Jose Luis Magana / AP
This Jan. 3, 2019 file photo shows Rep. John Lewis, D-Ga., during a swearing-in ceremony of Congressional Black Caucus members of the 116th Congress in Washington.
Sunday, Aug. 2, 2020 | 2 a.m.
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My wife, Myra, and I first met Congressman John Lewis at the White House on Sept. 13, 1993.
It was a historic day for our country and the world because that was the day President Bill Clinton welcomed Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin and PLO Chairman Yasser Arafat to the South Lawn of the White House to sign the “Declaration of Principles” agreement. The hope 27 years ago — as those two longtime enemies shook hands in front of the world — was that this first agreement between Israel and the Palestinians would eventually lead to peace. That hasn’t happened yet, but hope springs eternal.
As the invited guests began to leave the ceremony, we spotted Lewis walking by himself toward the exit. We rushed over to say hello. Yes, being there for the Israeli-Palestinian agreement was a significant moment in our lives, but so, too, was being able to meet one of the real heroes of the civil rights movement in America.
The congressman came of age during “our time.”
It was my generation that was shaped by the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King’s words as well as Lewis’ leadership in the face of violence and degradation. As young people, we saw what happened in Selma, Ala., and witnessed the violence on the Edmund Pettus Bridge. We can never forget our country’s participation on “Bloody Sunday.”
And there, at the White House on that day three decades ago, was our chance to say “thank you” for what Lewis did and was continuing to do to help perfect our American union.
And all the congressman wanted to do was learn as much as he could about us and about Las Vegas and the progress we were making on our own journey toward healing this country — one city at a time.
I thought of that chance meeting last week as I read Lewis’ last words in The New York Times the morning of his funeral. They were consistent with our first conversation, when he did his best to make sure Myra and I were doing what we could to continue the fight.
His message, though, was directed not at my generation —we are in large part the culprit in this continuing saga — but at the newer generations of Americans, which have picked up the banner of justice and are marching forward.
Clinton gave life to those words when he told everyone at the funeral that even in death, John Lewis stayed true to form.
“He left us with marching orders. I suggest we salute, suit up and march on.”
Those marching orders, written just before his death, follow. They are meant for the new generations of Americans who have it in their hearts to follow in his footsteps.
• • •
By John Lewis
While my time here has now come to an end, I want you to know that in the last days and hours of my life, you inspired me. You filled me with hope about the next chapter of the great American story when you used your power to make a difference in our society. Millions of people motivated simply by human compassion laid down the burdens of division. Around the country and the world, you set aside race, class, age, language and nationality to demand respect for human dignity.
In this Wednesday, Oct. 10, 2007, file photo, with the Capitol Dome in the background, U.S. Rep. John Lewis, D-Ga., is seen on Capitol Hill in Washington. Lewis, who carried the struggle against racial discrimination from Southern battlegrounds of the 1960s to the halls of Congress, died Friday, July 17, 2020.
That is why I had to visit Black Lives Matter Plaza in Washington, though I was admitted to the hospital the following day. I just had to see and feel it for myself that, after many years of silent witness, the truth is still marching on.
Emmett Till was my George Floyd. He was my Rayshard Brooks, Sandra Bland and Breonna Taylor. He was 14 when he was killed, and I was only 15 years old at the time. I will never ever forget the moment when it became so clear that he could easily have been me. In those days, fear constrained us like an imaginary prison, and troubling thoughts of potential brutality committed for no understandable reason were the bars.
Though I was surrounded by two loving parents, plenty of brothers, sisters and cousins, their love could not protect me from the unholy oppression waiting just outside that family circle. Unchecked, unrestrained violence and government-sanctioned terror had the power to turn a simple stroll to the store for some Skittles or an innocent morning jog down a lonesome country road into a nightmare. If we are to survive as one unified nation, we must discover what so readily takes root in our hearts that could rob Mother Emanuel Church in South Carolina of her brightest and best, shoot unwitting concertgoers in Las Vegas and choke to death the hopes and dreams of a gifted violinist like Elijah McClain.
Like so many young people today, I was searching for a way out, or some might say a way in, and then I heard the voice of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. on an old radio. He was talking about the philosophy and discipline of nonviolence. He said we are all complicit when we tolerate injustice. He said it is not enough to say it will get better by and by. He said each of us has a moral obligation to stand up, speak up and speak out. When you see something that is not right, you must say something. You must do something. Democracy is not a state. It is an act, and each generation must do its part to help build what we called the Beloved Community, a nation and world society at peace with itself.
Ordinary people with extraordinary vision can redeem the soul of America by getting in what I call good trouble, necessary trouble. Voting and participating in the democratic process are key. The vote is the most powerful nonviolent change agent you have in a democratic society. You must use it because it is not guaranteed. You can lose it.
You must also study and learn the lessons of history because humanity has been involved in this soul-wrenching, existential struggle for a very long time. People on every continent have stood in your shoes, through decades and centuries before you. The truth does not change, and that is why the answers worked out long ago can help you find solutions to the challenges of our time. Continue to build union between movements stretching across the globe because we must put away our willingness to profit from the exploitation of others.
Though I may not be here with you, I urge you to answer the highest calling of your heart and stand up for what you truly believe. In my life I have done all I can to demonstrate that the way of peace, the way of love and nonviolence is the more excellent way. Now it is your turn to let freedom ring.
When historians pick up their pens to write the story of the 21st century, let them say that it was your generation who laid down the heavy burdens of hate at last and that peace finally triumphed over violence, aggression and war. So I say to you, walk with the wind, brothers and sisters, and let the spirit of peace and the power of everlasting love be your guide.
Brian Greenspun is editor, publisher and owner of the Sun. John Lewis was elected to represent Georgia’s 5th Congressional District in 1987 and did so until his death on July 17. He was 80.
