A few years ago I listened to an NPR special on the speeches of Martin Luther King, Jr. As I listened to clips from numerous speeches given over many years, I was struck by how often he challenged the listeners. He used difficult words. He used extended and complex arguments. Literary allusions. References to Plato and Shakespeare. And he spoke of difficult matters without pretending the changes he sought would be easy or without conflict.
Reverend King gave his last speech 40 years ago this past Thursday night; 40 years ago this past Friday he was assassinated in Memphis. 40 is a very symbolic number, and it recurs throughout the Bible. Rain deluged the earth for 40 days and 40 nights. The city of Nineveh repented for 40 days, and God spared it his wrath. Moses waited on Mount Sinai for 40 days and 40 nights, and when he came down from the mountain he brought with him the tablets. Jesus fasted in the desert for 40 days and 40 nights. And of course, the Israelites, led by Moses, wandered in the wilderness for 40 years. At the end of his life, aware that God would not allow him to lead the Israelites in to the promised land, Moses named Joshua his successor, climbed to the top of a mountain and peered over, gazed upon the promised land and died.
In that final speech, King invoked Moses and the promised land (which for Christians can also symbolize Heaven):
Well, I don't know what will happen now. We've got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesn't matter with me now. Because I've been to the mountaintop. And I don't mind. Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I'm not concerned about that now. I just want to do God's will. And He's allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I've looked over. And I've seen the promised land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the promised land! So I'm happy, tonight. I'm not worried about anything. I'm not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord!
I thought of King's speeches the other night when I read this, by the New Yorker's George Packer, about Barack Obama's Philadelphia speech:
The speech seemed to have been composed in intense solitude, and it has the personal drama, the encompassing structure, the moral and intellectual intricacy, of a great essay. In particular, it evokes James Baldwin’s "Notes of a Native Son," which is also about the distorting power of rage, the charge to acknowledge the inheritance of racism without being defined by it. The older man whose bitterness cast a shadow across Baldwin’s life was his father, and Baldwin wrote of his effort to understand and also transcend him: "One is absolutely forced to make perpetual qualifications and one’s own reactions are always canceling each other out. It is this, really, which has driven so many people mad, both white and black." In the same key, Obama said last week of Trinity, "The church contains in full the kindness and cruelty, the fierce intelligence and the shocking ignorance, the struggles and successes, the love and, yes, the bitterness and bias that make up the black experience in America." Obama’s ability to contemplate the contradictions in Americans of all colors without going mad—to be made stronger by them—accounts for his power as a politician. He also pays the electorate the supreme compliment of assuming that it, too, can appreciate complexity. [emphasis added]
In his most famous speech, given in Washington DC in 1963, King spoke of the danger of bitterness and the necessity of solidarity:
But there is something that I must say to my people, who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice: In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again, we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force.
The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And they have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom.
We cannot walk alone.
And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead.
We cannot turn back.
In his speech in Philadelphia, Barack Obama used one of King's metaphors when he spoke of continuing the march:
This was one of the tasks we set forth at the beginning of this campaign - to continue the long march of those who came before us, a march for a more just, more equal, more free, more caring and more prosperous America. I chose to run for the presidency at this moment in history because I believe deeply that we cannot solve the challenges of our time unless we solve them together - unless we perfect our union by understanding that we may have different stories, but we hold common hopes; that we may not look the same and we may not have come from the same place, but we all want to move in the same direction - towards a better future for our children and our grandchildren.
This belief comes from my unyielding faith in the decency and generosity of the American people. But it also comes from my own American story.
King envisioned a story of American reconciliation, in which the wounds of racism healed:
Let us not wallow in the valley of despair, I say to you today, my friends.
And so 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."
[...]
And when this happens, 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 are free at last!
