The autobiography of martin luther

Johnson's order caused disappointment and bitterness to all of us. I

felt that as a result of the order we had been put in a very difficult

position. I felt that it was like condemning the robbed man for get-

ting robbed. It was one of the most painful decisions I ever

made—to try on the one hand to do what 1 felt was a practical

matter of controlling a potentially explosive situation, and at the

same time, not defy^ a federal court order. We had looked to the

federal judiciary in Alabama to prevent the unlawful interference

with our program to expand elective franchise for Negroes through-

out the Black Beh.

1 consulted with my lawyers and trusted advisors both in Selma

and other parts of the country and discussed what course of action

we should take. Information came in that troopers of the Alabama

State Police and Sheriff James Clark's possemen would be arrayed in

massive force across Highway 80 at the foot of Pettus Bridge in

Selma. I reflected upon the role of the federal judiciary as a protector

of the rights of Negroes. I also gave thoughtful consideration to the

hundreds of clergymen and other persons of goodwill who had come

to Selma to make a witness with me in the cause of justice by partici-

pating in our planned march to Montgomery. Taking all of this into

consideration, I decided that our plans had to be carried out and

that I would lead our march to a confrontation with injustice to

make a witness to our countrymen and the world of our determina-

tion to vote and be free.

As my associates and I were spiritually preparing ourselves for

the task ahead, Governor Collins of the Community Relations Ser-

vice and John Doar, acting assistant attorney general. Civil Rights

Division, came to see me to dissuade me from the course of action

which we had painfully decided upon.

Governor Collins affirmed and restated the commitment of

President Johnson to the achievement of full equality for all persons

without regard to race, color, or creed, and his commitment to se-

curing the right to vote for all persons eligible to do so. He men-

tioned the fact that the situation was explosive, and it would tarnish

the image of our nation if the events of Sunday were repeated. He

very strongly urged us not to march. I listened attentively to both

Mr. Doar and Governor Collins. I said at that point, "I think instead

of urging us not to march, you should urge the state troopers not to

be brutal toward us if we do march, because we have got to march."

I explained to them why, as a matter of conscience, I felt it was

necessary to seek a confrontation with injustice on Highway 80. I

felt that I had a moral obligation to the movement, to justice, to our

nation, to the health of our democracy, and above all to the philoso-

phy of nonviolence to keep the march peaceful. I felt that, if I had

not done it, the pent-up emotions would have exploded into retalia-

tory violence. Governor Collins realized at this point that we were

determined to march and left the room, saying that he would do

what he could to prevent the state troopers from being violent.

/ say to you this afternoon that I would rather die on the highways

of Alabama than make a butchery of my conscience. I say to you, when

we march, don't panic and remember that we must remain true to

nonviolence. I'm asking everybody in the line, if you can't he nonvio-

lent, don't get in here. If you can't accept blows without retaliating,

don't get in the line. If you can accept it out of your commitment to

nonviolence, you will somehow do something for this nation that may

well save it If you can accept it, you will leave those state troopers

bloodied with their own barbarities. If you can accept it, you will do

something that will transform conditions here in Alabama.

Just as we started to march, Governor Collins rushed to me and

said that he felt everything would be all right. He gave me a small

piece of paper indicating a route that I assumed Mr. Baker, public

safety director of Selma, wanted us to follow. It was the same route

that had been taken the previous Sunday. The press, reporting this

detail, gave the impression that Governor Collins and I had sat down

and worked out some compromise. There were no talks or agree-

ment between Governor Collins and me beyond the discussions I

have just described. I held on to my decision to march despite the

fact that many people in the line were concerned about breaking the

court injunction issued by one of the strongest and best judges in

the South. I feh that we had to march at least to the point where the

troopers had brutalized the people, even if it meant a recurrence of

violence, arrest, or even death. As a nonviolent leader, I could not

advocate breaking through a human wall set up by the policemen.

While we desperately desired to proceed to Montgomery, we knew

before we started our march that this human wall set up on Pettus

Bridge would make it impossible for us to go beyond it. It was not

that we didn't intend to go on to Montgomery, but that, in consider-

ation of our commitment to nonviolent action, we knew we could

not go under those conditions.

We sought to find a middle course. We marched until we faced

the troopers in their solid line shoulder to shoulder across Highway

80. We did not disengage until they made it clear they were going to

use force. We disengaged then because we felt we had made our

point, we had revealed the continued presence of violence.

