The courage of John Lewis
Most of us know John Lewis from his bravery displayed at Selma, an act which was ultimately a watershed moment in the fight for Civil Rights. Yet, this courage of John Lewis was not born overnight. It had been cultivated for years and its outspokenness was something that had not come naturally for the young John Lewis, a quiet man by nature. It's fierceness had been forged in the fight for equal rights at lunch tables in Nashville years earlier. It was that story which was eloquently highlighted in the book "The Children", a book I would highly suggest.
One story from that time, which Lewis told in his own autobiography, I think captures the heart of the struggle for civil rights, and I hope will provide a bit of inspiration to all of us as we face whatever uncertainty we have before us in the coming administration. The following conversation took place in regards to a debate amongst those in the Nashville movement about increasing protests despite the Intel reports of increased violence facing them. Will Campbell, mentioned by name here, was a mentor and personal friend of mine. For those unfamiliar, he was the sole white minister at the founding of the SCLC and had been escort to the integration of Little Rock Schools....as an aside, one day I'll get around to writing a diary on the complex man that was Will Campbell. But this day, he was the veteran mentor to the young protesters, concerned what increased violence would bring to the cause in Nashville. These are John Lewis' words:
The next morning there were fewer than a hundred of us gathered in the pews at First Baptist as we listened to Will Campbell, the white minister I'd first met at Highlander, warn us of the danger waiting for us downtown. Campbell, who had been run out of Oxford, Mississippi [as a chaplain for the University] a couple of years earlier for playing Ping-Pong with a black janitor, had come to Tennessee to work with the religious community. He was also a member of of the Nashville Council of Churches, as well as one of the few white members of the NCLC. He'd been to a few of our meetings, supported us completely, and had come down this morning to tell us he'd heard from some of Nashville's white community leaders that the police did indeed intend to make arrests that day. He said there might be violence as well, attacks from onlookers.
I listened to the debate that night. I considered everything that was said. And I heard nothing fundamental enough to shift the sureness I felt inside about what we were doing. I did not have a shred of doubt about what our next step should be. "We're gonna march," I said, when Will Campbell asked my opinion.
He turned away and went on with the discussion. Someone else asked what I thought about something that was said, and my answer was the same. "We're gonna march," I said, as simply and softly as before. At that point, Campbell lost his temper with me.
"John," he said, "you're agreeing with everything everyone in this room is saying. But all you say is, 'We're gonna march.' There's very apt to be some serious violence if there's another demonstration," he continued. "You agree with that, and still you say, 'We're gonna march." What it comes down to," he went on, "is that this is just a matter of pride with you. This is about your own stubbornness, your own sin."
The room was absolutely silent. Everyone turned to me. I looked straight at Will. "Okay," I said. "I'm a sinner." The room remained still. "But," I added, "we're gonna march." And that was that.
We on the left have disagreements, some self inflicted and some inflicted from the outside. Debate and discourse is always needed, but let it not irrevocably separate us. We are at a point where unity against the oncoming threat of a Trump administration outweighs any petty debates we may have with each other. Now is the time to March...and may John Lewis be our inspiration.
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