 |
President Barack Obama, First Lady Michelle Obama, and
former Presidents
Bill Clinton and Jimmy Carter walk past
the statue of President Lincoln
to participate in the
ceremony on the 50th anniversary of the historic
March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom and
Dr. Martin Luther King,
Jr.'s "I Have a Dream" speech,
at the Lincoln Memorial in Washington,
D.C., Aug. 28, 2013.
(Official White House Photo by Chuck Kennedy) |
Congressional Republicans were a no-show at the 50th anniversary of the March on Washington for Jobs and
Freedom, and Martin Luther King, Jr.'s "I Have a Dream" speech.
Predictable.
Republicans are on the other side of the Civil Rights Movement as the GOP makes common cause with racism.
This is not to rah-rah the Democratic Party but on the issue of civil rights, there simply is no comparison between the two major parties.
The Republican Party, trapped in its "diseased, hate-filled minds" of its white base truly is the Party of fascism, "standing alone in (its) own diminishing circle," to borrow from
Ralph McGill.
More to the Parties of course but on this point of racism and hate, the perpetration of political terrorism and hate against racial minorities by today's Republican Party is not in dispute among serious minds.
Racism ought not to be a matter of small import in this American experiment.
Remarks by the President at the "Let Freedom Ring" Ceremony Commemorating the 50th Anniversary of the March on Washington
Lincoln Memorial
3:07 P.M. EDT
THE PRESIDENT: To the King family, who have sacrificed and inspired
so much; to President Clinton; President Carter; Vice President Biden
and Jill; fellow Americans.
Five decades ago today, Americans came to this honored place to lay
claim to a promise made at our founding: “We hold these truths to be
self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by
their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are
Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness.”
In 1963, almost 200 years after those words were set to paper, a full
century after a great war was fought and emancipation proclaimed, that
promise -- those truths -- remained unmet. And so they came by the
thousands from every corner of our country, men and women, young and
old, blacks who longed for freedom and whites who could no longer accept
freedom for themselves while witnessing the subjugation of others.
Across the land, congregations sent them off with food and with
prayer. In the middle of the night, entire blocks of Harlem came out to
wish them well. With the few dollars they scrimped from their labor,
some bought tickets and boarded buses, even if they couldn’t always sit
where they wanted to sit. Those with less money hitchhiked or walked.
They were seamstresses and steelworkers, students and teachers, maids
and Pullman porters. They shared simple meals and bunked together on
floors. And then, on a hot summer day, they assembled here, in our
nation’s capital, under the shadow of the Great Emancipator -- to offer
testimony of injustice, to petition their government for redress, and to
awaken America’s long-slumbering conscience.
We rightly and best remember Dr. King’s soaring oratory that day, how
he gave mighty voice to the quiet hopes of millions; how he offered a
salvation path for oppressed and oppressors alike. His words belong to
the ages, possessing a power and prophecy unmatched in our time.
But we would do well to recall that day itself also belonged to those
ordinary people whose names never appeared in the history books, never
got on TV. Many had gone to segregated schools and sat at segregated
lunch counters. They lived in towns where they couldn’t vote and cities
where their votes didn’t matter. They were couples in love who
couldn’t marry, soldiers who fought for freedom abroad that they found
denied to them at home. They had seen loved ones beaten, and children
fire-hosed, and they had every reason to lash out in anger, or resign
themselves to a bitter fate.
And yet they chose a different path. In the face of hatred, they
prayed for their tormentors. In the face of violence, they stood up and
sat in, with the moral force of nonviolence. Willingly, they went to
jail to protest unjust laws, their cells swelling with the sound of
freedom songs. A lifetime of indignities had taught them that no man
can take away the dignity and grace that God grants us. They had
learned through hard experience what Frederick Douglass once taught --
that freedom is not given, it must be won, through struggle and
discipline, persistence and faith.
That was the spirit they brought here that day. That was the spirit
young people like John Lewis brought to that day. That was the spirit
that they carried with them, like a torch, back to their cities and
their neighborhoods. That steady flame of conscience and courage that
would sustain them through the campaigns to come -- through boycotts and
voter registration drives and smaller marches far from the spotlight;
through the loss of four little girls in Birmingham, and the carnage of
the Edmund Pettus Bridge, and the agony of Dallas and California and
Memphis. Through setbacks and heartbreaks and gnawing doubt, that flame
of justice flickered; it never died.
And because they kept marching, America changed. Because they
marched, a Civil Rights law was passed. Because they marched, a Voting
Rights law was signed. Because they marched, doors of opportunity and
education swung open so their daughters and sons could finally imagine a
life for themselves beyond washing somebody else’s laundry or shining
somebody else’s shoes. (Applause.) Because they marched, city councils
changed and state legislatures changed, and Congress changed, and, yes,
eventually, the White House changed. (Applause.)
Because they marched, America became more free and more fair -- not
just for African Americans, but for women and Latinos, Asians and Native
Americans; for Catholics, Jews, and Muslims; for gays, for Americans
with a disability. America changed for you and for me. and the entire
world drew strength from that example, whether the young people who
watched from the other side of an Iron Curtain and would eventually tear
down that wall, or the young people inside South Africa who would
eventually end the scourge of apartheid. (Applause.)