On March 11, I received the shocking information that the Rever-

end James Reeb had just passed away as a result of the dastardly act

of brutality visited upon him in Selma. Those elements that had

constantly harassed us and who did their cowardly work by night,

went to the Walkers' Cafe and followed three clergymen and beat

them brutally. Two of them were from Boston—the Reverend Miller

and the Reverend Reeb—and Reverend Clark Olson was from

Berkeley, California.

This murder, like so many others, is the direct consequence of the

reign of terror in some parts of our nation. This unprovoked attack on

the streets of an Alabama city cannot he considered an isolated incident

in a smooth sea of tolerance and understanding. Rather, it is a result of

a malignant sickness in our society that comes from the tolerance of

organized hatred and violence. We must all confess that Reverend Reeb

was murdered by a morally inclement climate—a climate filled with

torrents of hatred and jostling winds of violence. He was murdered by

an atmosphere of inhumanity in Alabama that tolerated the vicious

murder of fimmy Lee fackson in Marion and the brutal beatings of

Sunday in Selma. Had police not brutally beaten unarmed nonviolent

persons desiring the right to vote on Sunday, it is doubtful whether this

act of murder would have taken place on Tuesday. This is additional

proof that segregation knows no color line. It attempts to control the

movement and mind of white persons as well as Negroes. When it can-

not dominate, it murders those that dissent.

"From Selma to Montgomery"

As soon as we had won legal affirmation on March 11 of our right

to march to Montgomery, the next phase hinged on the successful

completion of our mission to petition the governor to take meaning-

ful measures to abohsh voting restrictions, the poll tax, and police

brutality. The President and federal judiciary had spoken affirma-

tively of the cause for which we struggled. All citizens had to make

their personal witness. We could no longer accept the injustices that

we had faced from Governor Wallace. We could no longer adjust to

the evils that we had faced all of these years.

We made it very clear that this was a march of goodwill and to

stimulate the Negro citizenry of Montgomery to make use of the

new opportunity that had been provided through the federal court.

We had a legal and constitutional right to march from Selma to

Montgomery. We were very serious in saying that we planned to

walk to Montgomery, and we went through a great deal of work and

spent a lot of time planning the route, the stopping points, the tents

and where they would be. We felt this would be a privilege that

citizens could engage in as long as they didn't tie up traffic and walk

out on the main highway but on the side of the road. Rosea Wil-

liams reported to me that there were three bridges, but that one

could walk across these bridges single file rather than two or three

abreast.

Things were shaping up beautiffilly. We had people coming in

from all over the country. I suspected that we would have represen-

tatives from almost every state in the union, and naturally a large

number from the state of Alabama. We hoped to see, and we

planned to see, the greatest witness for freedom that had ever taken

place on the steps of the capitol of any state in the South. And this

whole march added drama to this total thrust. 1 think it will go down

in American history on the same level as the March to the Sea did

in Indian history.

Some of us started out on March 21 marching from Selma, Ala-

bama. We walked through desolate valleys and across tiring hills. We

walked on meandering highways and rested our bodies on rocky

byways. Some of our faces were burnt from the outpourings of the

sweltering sun. Some literally slept in the mud. We were drenched by

the rain. Our bodies were tired. Our feet were sore. The thousands of

pilgrims had marched across a route traveled by Sherman a hundred

years before. But in contrast to a trail of destruction and bloodshed,

they watered the red Alabama clay with tears of joy and love over-

flowing, even for those who taunted and jeered along the sidelines.

Not a shot was fired. Not a stone displaced. Not a window broken.

Not a person abused or insulted. This was certainly a triumphant

entry into the "Cradle of the Confederacy." And an entry destined

to put an end to that racist oligarchy once and for all.

It was with great optimism that we marched into Montgomery

on March 25. The smell of victory was in the air. Voting rights legis-

lation loomed as a certainty in the weeks ahead. Fifty thousand non-

violent crusaders from every county in Alabama and practically

every state in the union gathered in Montgomery on a balmy spring

afternoon to petition Governor Wallace.

"How long? Not long"

So I stand before you this afternoon with the conviction that segregation

is on its deathbed in Alabama and the only thing uncertain about it is

how costly the segregationists and Wallace will make the funeral.

Our whole campaign in Alabama has been centered around the

right to vote. In focusing the attention of the nation and the world

today on the flagrant denial of the right to vote, we are exposing the

very origin, the root cause, of racial segregation in the Southland.

