When Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated on that fateful Thursday in April 1968, the news made such an impression on my young mind that I began clipping newspaper articles and researching his life. I created a scrapbook as a personal tribute to the great man's legacy and worked on it every spare moment.
The following Monday during study time, my home room teacher noticed me working on the bright red portfolio, stuffed and dripping with newspaper clippings. She stood next to me, observing for a few moments, and then asked, "What's this?" She picked up the portfolio-scrapbook and flipped through it.
"Um," I whispered self-consciously. "Just my own tribute to Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. He was just assassinated in Memphis, you know." Then I shrugged and asked defensively, "I'm finished with my homework, so it's okay for me to work on it, isn't it?"
She nodded and set the portfolio back on my desk. Then lowering her voice to match mine, she asked, "Do you really know who Dr. King was and why he was important?"
I nodded and replied, "Besides being a Baptist minister, he was a prominent leader in the civil rights' movement, advocating nonviolence." Then I added, "That's what I admire most about him, his dedication to peace."
My teacher smiled. "I am very surprised that a 12-year-old girl...."
"I'll be 13 in a couple weeks," I interrupted.
"Okay then, I am still surprised that a 13-year-old girl understands and cares about such an adult issue as civil rights."
"Especially a White girl in the wilds of Oregon, huh?" I remarked sarcastically, grinning ruefully. Before she could respond, I continued, "But you know, it's not just about the oppression and segregation of Black people in the South. It's about justice and equality for every American everywhere. It's written in the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence that we are 'all created equal' and have the 'inalienable rights to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.' And it's every American's duty to defend our rights whenever, wherever they are violated."
Throughout my soapbox speech, my teacher's eyes widened with surprise. Then she exclaimed, her voice no longer hushed, "Well! I'd like you to give an oral presentation about this to the class on Friday!"
Glancing around self-consciously at the sea of white faces, turned now in our direction with quizzical expressions for the interruption, I stammered, "Uh... Okay."
I hated giving oral presentations! Why had I agreed? Did I even have a choice to refuse a teacher's request? Irrelevant! I did agree, choice or no, and on Friday I would be standing before my seventh grade classmates, telling them about a man who had a dream.
When my teacher called on me to give the presentation that Friday, my stomach seized, my heart palpitated and my mind raced through excuses to escape the inevitable. I wanted to run away! Instead, I smiled and thanked my teacher. Then I took her place at the front of the classroom, hugging the portfolio-scrapbook to my breast like a shield. I wondered if Dr. King ever felt like this. Probably not, since his speeches were prepared. Other than a vague mental outline, I had not prepared for this presentation, relying on my knowledge, understanding and passion to carry me through.
"Um. Hi," I began shyly. "Have you heard, like on the news or read in the newspaper, about the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.?"
Although my classmates gave me their undivided attention, no one responded, yea or nay, and their expressions remained blank. I could not believe that my peers could be so ignorant of the news!
"Really?" I blurted incredulously. "Haven't any of you heard about it?"
This time their heads turned to look at one another and I heard vague, questioning murmurs. I looked at my teacher, who smiled as if we shared secret knowledge and nodded encouragement.
I took a deep breath and faced my classmates again. "Well, then do any of you know anything about the civil rights' movement?" Again my peers seemed un-informed, so I asked, "How about the oppression and segregation of Black people in the South?"
"You mean prejudice?" volunteered one classmate.
I brightened. "Yes! Exactly!"
The classmate beamed, while most of the others nodded and murmured their understanding. My teacher smiled in acknowledgment that I had finally found common ground with my audience. Then overhearing the bad boys snickering in the back of the classroom, I scowled briefly at them and continued.
After reminding them about the immortal truths that our forefathers deemed self-evident and our inalienable rights as set forth in the Constitution, I explained that when President Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation in 1862, the former slaves became free Americans, as are their descendants, and that since 1866, six Civil Rights Acts have been enacted, prohibiting discrimination. Yet, Black Americans in the South have been treated as second-class citizens for more than a century. I explained how during the Reconstruction period after the Civil War, the Southern States passed Jim Crow Laws that prohibited Black people from getting the same education, using the same bathrooms and drinking from the same fountains as White people. I showed them pictures of segregation from my scrapbook and told them how Black Americans could not even eat in the same room at a restaurant as White Americans. I told them how not too long ago Black people had to sit at the back of the bus and relinquish their seats to White people when the bus got full, and that they were even denied the right to vote until 1965.
"It's as if they are still in slavery!" I declared. "And that's not right! In fact, it's a violation of American civil rights!"
"What do we care about the rights of Colored folk, anyway?" snarled a bad boy.
"Do you see any Negroes here?" He snickered with his friends.
"Why should we care, indeed?" I addressed the entire class. "Every morning, don't we pledge our allegiance 'to the flag...and to the union for which it stands: one nation...indivisible, with liberty and justice for all' Americans? The violation of one American's civil rights anywhere violates everyone's everywhere!"
My classmates nodded and murmured their assent and now seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say. Even the bad boys behaved for the rest of my presentation.
Displaying a newspaper photo of Dr. King, I gave my classmates a brief biography: born in Atlanta, Georgia, on January 15, 1929; attended Negro only schools and seminary; ordained as a Baptist minister in 1947; received his doctorate degree from Boston University in 1955; married to Coretta Scott, whom he met at college, and father of four, the eldest being our age. Then I discussed the civil rights movement and Dr. King's involvement since leading the bus boycott in Montgomery, Alabama, which began in December 1955 and lasted for more than a year, until a Supreme Court ruling prohibited segregation on buses.
"While other leaders in the civil rights movement restort to militant tactics, like rioting, Dr. King preached nonviolent civil disobedience through peaceful demonstrations and marches. That's why I most admire him, for violence only begets violence," I told them and added, "And in 1964, Dr. King received the Nobel Peace Prize, becoming the youngest person ever to receive this honor!"
Then I told them how Dr. King had organized a quarter of a million people to march on Washington, D.C., where he first delivered his speech about having a dream of 'a nation where people are not judged by the color of their skin, but by the content of their character.' Then I described the persecution, arrests and violence the great man endured and still perservered in his cause.
"Then last Thursday, April 4th, Dr. King was shot to death by an unknown assassin in Memphis, Tennessee, where he was scheduled to again deliver his 'I have a dream' speech," I told them sadly and concluded, "I, for one, sincerely hope his dream of freedom and justice for all did not die with him."
As I returned to my seat, my teacher thanked me for giving the presentation and I heard a spattering of applause from my classmates.
Then the teacher asked the class, "So what can we do about this?" When no one responded, she suggested that we each write letters to our senator and congressman.
"Um," I said, standing to face the classroom from my seat. "I think one of the most important things that we can do as individuals is stand up and speak out against injustice whenever, wherever we find it."
Now, 40 years after the assassination of Dr. King and 145 years since the abolishment of slavery, Americans have elected a Black man to the Presidency. At last the dream of a nation united in brotherhood is coming to pass. Let freedom ring!