Dear Dr. King,
It’s been well over forty-seven years since I was honored to introduce you to the congregation at the Salem Baptist Church in Jenkintown, Pennsylvania. You had just completed your journeys in the mid- west urban centers where rioting and burnings were prevalent. I recall that your height and stature were similar to mine, and how as church members we dined that evening at Stanley Gale’s home in Philadelphia. I was amazed at your ability to find humor in the midst of the pain and agony of the day and times.
It’s been well over forty seven years since the Washington march when I marched arm in arm, eight to nine people across, filling the street with a young Jewish lad as we glanced at the riflemen positioned atop high buildings. It’s been over 47 year since I heard your eloquent, resonate voice ricocheting atop the heads of thousands, and bouncing from trees, whose branches swayed from the weight of heavy applause as you exclaimed to the assembled masses, “I have a dream…”
It’s been well over forty seven years since the Montgomery Bus Boycott when 70 year old Sister Pollard, after her long walk, stated “My feets is tired, but my soul is rested.” “My feets is tired, but my soul is rested.” Today’s school teachers, Dr. King, would remind me that the grammar in Sister Pollard’s statement is poor, the meter is not demanding. She would be graded an “F” for failure—plural subject, singular verb. And yet, in one simple statement she moves the listener from the realm of the physical (feets) to the depths of the invisible (soul). Even Plato’s Timaeus failed to describe the soul beyond “that which is.” Sister Pollard gives it life, function and then finality (rest).
It’s been well over forty seven years since you expressed joy and astonishment the first time you heard “We Shall Overcome” sung in Hebrew. It was on that night in March (ten days before you were killed) when Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel stated, “Where in America today do we have a voice like the voice of the prophets of Israel? Martin Luther King is a sign that God has not forsaken the United States of America. God has sent him to us. His presence is the hope of America. His mission is sacred… I call upon every Jew to harken to his voice, to share his vision, to follow in his way.” It was at that meeting of the Rabbinical Assembly when you reminded us that “All too often the religious community has been a tail light instead of a head light.”
It’s been well over forty seven years since I heard you remind us that “We are on the move now. The burning of our churches will not deter us. The burning of our homes will not destroy us. The beating and killing of our clergymen and young people will not divert us. We are on the move now… Let us march on segregated schools… Let us march on poverty… Let us march on ballot boxes.”
You once suggested that if the Almighty God questioned, “Martin Luther King, which age would you like to live in?”, that you would respond, “If you allow me to live just a few years in the second half of the 20th century, I will be happy.”
Well, Dr. King, in the second half of the twentieth century, we witnessed a renewed complacency. Every vocal dreamer has been slain. As you remember, John F. Kennedy, supporter of civil rights and his dream of a modern Camelot, has been assassinated. Malcolm X, advocate of self-direction and famous for his “ballots or bullets” speech finally had an opportunity to visit Mecca where he witnessed men and women of all colors peacefully worshipping God and coexisting together, he too has been violently laid to rest. For one or two years his ideas were popularized, then commercialized, and now all but forgotten. Positive visible leadership has all but disappeared. Our communities and the nation have grown weaker. The nation, with one exception, has failed to produce a proven national leader, man or woman, willing to make the necessary sacrifices in the pursuit of truth, liberty and justice for all. For you see, Dr. King, this society, this America, this democracy that I love and cherish, has a history of killing the dreamer, of laying waste the way of the resolute, of laying waste the high minded, of laying waste the heroic endeavor. We have a tradition of killing those who would oppose the tyrannies of hatred, malice, greed.
Since last we spoke, I have moved from the Philadelphia area, to New Jersey, then Florida and now Maryland. Most of my family now resides in Maryland.. I moved to advance on the job and escape the poverty of my birth, first to King of Prussia, PA; then to Willingboro, NJ; then to Tinton Falls. But no matter where I moved, I am reminded of my place in history for they still use the “N” word to address my children Beth, Thomas and Nicolas. Comedians still use this derogatory term as though history never existed.