The threat of the free exercise of the ballot by the Negro and the

white masses alike resulted in the establishing of a segregated society.

They segregated Southern money from the poor whites; they segregated

Southern churches from Christianity; they segregated Southern minds

from honest thinking; and they segregated the Negro from everything.

We have come a long way since that travesty of justice was perpe-

trated upon the American mind. Today I want to tell the city of Selma,

today I want to tell the state of Alabama, today I want to say to the

people of America and the nations of the world: We are not about to

turn around. We are on the move now. Yes, we are on the move and

no wave of racism can stop us.

We are on the move now. The burning of our churches will not

deter us. We are on the move now. The bombing of our homes will not

dissuade us. We are on the move now. The beating and killing of our

clergymen and young people will not divert us. We are on the move

now. The arrest and release of known murderers will not discourage us.

We are on the move now.

Like an idea whose time has come, not even the marching of mighty

armies can halt us. We are moving to the land of freedom.

Let us therefore continue our triumph and march to the realization

of the American dream. Let us march on segregated housing until every

ghetto of social and economic depression dissolves and Negroes and

whites live side by side in decent, safe, and sanitary housing.

Let us march on segregated schools until every vestige of segregated

and inferior education becomes a thing of the past and Negroes and

whites study side by side in the socially healing context of the classroom.

Let us march on poverty until no American parent has to skip a

meal so that their children may eat. March on poverty until no starved

man walks the streets of our cities and towns in search of jobs that do

not exist.

Let us march on ballot boxes, march on ballot boxes until race

baiters disappear from the political arena. Let us march on ballot boxes

until the Wallaces of our nation tremble away in silence.

Let us march on ballot boxes until we send to our city councils, state

legislatures, and the United States Congress men who will not fear to

do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with their God. Let us march

on ballot boxes until all over Alabama God's children will be able to

walk the earth in decency and honor.

For all of us today the battle is in our hands. The road ahead is not

altogether a smooth one. There are no broad highways to lead us easily

and inevitably to quick solutions. We must keep going.

My people, my people, listen! The battle is in our hands. The battle

is in our hands in Mississippi and Alabama, and all over the United

States.

before committed to the struggle and committed to nonviolence. I must

admit to you there are still some difficulties ahead. We are still in for a

season of suffering in many of the black belt counties of Alabama, many

areas of Mississippi, many areas of Louisiana.

I must admit to you there are still jail cells waiting for us, dark and

difficult moments. We will go on with the faith that nonviolence and

its power transformed dark yesterdays into bright tomorrows. We will

be able to change all of these conditions.

Our aim must never be to defeat or humiliate the white man but

to win his friendship and understanding. We must come to see that the

end we seek is a society at peace with itself, a society that can live with

its conscience. That will be a day not of the white man, not of the black

man. That will be the day of man as man.

I know you are asking today, "How long will it take?" I come to

say to you this afternoon however difficult the moment, however frus-

trating the hour, it will not be long, because truth crushed to earth will

rise again.

How long? Not long, because no lie can live forever.

How long? Not long, because you still reap what you sow.

How long? Not long, because the arc of the moral universe is long,

but it bends toward justice.

How long? Not long, because mine eyes have seen the glory of the

coming of the Lord, trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath

are stored. He has loosed the fateful lightning of his terrible swift sword.

His truth is marching on.

He has sounded forth the trumpets that shall never call retreat. He

is lifting up the hearts of men before His judgment seat. Oh, be swift,

my soul, to answer Him. Be jubilant, my feet. Our God is marching on.

As the trains loaded and the buses embarked for their destina-

tions, as the inspired throng returned to their homes to organize the

final phase of political activity which would complete the revolution

so eloquently proclaimed by the word and presence of the multitude

in Montgomery, the scent of victory in the air gave way to the stench

of death. We were reminded that this was not a march to the capital

of a civilized nation, as was the March on Washington. We had

marched through a swamp of poverty, ignorance, race hatred, and

sadism.

sible was due to the presence of thousands of federalized troops,

marshals, and a federal court. We were reminded that the troops

would soon be going home, and that in the days to come we had to

renew our attempts to organize the very county in which Mrs. Viola

Liuzzo was murdered. If they murdered a white woman for standing

up for the Negro's right to vote, what would they do to Negroes who

attempted to register and vote?

