A letter from the past . . . to the present

I went to Birmingham today.  Not the Birmingham that I go to two or three times a week for court or meetings or entertainment.

I went to the Birmingham where the jail is located.  The jail from which Martin Luther King wrote the letter.  The letter from the Birmingham Jail.   If you have done nothing to reflect on all that Martin Luther King evokes in the consciousness of the United States on this day set aside, then I suggest you read this long, long letter penned by Dr. King from the heart of Birmingham as the civil rights movement was reaching critical mass. Like the prophets of the Hebrew Testament, his words are eerily timeless. If your time is limited, read it instead of the rest of this post.

The crowds strolled through Kelly Ingram Park today, almost oblivious to the powerful display of the civil rights sculptures which are permanent fixtures of the greenspace, seeming to be much more interested in talking and laughing with one another than reflecting on the message of the inanimate objects. There was music in the air and the smoky aroma of barbecue and polish sausage.  This crowd knew too well the story and the message of the sculptures along the tour in the park. They didn't need the recorded tour.  They just wanted to be there on this day.  At the edge of the park, facing the civil rights museum, there is one statue where almost everyone paused for a moment . . . Martin Luther King.

The line for entrance into the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute stretched down the formidable front steps of the institute and along the curb of 16th Street.  It was estimated that between 3000 and 4000 visitors went through the BCRI today.  I was not one of them.  I was on a tight schedule and could not stay long enough to get in.

So I walked across the street to the 16th Street Baptist Church, where, on Sunday, September 15, 1963, four children were killed, and 22 others were injured by a dynamite blast, set by radical segregationists.  The children killed were preparing for a youth day event at the church later that day.  Prior to the explosion the church was a center of organization for the Birmingham civil rights movement.  After that day it became a civil rights icon around which much of the nation rallied.

Today the church was a place of joy, celebration and commitment.  Several speakers were on the program, remembering the past and speaking to the future. They honored King. And Shuttlesworth.  And there was a choir.  A choir that sang about justice. And freedom.  About Bull Connor and the Constitution. And about justice.

I started a post about the Republican Presidential race today.  But after going to Birmingham, after attending the church and hearing the speakers and the choir, after reading several of King's speeches, the politics of today just seemed silly.

Today I saw thousands of African Americans strolling through the park and around a church in downtown Birmingham, Alabama, where about fifty years ago they lived and fought in mortal fear of being attacked by Bull Connor's dogs and firehoses and the KKK's dynamite bombs.  I was reminded of the leaders and foot-soldiers of the civil rights movement, many of whom didn't survive.  I was reminded of Presidents and Attorney Generals and Congressmen who struggled with the pressure of making the decisions to change in spite of personal danger and potential political suicide. But some of them did what had to be done.  All of them together.  Not perfectly. Not quickly enough. But they did it.  It was not over then and it is not finished even now, but looking at the difference that was apparent around 16h Street and 6th Avenue in Birmingham, Alabama today, it reminds me and inspires me that we as a people are capable of doing the right thing, the good thing. The incredibly important thing.

So there won't be any post about politics today.  It just seems embarrassingly silly. I'll get on that tomorrow.

Because it is time to get serious. Again.

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