I usually say I have no heroes, but I think I’m wrong
When I was small I used to look at the flag and feel a swelling surge of pride and love that sometimes made tears sting the backs of my eyes. I had a sense, some grand sense of my country that perhaps no country could live up to, and it could wash over me so strongly that it blocked out everything else. It was warm, comforting, unrefined, a childhood emotion that lasted some years.
I have not felt that way in a long time now. My feelings have been complicated, put upon, embittered, soured, and betrayed. The grand beliefs and hopes that I had have changed. No, they are not gone, nor is my love for my country depleted. It would be much simpler if it worked that way. Instead, my hopes are tempered by the slow pace of change, the brittle limits of general reality. My grand beliefs are tarnished by the bruising filth that comes with life and humanity. The quaint stories of the Indians and pilgrims were Crayola-colored lies. Columbus did not find a new world. There's a crack, a crack in everything, and sometimes ugliness pours through to soil the fluffy, sweet deceptions we feed our children as we were fed before them.
Perhaps it's for the best. Perhaps not.
When I see flags now, I remember how they used to make me feel and I wish I could feel that powerful pride again. The national anthem used to get me. Sometimes it still does. Hendrix's version always does.
But if there's anything that makes me feel strongly about my country, if there's anything that arouses fierce hope from the deepest part of my being, it's the legacy of Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. He was murdered ten years before my birth. I have only known him in grainy grey films and scratchy vocal recordings, or through finely printed pages of his immaculately fashioned words, but I have loved the spirit of his work all of my life. No, he was not a saint. He had his weaknesses and sins like everyone else. I fully expect that when the National Archives release the FBI's wiretapped recordings of him in 2027, they'll be used to chisel the gold leaf from his image in the national heart. And why not? He doesn't belong in the rose-colored fantasy we paint for our own gratification.
Rev. King's legacy is a tremble of sound, a modulation of determined cadences, a swelling of our best desires for our country - for humanity at large. He belongs in our blood. He was not afraid to give his. If I could teach my students anything about him, it would be this: Rev. King showed us what ordinary people could do, and can do again. He is remembered for his considerable personal talents but he would not be remembered at all if he had been alone. Americans can be at our worst when working together, but we can also be at our best. Apathy will not sustain us forever and the work of equality and advancement for all is not finished.
We have done much, all things considered, but he believed we could be so much more.
I still believe that, too. Like a child, with tears behind my eyes, I believe.
Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I have a dream" speech
Rev. King's "Mountaintop" speech - delivered the night before he was killed.
I have not felt that way in a long time now. My feelings have been complicated, put upon, embittered, soured, and betrayed. The grand beliefs and hopes that I had have changed. No, they are not gone, nor is my love for my country depleted. It would be much simpler if it worked that way. Instead, my hopes are tempered by the slow pace of change, the brittle limits of general reality. My grand beliefs are tarnished by the bruising filth that comes with life and humanity. The quaint stories of the Indians and pilgrims were Crayola-colored lies. Columbus did not find a new world. There's a crack, a crack in everything, and sometimes ugliness pours through to soil the fluffy, sweet deceptions we feed our children as we were fed before them.
Perhaps it's for the best. Perhaps not.
When I see flags now, I remember how they used to make me feel and I wish I could feel that powerful pride again. The national anthem used to get me. Sometimes it still does. Hendrix's version always does.
But if there's anything that makes me feel strongly about my country, if there's anything that arouses fierce hope from the deepest part of my being, it's the legacy of Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. He was murdered ten years before my birth. I have only known him in grainy grey films and scratchy vocal recordings, or through finely printed pages of his immaculately fashioned words, but I have loved the spirit of his work all of my life. No, he was not a saint. He had his weaknesses and sins like everyone else. I fully expect that when the National Archives release the FBI's wiretapped recordings of him in 2027, they'll be used to chisel the gold leaf from his image in the national heart. And why not? He doesn't belong in the rose-colored fantasy we paint for our own gratification.
Rev. King's legacy is a tremble of sound, a modulation of determined cadences, a swelling of our best desires for our country - for humanity at large. He belongs in our blood. He was not afraid to give his. If I could teach my students anything about him, it would be this: Rev. King showed us what ordinary people could do, and can do again. He is remembered for his considerable personal talents but he would not be remembered at all if he had been alone. Americans can be at our worst when working together, but we can also be at our best. Apathy will not sustain us forever and the work of equality and advancement for all is not finished.
We have done much, all things considered, but he believed we could be so much more.
I still believe that, too. Like a child, with tears behind my eyes, I believe.
Martin Luther King Jr.'s "I have a dream" speech
Rev. King's "Mountaintop" speech - delivered the night before he was killed.