I AM A MAN
“I AM A MAN,” read the sing carried by the Memphis sanitation workers.
A statement of the obvious. These were men, with some women and children thrown in, gathering, marching, singing, praying. What else would they be? What else could they be? Why this need to state the obvious, to call out this fundamental truth?
Because that reality was thrown into question by another, or a group of others. Sanitation workers, predominantly black, were not treated as fully human. Denied adequate wages. Refused safe working conditions. Forced to the back of the bus. Prohibited from the vote. Treated as undeserving, disposable, lesser than.
And so they gathered. And so they marched. And so they sang and prayed and yes, some died. For what? More money. Safety equipment. The vote. All those were but symbols of their true demand. To be seen. To be respected. To be treated as equals. To be a man.
Walking through the streets of Birmingham, of Selma, of Montgomery and Memphis. Touching the bricks stained with ashes and the blood of innocent children. Sitting on the bus, at the lunch counter, on the church pew. Making pilgrimage across that bridge.
And knowing that this reality, that all are human, is still called into question. Our treatment of immigrants. The subtle insults and ethnic slurs that pepper our public discourse. Our surprise when the top student is black, when the Asian plays basketball, when the Latino speaks German.
Walking through the paths of our history surrounded by the remnants of battles fought and, for the most part, won, was a reminder that not all of us have reached that promised land. That there are still signs to be carried, marches to be walked, songs to be sung, battles to be fought, and victories to be won. Until no questions remain, and every person lives the reality of those signs, “I am a human.”
Комментарии