In every state where I have lived, young black men and women fill our jails in disproportionate numbers. Politicians promise jobs, but in reality pass referendums to expand and build jails. The building of jails has become one of the largest industries in the United States. One of the key words in our communities is redevelopment. Redevelopment means relocation, displacement, as many of our people are being put out, shut out and pushed out of areas where we can’t afford to obtain mortgages averaging $400,000-$500,000. Meanwhile the job market demands new advanced skills, while most of our businesses find ways to capitalize on the new wave of immigrants as a way of providing cheap labor while denying the benefits of social security and hospitalization. The beauty of many of our streets is marred by gang violence and sophisticated drug dealing. Judges are strapped and searching for role models to substitute for and in some cases replace many parents who are themselves creatures of the streets.
We are awash in new technologies, Internet and interactive television, super highways, beepers, ipods, portable telephones and DVDs. Our young people are confused because hip-hop artists and rappers such as Pit Bull, Nicki Minaj 2 Chains, Chief Kief and Trey Songz confuse their existence. . Women are called Bs, prostitutes and whores. Never shall I forget how old school 50 Cents mixed his images of sin with references to religious characters David and Job. He uses these themes to sanctify his inability to cope with a lifestyle of his own making.
As you are aware, looking down upon us up there where you are, this nation America has undergone an attack on its soil by what is termed foreign nationals whose religious beliefs suggest that death brings benefits and a kind of nirvana, where men are given virgins to bride and so life becomes cheap real estate for the lost, the lesser and the least. We had this attack upon our nation, now called 9-11, named for the date of its occurrence. Our young men and women are dying in wars to end wars. The nation, our leaders, run their offices as though in a war mentality. I am afraid that there is a coward’s call for security for a few paid for by the blood of many in service of a security that is really insecurity and uncertainty. We are involved in a peace that is in reality the escalation of a war that has never been declared. The nation has a fluctuating $500 billion budget deficit, at a time when many are scratching for $5 to pay towards their tithes.
This is about broken promises. This is about the complacency of all who will remain silent, because we have been trained to be an audience and not a community. We are like strangers sitting in the dark movie theater of madness, while an expensive and carefully designed illusion of make-believe is projected on the screen just above our heads. This is about determining what kind of America we will fight to become.. This is about God’s place in the world. This is about whether we will be led by men, who work by dim lamplight with certainty obtained from secrets too sensitive to be shared and agendas too sacred to be debated. The power of truth is dangling on the scaffold. Truth is nailed to the cross. Affirmative action is now masked under a term called “diversity.” This is our Jericho Road.
Yes, Dr. King, you have seen the Promised Land and I am reminded again that the same Jericho Road that wanders and meanders toward Jerusalem, also wanders and meanders through America. It is still as dangerous as it was in Biblical times. The road is ripe for ambushing, but we are not afraid. Today’s Jericho Road may be filled with violence, crime, drugs, family disintegration, baby momma’s and fatherless children and an ever-increasing valueless society, but we are not afraid. We will fulfill your dream.
The gap existing between the haves and have nots continues to widen. And yet, Dr. King, with all the impending gloom and doom which surrounds us, a few of us remember your teachings. A few of us are not afraid. A few of us have not abandoned hope. A few of us still know how to call upon Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob—prophets of old, inspired visionaries who had a God-inspired plan for the betterment of humankind. A few of us know how to call upon God.
Dr. King, we are not afraid! It would appear that our past has dealt us a cruel hand. The harsh realities of slave ships, plantation life, the Holacaust, segregation, desegregation and integration all have presented us a Merry-Go-Round going nowhere. Yet there is hope in understanding our past. I am writing to bring you some good news about our past. In the midst of perilous predicaments, we were able to overcome, to achieve. This is a great time to be alive—our future is glorious. The best is yet to come. It was in the worst of times that we as a people excelled. As you recall, during plantation times, they gave us seed, but we gave them cotton. We as a people thrived during the course of adversity. They gave us sorrow and we wrote songs. They gave us pain, but we wrote poems. They gave us trouble, but we turned trouble into a testament of hope. They gave us blues, we made it music. They gave us misery, we gave them Moorehouse College. They gave us terror, we gave them Tuskegee.
