice at last.
Kevin Powell: I still have faith because he had faith
I was born in the late 1960s and have no memory of Martin Luther King Jr. What I recall is being in kindergarten in the 1970s, at a predominantly black grade school, and our well-meaning teacher introducing us to King’s life in an animated film — and it ended with his death. That troubled me for years, and so did his final “Mountaintop” speech, the eeriness of it.
I thought of this last week as I visited the Lorraine Motel in Memphis, where he was assassinated 50 years ago. I stood on the balcony outside Room 306 in the spot where he was struck by a single bullet. I cried and prayed for his soul, I cried and prayed for America’s soul. More than 1 million Americans have lost their lives to gun violence since King was killed. Yes, we have made some progress in America.
Because of King and the civil rights movement, a poor black boy — me — got to college, whereas my single mother has an eighth-grade education and my maternal grandmother could not read or write. But as long as there is racism, sexism, classism, homophobia, transphobia, anti-Semitism, Islamophobia, a hatred of immigrants and a reckless disregard for the disabled, King’s “beloved community” remains but a dream deferred. I have faith, because he had faith. However, this anniversary of King’s death should not simply be a reflection but also a call to action that we must do better, Americans, human beings, for the sake of us all.
Reshma Saujani: Our young people are the drivers of change
Earlier this year, Barack Obama reminded us all that Martin Luther King Jr. was only 26 when the Montgomery bus boycott began. He was 28 when he and other civil rights activists founded the Southern Christian Leadership Conference. He was only 17 when The Atlanta Constitution published his letter to the editor, “Kick Up Dust,” in support of equal rights.
As we commemorate and celebrate King’s legacy on the anniversary of his death, we should remember that our young people are drivers of change, that they are the ones who will set us free. They are leading movements against gun violence, sexual harassment, discrimination and more.
Reshma Saujani is the founder and CEO of Girls Who Code.
Tess Taylor: I’m raising my son with King’s vision of hope, but also this reality
A few years ago, on a trip to visit family in Virginia, we passed through Appomattox. My 7-year-old son was 4 then, and it had been a busy trip, and since I hadn’t known we were planning to visit Civil War battlefields, I felt unprepared to brief him on the whole history of the war. I had not yet found words to talk about slavery or enslavement with my white child.
I was equally unprepared, when, storming the museum, perhaps in search of free screen time, my son made a beeline for the movie theater and arrived in the middle of the historic park’s documentary. He opened the door and slid in just moments before the sound of Lincoln being shot. Almost immediately, my son was in tears. Why would they do that? he asked. What was it really about? Those are questions we can spend lifetimes answering. I don’t remember the exact words I used, but I do remember telling my son that yes, that had happened, and yes, there is also a wider history of sadness and violence at the heart of our country. Yes, it did erupt then; yes, sometimes it still does erupt; no, that violence is not yet fully over; and yes, it is OK, and even necessary, that we allow ourselves time to grieve it.
On this 50th anniversary of Martin Luther King Jr.’s death I find myself thinking about that summer visit to Appomattox again. This time I am preparing myself to talk actively with my son about both the importance of King’s work to our country, and planning some time to dwell in the troubling sadness of his too-early death. Taking this time feels like part of my responsibility as a parent. Talking about America’s painful racist legacy with our children is hard for all of us, and I am sure that as a white parent it is easier for me not to have to have conversations with my son about skin and skin color, about how race gets lived in America. But to me, talking about race — as it’s been lived in the past, as it gets lived in the present — is a critical part of helping my children understand our American journey — our aspirations, our shortcomings and the work we have ahead.