Wagadu

King Day

I was eight years old when Dr. King was assassinated. At the time my reaction was probably the same as most eight year olds, somewhat interested because of the commotion going on among adults and somewhat angry because my favorite shows had been preempted for the newscasts. I lived a sheltered life in Columbus, Georgia, an all black life in an all black neighborhood attending an all black school and playing with my black friends. My only direct encounter with white people was when I went to the doctor for my regular asthma treatments. My parents did their best to protect us from the worst of growing up in the South and they did until 1972, when the city of Columbus decided to integrate the school system, setting up each school at a 70% white, 30% black student ratio to reflect the racial mix of the city. So instead of attending 6th grade with most of my friends, I was sent to St. Mary’s Elementary to fulfill the city mandate.

It was a time of fear and bravado for us all. We spent that summer preparing ourselves, talking about how we were going be ready if someone confronted us. When that time came, it was everything we anticipated and everything we didn’t. I remember the first time I was called the N-word in anger and the name of the white boy who said it. I fought that boy every day for a week. By the end of the school year we were friends. Some of the people I expected to be my eternal enemies also became my friends. Others never moved beyond their prejudices and remained what they were taught to be.

As I grew older and had the chance to reflect on Dr. King and the struggle, I realized what a great man he was. When the first King Day parade was held in Atlanta I was front and center wearing my sweatshirt proudly and singing “We Shall Overcome” in my loudest voice.

Today I hear young black youths actually denouncing King,  spouting rhetoric about FBI conspiracies and such. As a person that lived through the civil rights movement and was an early recipient of the results I’m appalled at their disrespect for those people that made it so they could express such opinions. But this is the result of people not knowing and respecting their history. This is the result of people looking at a situation out of context of the environment in which it occurred. For those people I offer advice; don’t read about it, talk about it. Talk to an elder that lived through this time. Get a true picture of how life was for us then. If you have no access to elders, watch the documentary “Eyes On the Prize” and hear about the movement in the words of the people who participated.  You’ll hear about and see the dangers those marchers put themselves through not for their own betterment but for ours.  You’ll see the people who died for you and what you have today.

Happy birthday, Dr. King. Thank you for everything that I am today.