In President Obama's victory speech last night, he touched on a theme
that he has stressed on two previous, conspicuous occasions:
"I am hopeful tonight because I've seen the spirit at work in America.
I've seen it in the family business whose owners would rather cut their
own pay than lay off their neighbors, and in the workers who would
rather cut back their hours than see a friend lose a job."
That "spirit" Obama defined in the preceding paragraph as. "The belief
that our destiny is shared; that this country only works when
we accept certain obligations to one another and to future
generations." Obama made almost exactly the same reference to workers
cutting back they hours in his Inaugural Address in 2009:
"For as much as government can do and must do,
it is ultimately the faith and determination of the American people upon
which this nation relies. It is the kindness to take in a stranger when
the levees break, the selflessness of workers who would rather cut their hours than see a friend lose their job, which sees us through our darkest hours."
But that's not all. In his 2008 acceptance speech at the Democratic Convention in Boston, Obama said:
"I've seen it in the workers who would rather cut their hours back a day than see their friends lose their jobs..."
The context of that first utterance is a bit more intriguing than the
generic allusions to selflessness, faith and determination and shared
destiny. It is a paean to the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr.'s "
I Have A Dream" speech at at the 1963
March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom.
The key passage begins with the declaration that "the change we need
doesn't come from Washington. Change comes to Washington" and ends with
the words of Rev. King, "'We cannot walk alone,' the preacher cried.
'And as we walk, we must
make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn
back.'":
You have shown what history teaches us - that at defining moments like
this one, the change we need doesn't come from Washington. Change comes
to Washington. Change happens because the American people demand it -
because they rise up and insist on new ideas and new leadership, a new
politics for a new time.
America, this is one of those moments.
I believe that as hard as it will be, the change we need is coming.
Because I've seen it. Because I've lived it. I've seen it in Illinois,
when we provided health care to more children and moved more families
from welfare to work. I've seen it in Washington, when we worked across
party lines to open up government and hold lobbyists more accountable,
to give better care for our veterans and keep nuclear weapons out of
terrorist hands.
And I've seen it in this campaign. In the young people who voted for the
first time, and in those who got involved again after a very long time.
In the Republicans who never thought they'd pick up a Democratic
ballot, but did. I've seen it in the workers who would rather cut their
hours back a day than see their friends lose their jobs, in the soldiers
who re-enlist after losing a limb, in the good neighbors who take a
stranger in when a hurricane strikes and the floodwaters rise.
This country of ours has more wealth than any nation, but that's not
what makes us rich. We have the most powerful military on Earth, but
that's not what makes us strong. Our universities and our culture are
the envy of the world, but that's not what keeps the world coming to our
shores.
Instead, it is that American spirit - that American promise - that
pushes us forward even when the path is uncertain; that binds us
together in spite of our differences; that makes us fix our eye not on
what is seen, but what is unseen, that better place around the bend.
That promise is our greatest inheritance. It's a promise I make to my
daughters when I tuck them in at night, and a promise that you make to
yours - a promise that has led immigrants to cross oceans and pioneers
to travel west; a promise that led workers to picket lines, and women to
reach for the ballot.
And it is that promise that forty five years ago today, brought
Americans from every corner of this land to stand together on a Mall in
Washington, before Lincoln's Memorial, and hear a young preacher from
Georgia speak of his dream.
The men and women who gathered there could've heard many things. They
could've heard words of anger and discord. They could've been told to
succumb to the fear and frustration of so many dreams deferred.
But what the people heard instead - people of every creed and color,
from every walk of life - is that in America, our destiny is
inextricably linked. That together, our dreams can be one.
"We cannot walk alone," the preacher cried. "And as we walk, we must
make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back."
Those words, in
Dr. King's speech, were followed by others:
We cannot walk alone, and as we walk, we must make the pledge that we
shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are
asking the devotees of civil rights: "When will you be satisfied?" We
can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the
unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as
long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain
lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We
can not be satisfied as long as the Negro's basic mobility is from a
smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our
children are stripped of their selfhood and robbed of their dignity by
signs stating "For Whites Only." We cannot be satisfied so long as the
Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and the Negro in New York believes he
has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied and will not
be satisfied until justice rolls down like water and righteousness like
a mighty stream.*
I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials
and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells.
Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you
battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of
police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering.
Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.
Go back to Mississippi. Go back to Alabama; go back to South Carolina;
go back to Georgia; go back to Louisiana; go back to the slums and
ghettoes of our northern cities knowing that somehow this situation can
and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair.
I say to you today, my friends, even though we face the difficulties of
today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in
the American dream. I have a dream that one day this Nation will rise
up and live out the true meaning of its creed--"we hold these truths to
be self-evident that all men are created equal."
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of
former slaves and the sons of former slaveowners will be able to sit
down together at the table of brotherhood. I have a dream that one day
even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of
injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed
into an oasis of freedom and justice.
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a
Nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by
the conduct of their character.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day down in Alabama, with its vicious racists,
with its Governor, having his lips dripping the words of interposition
and nullification -- one day right there in Alabama, little black boys
and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and
little white girls as brothers and sisters.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted: every hill
and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plane, and
the crooked places will be made straight and the glory of the Lord
shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together.
This is our hope. This is the faith that I go back to the South with.
With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a
stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the
jangling discords of our Nation into a beautiful symphony of
brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together; to pray
together; to struggle together; to go to jail together; to stand up for
freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
This will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing
with new meaning "My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of
thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride,
from every mountainside let freedom ring."
And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true. So let
freedom ring. From the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire, let freedom
ring. From the mighty mountains of New York, let freedom ring, from
the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania, let freedom ring, from the
snow-capped Rockies of Colorado. Let freedom ring from the crevatial
slopes of California.
But not only that. Let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia. Let
freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee. Let freedom ring from
every hill and molehill in Mississippi. From every mountainside.
Let freedom ring and when this happens...And when we allow freedom ring,
when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every
state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of
God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants
and Catholics will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the
old Negro spiritual, "Free at Last! Free at Last! Thank God Almighty,
We're Free at Last!"
Just as Dr. King's "I Have A Dream" speech puts President Obama's remarks about "
workers who would rather cut their
hours back a day than see their friends lose their jobs" into a much
broader context there is also a little-known context for the most
famous part of that speech -- the part which gave it the name it now
bears -- which is described in the account presented by the "
Civil Writes Movement Veterans History and Timeline":
Today, Dr. King's address is famous as the I Have a Dream speech. But
the dream section, which is forever repeated in TV sound-bites and
classroom recordings, is not part of his original draft. When King nears
the end of his seven minutes of prepared text — the metaphor of the
bounced check and the echo of Amos that “... we will not be satisfied
until justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty
stream” — he senses — as do others on the platform — that something more
has to be said. That the march itself requires some summing up, some
articulation of the vision that moves the Movement, some expression of
the aspirations, pride, determination, and courage of not just these
marchers, but the Freedom Movement as a whole.
Sitting behind him, Mahalia Jackson leans forward, “Tell them about the
dream, Martin.” She had heard him speak the dream at recent rallies. And
with that, he steps over the seven-minute limit and off his prepared
text to soar, speaking from the soul of the struggle to the heart of
oppressed people everywhere, “Go back to Mississippi, go back to
Alabama, ... go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities,
... Let us not wallow in the valley of despair ... And so even though we
face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. I
have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true
meaning of its creed: We hold these truths to be self-evident that all
men are created equal ... I have a dream that my four little children
will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color
of their skin but by the content of their character. I have a dream
today! ...“ As he rolls on with his majestic cadences towards his
ringing conclusion, “Free at last, free at last. Thank God Almighty,
free at last,” Mahalia and others on the platform can be heard over the
loudspeakers backing him up with the traditional affirmation of the
Black church, “My Lord! My Lord!”"
The account of the March on Washington concludes on a sober note:
But while the march does affect Congress in regards to basic civil
rights, it has little affect on the economic issues that form a key
portion of the 10 demands…. Unemployment remains high — doubly so for
non-whites — and the call for dignified jobs at decent wages falls on
deaf ears, as do demands to increase the minimum wage to a living wage.
Looking back on the march later, Evelyn Cunningham, New York Editor for the Pittsburgh Courier, recalls:
"I must've cried for an hour and a half at one point during the march.
Part of it was sheer happiness, part of it was pride, and part of it was
my family. I'm steeped in my respect for my people. After the march, I
thought, 'Oh my God, we're almost there' — God, was I wrong."
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