…When we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and 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’re free at last!”
Martin Luther King, Jr., “I Have A Dream”
Last week, I stood just inches from where Martin Luther King, Jr, was shot and killed.
I felt, in the space of a few seconds, a series of overpowering emotions: nausea, anger, and a profound sense of sorrow.
A wreath on a balcony of the Lorraine Hotel marks the spot King was standing when he was cut down by James Earl Ray.
Just looking at it put me in a reflective mood.
Had he lived, I asked myself, what else might he have accomplished?
I was in this frame of mind when I turned and stepped inside the museum next door.
**
Karin and I were in Memphis, and went to the Lorraine—site of King’s assassination on April 4, 1968, to pay homage to King and to see the National Civil Rights Museum which now occupies the hotel and surrounding grounds.
Our visit came near the end of a four-week road trip through American South. I had accompanied Karin on her business trip Texas, but we lingered and headed deeper into Dixie to get a first-hand view of this region.
I’ve long been curious about the South—so much of what I know is a mishmash of shallow, stereotypical impressions constructed from Hollywood movies, KFC commercials, and random readings of Mark Twain, Fanny Flagg, and Lewis Grizzard.
Not exactly the stuff of sound scholarship.
Yet my trip had no agenda—I traveled about almost at random. Mostly, I was looking for fun, and I did enjoy a great deal of fine food and music. New Orleans and Nashville were a hoot, and I hit Memphis’ Beale Street on “Biker Wednesday.”
But in the midst of all my Southern, deep-fried frivolity, I found it impossible to ignore the substantial historical struggles that played out here. What grabbed me were those places that spoke the fight for racial equality, justice, basic human dignity and freedom. Three in particular crossed our path—the MLK, Jr. Center in Atlanta, the Slave Auction Museum in Charleston, and the National Civil Rights Museum in Memphis.
**
Several things struck me about the King Center in Atlanta.
The center lies near King’s childhood home, which has been preserved as a historical site. When King was growing up, his home sat between two blocks. On one side were the dwellings of the wealthiest, most highly educated blacks in the community. To the other side, were houses of working-class blacks who were employed in a variety of trades and domestic jobs.
He played with children from both groups, and befriended them. According to the tour guide, King’s upbringing in this unique setting was formative. He grew up believing that people of all stations in life share much in common.
So it was illuminating to see how a neighborhood’s geography can play such an important role in our personal and societal history.
But my biggest surprises came elsewhere in the museum.
I knew King was a gifted speaker, but I didn’t realize the extent to which he authored numerous books. These demonstrated deep and innovative thoughts on social issues.
I also was surprised to see how young he was when he began connecting with national and world leaders. There are numerous photographs of these meetings. Partly, this came from the many events, demonstrations and community-organizing efforts he pursued and led.
His church role took him all across America, and this visibility cost him his life.
My last take-away was how King’s wife, Coretta, moved swiftly after his death to urge his followers to respond non-violently and continue his work. The museum’s time-line of her life also shows that she worked unceasingly in the same causes, racking up accomplishment after accomplishment for decades.
I was impressed with the extent of her work, and a bit embarrassed that this came as news to me.
**
I almost didn’t go to the Slave Auction Museum in Charleston.
Karin and I were running out of time before we had to leave Charleston, SC, but we’d heard of this museum, and learned it was only one of two places like it preserved in America.
It is not a large exhibit. You can see it and read all the material, in an hour or so. But it will take you much longer than that to absorb the shock of standing in a space where human beings were sold into slavery.
Our guide gave us an introduction, telling us about how families were broken up on this spot, how women would beg not to be separated from their children, and how this auction-place and others like it helped South Carolina’s economy to become the richest in the nation—on the backs of slaves.
“They didn’t call themselves ‘slave traders,’” our guide explained. “Most of them described themselves as businessmen, investors, farmers or just auctioneers.”
Her comments rang a bell. The day before, I’d been at the Charleston Museum, and noticed the their time-line section on slavery—which included a video re-enactment of slaves singing in the fields—was dwarfed by the displays of plantation wealth, or the immense section of the Civil War battles fought in and around Charleston’s Harbor.
Not only was the slavery-section small. It featured rather stilted explanations. The wording on the text panels often omitted the word “slave,” calling them “laborers” instead. And the museum’s exhibit seemed to say as little about slavery as possible, short of ignoring it altogether. It did have a display of slave-tags—small metallic plates that were used to tax slaves as property—but it emphasized that only a small percentage of citizens owned slaves.
This suggested to me that slavery was limited in scope… a misconception I held only briefly until I visited the Slave Auction Museum. They explained the apparent contradiction.
“Almost everyone had a hand in slavery—reaping its benefits,” the Slave Auction guide said, “because slaves were rented out for day services, too.”