40 years after King told the crowd in Memphis he had glimpsed the promised land, we have a black man on the verge of becoming our nominee for President of the United States. The progress we've made as a nation is inspiring, but our task isn't finished. And as Obama discussed, the nature of our racial problems is complex, and that complexity is embodied in Barack Obama himself:
I am the son of a black man from Kenya and a white woman from Kansas. I was raised with the help of a white grandfather who survived a Depression to serve in Patton's Army during World War II and a white grandmother who worked on a bomber assembly line at Fort Leavenworth while he was overseas. I've gone to some of the best schools in America and lived in one of the world's poorest nations. I am married to a black American who carries within her the blood of slaves and slaveowners - an inheritance we pass on to our two precious daughters. I have brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, uncles and cousins, of every race and every hue, scattered across three continents, and for as long as I live, I will never forget that in no other country on Earth is my story even possible.
It's a story that hasn't made me the most conventional candidate. But it is a story that has seared into my genetic makeup the idea that this nation is more than the sum of its parts - that out of many, we are truly one.
Obama could have discussed his multi-racial, multi-cultural heritage and self-identity as some wonderful conclusion, as something to trumpet, something that will eventually knock down the walls of hatred and racial division. One could cite Obama's candidacy as proof that Americans had transcended race, that 40 years after the death of Reverend King, Senator Obama, like Joshua with the Israelites, is leading African-Americans in to their promised land where all Americans are equal, White and Blacks sit at the table of brotherhood, where a fetid state where blacks lived under the sweltering heat of injustice and oppression has been transformed in to a state that cast its primary votes for Obama, and where, to quote Reverend King, "every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; 'and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together.'"
Instead, Obama discussed the complexities embodied in our racial and national memories, complexities that are in fact embodied in himself:
I can no more disown [Reverend Jeremiah Wright] than I can disown the black community. I can no more disown him than I can my white grandmother - a woman who helped raise me, a woman who sacrificed again and again for me, a woman who loves me as much as she loves anything in this world, but a woman who once confessed her fear of black men who passed by her on the street, and who on more than one occasion has uttered racial or ethnic stereotypes that made me cringe.
These people are a part of me. And they are a part of America, this country that I love.
In the 40 years since the assassination of Martin Luther King, the right has pushed the idea that liberals aren't truly patriotic. The right's idea of America is backward looking. As Obama explained, many of Jeremiah Wright's generation (and many who've come later) wrongly believe that America is static, that America has made little or no progress toward overcoming our most serious faults. Obama's speech was extraordinary for his candor in discussing why fully overcoming our imperfections is hampered by the apprehensions of White Americans anxious about change, and why our tragic history obscures the vision of so many African-Americans bitter about America's imperfections and who are incapable of fully recognizing how profoundly we've changed. We all know deeply flawed and imperfect people whom we nevertheless love passionately and with deep commitment. Just as we all love imperfect people, we also love our imperfect country.
The other great feature of Obama's speech—indeed, of his candidacy—is the emphasis on progress, and on hope. On his website, the speech is titled A More Perfect Union. The idea—the challenge—of "perfecting" recurs throughout the speech. He opened with the first words of the US Constitution: "We the people, in order to form a more perfect union." The recent racial tensions of the campaign "reflect the complexities of race in this country that we've never really worked through - a part of our union that we have yet to perfect."
But I have asserted a firm conviction - a conviction rooted in my faith in God and my faith in the American people - that working together we can move beyond some of our old racial wounds, and that in fact we have no choice if we are to continue on the path of a more perfect union.
I would not be running for President if I didn't believe with all my heart that this is what the vast majority of Americans want for this country. This union may never be perfect, but generation after generation has shown that it can always be perfected.
There is no single promised land awaiting our nation. As liberals and progressives, we inherently believe that there will always be work to be done, that the job of "perfecting" is unending, that we must never be content, that there will always be struggles to overcome as we seek entry in to the next promised land. Obama's speech is one of the rare times when a politician discussed a volatile and highly emotional issues, acknowledged difficulties, explained complexities, and inspired Americans to strive to overcome, to improve, to do what is necessary to create a more perfect union, to continue to climb to the mountain top, to look over in to the promised land...and to keep on striving for the next promised land, without fear.