Those are the victories they won, with iron wills and hope in their
hearts. That is the transformation that they wrought, with each step of
their well-worn shoes. That’s the debt that I and millions of
Americans owe those maids, those laborers, those porters, those
secretaries; folks who could have run a company maybe if they had ever
had a chance; those white students who put themselves in harm’s way,
even though they didn't have; those Japanese Americans who recalled
their own internment; those Jewish Americans who had survived the
Holocaust; people who could have given up and given in, but kept on
keeping on, knowing that “weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh
in the morning.” (Applause.)
On the battlefield of justice, men and women without rank or wealth
or title or fame would liberate us all in ways that our children now
take for granted, as people of all colors and creeds live together and
learn together and walk together, and fight alongside one another, and
love one another, and judge one another by the content of our character
in this greatest nation on Earth. (Applause.)
To dismiss the magnitude of this progress -- to suggest, as some
sometimes do, that little has changed -- that dishonors the courage and
the sacrifice of those who paid the price to march in those years.
(Applause.) Medgar Evers, James Chaney, Andrew Goodman, Michael
Schwerner, Martin Luther King Jr. -- they did not die in vain.
(Applause.) Their victory was great.
But we would dishonor those heroes as well to suggest that the work
of this nation is somehow complete. The arc of the moral universe may
bend towards justice, but it doesn’t bend on its own. To secure the
gains this country has made requires constant vigilance, not
complacency. Whether by challenging those who erect new barriers to the
vote, or ensuring that the scales of justice work equally for all, and
the criminal justice system is not simply a pipeline from underfunded
schools to overcrowded jails, it requires vigilance. (Applause.)
And we'll suffer the occasional setback. But we will win these
fights. This country has changed too much. (Applause.) People of
goodwill, regardless of party, are too plentiful for those with ill will
to change history’s currents. (Applause.)
In some ways, though, the securing of civil rights, voting rights,
the eradication of legalized discrimination -- the very significance of
these victories may have obscured a second goal of the March. For the
men and women who gathered 50 years ago were not there in search of some
abstract ideal. They were there seeking jobs as well as justice --
(applause) -- not just the absence of oppression but the presence of
economic opportunity. (Applause.)
For what does it profit a man, Dr. King would ask, to sit at an
integrated lunch counter if he can’t afford the meal? This idea -- that
one’s liberty is linked to one’s livelihood; that the pursuit of
happiness requires the dignity of work, the skills to find work, decent
pay, some measure of material security -- this idea was not new.
Lincoln himself understood the Declaration of Independence in such terms
-- as a promise that in due time, “the weights should be lifted from
the shoulders of all men, and that all should have an equal chance.”
And Dr. King explained that the goals of African Americans were
identical to working people of all races: “Decent wages, fair working
conditions, livable housing, old-age security, health and welfare
measures, conditions in which families can grow, have education for
their children, and respect in the community.”
What King was describing has been the dream of every American. It's
what's lured for centuries new arrivals to our shores. And it’s along
this second dimension -- of economic opportunity, the chance through
honest toil to advance one’s station in life -- where the goals of 50
years ago have fallen most short.
Yes, there have been examples of success within black America that
would have been unimaginable a half century ago. But as has already
been noted, black unemployment has remained almost twice as high as
white unemployment, Latino unemployment close behind. The gap in wealth
between races has not lessened, it's grown. And as President Clinton
indicated, the position of all working Americans, regardless of color,
has eroded, making the dream Dr. King described even more elusive.
For over a decade, working Americans of all races have seen their
wages and incomes stagnate, even as corporate profits soar, even as the
pay of a fortunate few explodes. Inequality has steadily risen over the
decades. Upward mobility has become harder. In too many communities
across this country, in cities and suburbs and rural hamlets, the shadow
of poverty casts a pall over our youth, their lives a fortress of
substandard schools and diminished prospects, inadequate health care and
perennial violence.
And so as we mark this anniversary, we must remind ourselves that the
measure of progress for those who marched 50 years ago was not merely
how many blacks could join the ranks of millionaires. It was whether
this country would admit all people who are willing to work hard
regardless of race into the ranks of a middle-class life. (Applause.)
The test was not, and never has been, whether the doors of
opportunity are cracked a bit wider for a few. It was whether our
economic system provides a fair shot for the many -- for the black
custodian and the white steelworker, the immigrant dishwasher and the
Native American veteran. To win that battle, to answer that call --
this remains our great unfinished business.
We shouldn’t fool ourselves. The task will not be easy. Since 1963,
the economy has changed. The twin forces of technology and global
competition have subtracted those jobs that once provided a foothold
into the middle class -- reduced the bargaining power of American
workers. And our politics has suffered. Entrenched interests, those
who benefit from an unjust status quo, resisted any government efforts
to give working families a fair deal -- marshaling an army of lobbyists
and opinion makers to argue that minimum wage increases or stronger
labor laws or taxes on the wealthy who could afford it just to fund
crumbling schools, that all these things violated sound economic
principles. We'd be told that growing inequality was a price for a
growing economy, a measure of this free market; that greed was good and
compassion ineffective, and those without jobs or health care had only
themselves to blame.