She told us that all the most difficult and dangerous jobs were done by slaves. City governments, on their civic projects, would buy slaves to build buildings, bridges and sewers. They then sold them off when they were done. Hardly a brick was laid in the city, public or private, that was not done by slave labor.
So I had two big take-aways from this exhibit. First, South Carolina was the wealthiest, “most sophisticated,” colony by far, because of slave labor, And second, it was the center for the most ferocious defense of slavery, including the drive to secede from the union.
After walking away from the Slave Auction exhibit, and thinking about the Charleston Museum, I can only conclude that some Southerners still “spin” their history to downplay the horror and suffering of slavery.
**
If you only can take in one of these three exhibits, visit Memphis.
The Civil Rights Museum documents the long slow path towards justice in America from the 1700s to the present. The photos, artifacts and interactive exhibits are world-class. I found them engrossing, informative and deeply moving.
The crowds around me seemed similarly affected.
This struggle has many aspects: fair housing, equal access to transportation, jobs and education. These are all explored. So, too, are the right to vote, or to marry a anyone you choose. Each step was slow and painful.
Yet it still seems bizarre to me that we had to have to have these battles.
Of course people should have these rights, I naively thought. Who could argue otherwise?
This museum, sadly, answers this question. Many powerful southerners fought to keep the “Jim Crow,” laws of racial segregation alive, even in the face of court decisions and federal troops. Still, the segregationists were shameless. You can see their jeering, hateful faces in photo after photo, and in video clip after video clip of confrontations.
In some, state and local troopers assault peaceful demonstrators with fire hoses or turn police dogs loose on them. Facing the wrath of these racists, even hose wearing uniforms, were courageous men and women who had had enough of injustice and intended to put a stop to it.
And that’s the most powerful lesson of this exhibit.
Yes, King and the NAACP leadership are honored here. But it took scores of legal decisions and years of coordinated, persistent, and often frustrating effort to effect these changes. I knew this from my youth and watching this play out on TV. But what most impressed me about this struggle—and I realized this when visiting the museum—were the countless number of ordinary-extraordinary citizens who stood up for what they believed.
They were harassed.
They were arrested.
They were beaten.
They were killed.
And many of them were children.
Really.
There were wall panels that showed scores of people’s police-booking photos. I stood and looked at these for a long, long time. So many of my memories of the civil rights struggles are images or sound bytes of King or Malcom X, or Huey Newton. Yet none of this would have happened without the effort of tens of thousands of decent, vulnerable people standing up.
These heroes’ names are not recorded in the history books I saw in school, but you get a sense of their work in this museum.
I spent barely three hours there, and it was not nearly enough. I intend to return.
**
I entered the Civil Rights Museum wondering what King would have done, and I left realizing this is the wrong question.
What I needed to ask is: “What should we be doing?”
This week marks the 50th anniversary of the Civil Rights Act. It set us on the right path to equal access to transportation, housing, employment and the ballot box. Yet when it comes to treating people with fairness and dignity, there’s still much to be done.
Each day’s paper brings news of another group being targeted and scapegoated: gays, Muslims, and undocumented workers. The stories tell of despicable behavior that challenge our notions of compassion and fairness, and if we want to act on our better impulses, we may find ourselves in an uncomfortable place.
We need to stand up and speak out.
It’s not easy because, on top of it all, we’re busy, worried about bills, money and job security. And it’s no fun to be targeted for helping one of the “despised classes.”
But it can be done. You just need to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with people who share your sense of fairness.
My mother, who was an activist for Native American rights managed to get herself arrested a time or two. When I teased her about it, and expressed concern about her well being. She shrugged it off, and asked me a question that, when faced with ethical dilemmas, I’ve often repeated.
“When you meet your maker,” Mom said. “And they take an accounting of your life… which side of the fire hose to you want to be standing on?”
Yes, that is the question.
From my visit to the Civil Rights Museum, I know that hundreds, even thousands of people answered that call by putting themselves in harm’s way.
And all of us live in a better, freer nation, because of them. Yes, letting freedom ring is more than just waiving a flag or setting off some fireworks. It’s being on the right side of the fire hose.
Robb has enjoyed writing and performing since he was a child, and many of his earliest performances earned him a special recognition-reserved seating in the principal’s office at Highland Elementary. Since then, in addition to his weekly column on A News Cafe – “Or So it Seems™” – Robb has written news and features for The Bakersfield Californian, appeared on stage as an opening stand-up act in Reno, and his writing has been published in the Funny Times. His short stories have won honorable mention national competition. His screenplay, “One Little Indian,” Was a top-ten finalist in the Writer’s Digest competition. Robb presently lives, writes and teaches in Shasta County. He can be reached at robb@robblightfoot.com.