Certainly it should not have been necessary for more of us to

die, to suffer jailings and beatings at the hands of sadistic savages in

uniforms. The Alabama voting project had been total in its commit-

ment to nonviolence, and yet people were beginning to talk more

and more of arming themselves. The people who followed along the

fringe of the movement, who seldom came into the nonviolent

training sessions, were growing increasingly bitter and restless. But

we could not allow even the thought or spirit of violence to creep

into our movement.

Wh en we marched from Selma to Montgomery, Alabama, I re-

member that we had one of the most magnificent expressions of the

ecumenical movement that I've ever seen. Protestants, Catholics,

and Jews joined together in a beautiful way to articulate the injus-

tices and the indignities that Negroes were facing in the state of Ala-

bama and all over the South on the question of the right to vote. I

had seen many clergymen come to the forefront who were not there

some years ago. The march gave new relevance to the gospel. Selma

brought into being the second great awakening of the church in

America. Long standing aside and giving tacit approval to the civil

rights struggle, the church finally marched forth like a mighty army

and stood beside God's children in distress.

Stalwart nonviolent activists within our ranks had brought about

a coalition of the nation's conscience on the infamous stretch of

highway between Selma and Montgomery. The awakening of the

church also brought a new vitality to the labor movement, and to

intellectuals across the country. A little known fact was that forty of

the nation's top historians took part in the march to Montgomery.

One can still hear the tramping feet and remember the glowing

eyes filled with determination and hope which said eloquently, "We

must be free," a sound which echoed throughout this nation, and

yes, even throughout the world. My mind still remembers vividly

the ecumenicity of the clergy, the combined forces of labor, civil

rights organizations, and the academic community which joined our

ranks and said in essence, "Your cause is morally right, and we are

with you all the way."

After the march to Montgomery, there was a delay at the airport

and several thousand demonstrators waited more than five hours,

crowding together on the seats, the floors, and the stairways of the

terminal building. As I stood with them and saw white and Negro,

nuns and priests, housemaids and shop workers brimming with vi-

tality and enjoying a rare comradeship, I knew I was seeing a micro-

cosm of the mankind of the future in that moment of luminous and

genuine brotherhood.

"Selma brought us a voting bill"

In his address to the joint session of Congress on March 15, 1965,

President Johnson made one of the most eloquent, unequivocal, and

passionate pleas for human rights ever made by a President of the

United States. He revealed an amazing understanding of the depth

and dimension of the problem of racial justice. His tone and his

delivery were sincere. He rightly praised the courage of the Negro

for awakening the conscience of the nation. He declared that the

national government must by law insure every Negro his full rights

as a citizen. When he signed the measure, the President announced

that, "Today is a triumph for freedom as huge as any victory that's

ever been won on any battlefield. Today we strike away the last

major shackle of fierce and ancient bonds."

We were happy to know that our struggle in Selma had brought

the whole issue of the right to vote to the attention of the nation. It

was encouraging to know that we had the support of the President

in calling for immediate relief of the problems of the disinherited

people of our nation.

When SCLC went into Selma in January 1965, it had limited

objectives. It sought primarily to correct wrongs existing in that

small city. But our adversaries met us with such unrestrained brutal-

ity that they enlarged the issues to a national scale. The ironic and

splendid result of the small Selma project was nothing less than the

Voting Rights Act of 1965. For the aid Governor Wallace and Sheriff

Clark gave us in our legislative objectives, SCLC tendered them its

warm appreciation.

In conclusion, Selma brought us a voting bill, and it also brought

us the grand alliance of the children of hght in this nation and made

possible changes in our pohtical and economic life heretofore un-

dreamed of With President Johnson, SCLC viewed the Voting

Rights Act of 1965 as "one of the most monumental laws in the

history of American freedom." We had a federal law which could be

used, and use it we would. Where it fell short, we had our tradition

of struggle and the method of nonviolent direct action, and these

too we would use.

Let us not mark this great movement only by bloodshed and brutal-

ity. We certainly can never forget those who gave their lives in this

struggle and who suffered in jail, but let us especially mark the sacri-

fices of Jimmie Lee Jackson, Rev. James Reeb, and Mrs. Viola Liuzzo

as the martyrs of the faith. Cities that had been citadels of the status

quo became the unwiUing birthplace of a significant national legisla-

tion. Montgomery led to the Civil Rights Acts of 1957 and 1960;

Birmingham inspired the Civil Rights Act of 1964; and Selma pro-

duced the Voting Rights Act of 1965.

When President Johnson declared that Selma, Alabama, is joined

in American history with Lexington, Concord, and Appomattox, he