And then, there were those elected officials who found it useful to
practice the old politics of division, doing their best to convince
middle-class Americans of a great untruth -- that government was somehow
itself to blame for their growing economic insecurity; that distant
bureaucrats were taking their hard-earned dollars to benefit the welfare
cheat or the illegal immigrant.
And then, if we're honest with ourselves, we'll admit that during the
course of 50 years, there were times when some of us claiming to push
for change lost our way. The anguish of assassinations set off
self-defeating riots. Legitimate grievances against police brutality
tipped into excuse-making for criminal behavior. Racial politics could
cut both ways, as the transformative message of unity and brotherhood
was drowned out by the language of recrimination. And what had once
been a call for equality of opportunity, the chance for all Americans to
work hard and get ahead was too often framed as a mere desire for
government support -- as if we had no agency in our own liberation, as
if poverty was an excuse for not raising your child, and the bigotry of
others was reason to give up on yourself.
All of that history is how progress stalled. That's how hope was
diverted. It's how our country remained divided. But the good news is,
just as was true in 1963, we now have a choice. We can continue down
our current path, in which the gears of this great democracy grind to a
halt and our children accept a life of lower expectations; where
politics is a zero-sum game where a few do very well while struggling
families of every race fight over a shrinking economic pie -- that’s one
path. Or we can have the courage to change.
The March on Washington teaches us that we are not trapped by the
mistakes of history; that we are masters of our fate. But it also
teaches us that the promise of this nation will only be kept when we
work together. We’ll have to reignite the embers of empathy and fellow
feeling, the coalition of conscience that found expression in this place
50 years ago.
And I believe that spirit is there, that truth force inside each of
us. I see it when a white mother recognizes her own daughter in the
face of a poor black child. I see it when the black youth thinks of his
own grandfather in the dignified steps of an elderly white man. It’s
there when the native-born recognizing that striving spirit of the new
immigrant; when the interracial couple connects the pain of a gay couple
who are discriminated against and understands it as their own.
That’s where courage comes from -- when we turn not from each other,
or on each other, but towards one another, and we find that we do not
walk alone. That’s where courage comes from. (Applause.)
And with that courage, we can stand together for good jobs and just
wages. With that courage, we can stand together for the right to health
care in the richest nation on Earth for every person. (Applause.)
With that courage, we can stand together for the right of every child,
from the corners of Anacostia to the hills of Appalachia, to get an
education that stirs the mind and captures the spirit, and prepares them
for the world that awaits them. (Applause.)
With that courage, we can feed the hungry, and house the homeless,
and transform bleak wastelands of poverty into fields of commerce and
promise.
America, I know the road will be long, but I know we can get there.
Yes, we will stumble, but I know we’ll get back up. That’s how a
movement happens. That’s how history bends. That's how when somebody
is faint of heart, somebody else brings them along and says, come on,
we’re marching. (Applause.)
There’s a reason why so many who marched that day, and in the days to
come, were young -- for the young are unconstrained by habits of fear,
unconstrained by the conventions of what is. They dared to dream
differently, to imagine something better. And I am convinced that same
imagination, the same hunger of purpose stirs in this generation.
We might not face the same dangers of 1963, but the fierce urgency of
now remains. We may never duplicate the swelling crowds and dazzling
procession of that day so long ago -- no one can match King’s brilliance
-- but the same flame that lit the heart of all who are willing to take
a first step for justice, I know that flame remains. (Applause.)
That tireless teacher who gets to class early and stays late and dips
into her own pocket to buy supplies because she believes that every
child is her charge -- she’s marching. (Applause.)
That successful businessman who doesn't have to but pays his workers a
fair wage and then offers a shot to a man, maybe an ex-con who is down
on his luck -- he’s marching. (Applause.)
The mother who pours her love into her daughter so that she grows up
with the confidence to walk through the same door as anybody’s son --
she’s marching. (Applause.)
The father who realizes the most important job he’ll ever have is
raising his boy right, even if he didn't have a father -- especially if
he didn't have a father at home -- he’s marching. (Applause.)
The battle-scarred veterans who devote themselves not only to helping
their fellow warriors stand again, and walk again, and run again, but
to keep serving their country when they come home -- they are marching.
(Applause.)
Everyone who realizes what those glorious patriots knew on that day
-- that change does not come from Washington, but to Washington; that
change has always been built on our willingness, We The People, to take
on the mantle of citizenship -- you are marching. (Applause.)
And that’s the lesson of our past. That's the promise of tomorrow --
that in the face of impossible odds, people who love their country can
change it. That when millions of Americans of every race and every
region, every faith and every station, can join together in a spirit of
brotherhood, then those mountains will be made low, and those rough
places will be made plain, and those crooked places, they straighten out
towards grace, and we will vindicate the faith of those who sacrificed
so much and live up to the true meaning of our creed, as one nation,
under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all. (Applause.)
END
3:36 P.M. EDT