When we needed someone to lead us out of slavery, Harriet Tubman stepped up.
When we needed scholarship, W.E.B. DuBois stepped up.
When we needed a civil rights leader, you, Dr. King, stepped up.
When we needed revolutionary fire, Malcolm X stepped up.
When we needed blood plasma and a heart specialist, Charles Drew stepped up.
When we needed a good lawyer and a judge, Thurgood Marshall stepped up.
When we needed an African American to run for president, Shirley Chisolm, Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton and now President Barack Obama has stepped up.
When we needed something to help us with our hair, Madame C. J. Walker stepped up.
When we needed an almanac and an engineer, Benjamin Banecker stepped up.
When we needed a traffic light, Gary Morgan stepped up.
When we needed an elevator, Alexander Miles stepped up.
When we needed a baseball player, Jackie Robinson stepped up.
When we needed a football player, Jim Brown stepped up.
When we needed a boxer, Jack Johnson, Joe Lewis and Muhammad Ali stepped up.
When we needed a track star, Jesse Owens and Wilma Rudolph stepped up.
When we needed a poet, Phyllis Wheatley stepped up.
When we needed a singer, Mahalia Jackson stepped up.
When we needed a movie star, Dorothy Dandridge and Halle Berry stepped up.
When we needed an actor, Paul Robeson and Denzel Washington stepped up.
When we needed a tennis star, Arthur Ashe stepped up.
When we needed someone to sit down, Rosa Parks stepped up.
And now, Dr. King, it is our time to step up—to claim our rightful place in this community, this state, this nation. In the words of Marcus Garvey, “Up up You Mighty Race. You can accomplish what you will.”
Yes, Dr. King, you have seen the Promised Land and I am reminded again that the same Jericho Road that wanders and meanders toward Jerusalem also wanders and meanders through our local communities. It is still as dangerous as it was in Biblical times. The road is ripe for ambushing, but we are not afraid. We will fulfill your dream.
By the way, Dr. King, my mother Mozelle is there with you now. Look her up. She was one of your biggest fans. When I was a small boy she would lift me high above her head and as I stood there mesmerized and floating in the comfort of her large hands, she’d say, “Someday you’re going to be important.” I remember how the marbles in my knickers would roll down through the holes in my pocket to my knee caps and she’d say, “You’re bright, you’re going to be somebody.” Then she’d kiss me with those large warm lips and pat my bottom as I ran away to play. When I graduated from Abington High School, my last will and testament in the school yearbook stated, “I just want to be somebody.” She was not afraid. Today many of us here in Ocean and Monmouth County are lifting young people into the air. We are telling them in the words of the Negro Spiritual, “Just like a tree planted by the waters, we shall not be moved.” We are here for you; we will shore up our families; we will teach the proud history of our forefathers—black, red, yellow, and white. We will take back our streets. We will respect the wisdom and authority of our parents. We will revere the moral courage of our religious leaders. We will declare a new revolution in values. We are not afraid!
A few of us are willing to stand in the breach, armed with the breastplate of love and determination. A few of us stand ready to dramatize the hopelessness of evil. A few of us stand ready to mobilize the forces of good will and generate pressure and power for change.
Like the Phoenix, we will rise up out of the ashes of complacency and sing that old Negro Hymn that inspired Sister Pollard:
I don’t feel no ways tired
I come too far from where I started from
Nobody told me the road would be easy
I don’t believe He brought me this far
Just to leave me.
But, Dr. King, once again they are asking in 2005 as they did in 1965, “How long will it take?” I recall your response:
“How long? Not long, because truth pressed to earth will rise again.
How long? Not long, because you still reap what you sow.
How long? Not long, because the arm of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.
How long? Not long, ‘cause mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord, He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored. He has loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword. His truth is marching on.
He has sounded forth the trumpets that shall never call retreat. He is lifting up the hearts of man before His judgment seat. Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him. Be jubilant, my feet. Our God is marching on.
Glory, Glory, Hallelujah, Our God is marching on.”
Yours sincerely,
Donald D. Warner