Return to the South
ON A cool Saturday afternoon in January 1954
I set out to drive from Atlanta, Georgia, to Montgomery, Alabama.
It was a clear wintry day. The Metropolitan Opera was on tho
radio with a performance of one of my favorite operas----Doni-
zetti's Lucia di Lammermoor. So with the beauty of the country-
aide, the inspiration of Donizetti's inimitable music, and the
splendor of the skies, the usual monotony that accompanies a
relatively long drivc---especially when one is alonc----was dis-
pelled in pleasant diversions.
After a few hours I drove through rich and fertile farmlands
to the sharp bend in the Alabama River on whose shores Mont-
gomery stands. Although I had passed through the city before,
I had never been there on a real visit. Now I would have the
opportunity to spend a few days in this beautiful little city,
one of the oldest in the United States.
Not long after I arrived a friend took me to see the Dexter
Avenue Baptist Church where I was to preach the following
moming. A solid brick structure erected in Reconstruction days,
it stood at one corner of a handsome square not far from the center
of town. As we drove up to the church I noticed diagonally across
the square a stately white building of impressive proportions and
arresting beauty, the State Capitol. The present building was
erected in lS5l, and its high-domed central portion is one of the
15
16
finest examples of classical Georgian architecture in America.
Here on January 7, 1561, Alabama voted to secede from the Union,
and on February lS, on the steps of tbe portico, Jefferson Davis
took his oath of otfice as President of the Confederate States. It is
for this reason that Montgomery has been known across the years
as tbe Cradle of the Confederacy. Here the first Confederate fiag
was made and unfurled. One could see many of the pattems of the
old Confederacy and the ante-bcllum tradition persisting in
Montgomery today, alongside the lively evidence of modem eco-
nomic development.
I was to see this imposing reminder of the Confcderacy from
the steps of the Dexter Avenue Baptist Church many timcs in the
following years; for my visit in January proved to be a preludo
to my coming to live in Montgomery.
The previous August of I953, after being in school twenty-one
years without a break, I had reacbed the satisfying moment of
completing the residential requirements for the Ph.D. degree.
The major job that remained was to write my doctoral thesis. In
the meantime I had felt that it would be wise to start considering
a job so that I could be placed at least by September l954. Two
churches in tbe East----one in Massachusetts and one in New York
----had expressed an interest in calling me. Three colleges had
offered me attractive and challenging posts---one a teaching post,
one a deanship, and the other an administrative position. In the
midst of thinking about each of these positions, I had received
a letter from the officers of the Dexter Avenue Baptist Church
of Montgomery, saying that they were without a pastor and that
they would be glad to have me preach wben I was again in that
section of the country. The officers who extended the invitation
had heard of me through my father in Atlanta and other ministe-
RETURN To THE sourH
rial friends. I had written immediately saying that I would be
home in Atlanta for the Christmas holidays, and that I would be
happy to come to Montgomery to preach one Sunday in January.
The church was comparatively small, with a membership of
around three hundred people, but it occupied a central place in
thcommunity. Many infiuential and respected citizens---profes-
sional people with substantial incomes----were among its mem-
bers. Moreover it had a long tradition of an educated ministry.
Some of the nation's best-trained Negro ministers had held
pastorates there.
That Saturday evening as I began going over my sermon, I was
aware of a certain anxiety. Although I had preached many times
beforc----having served as associate pastor of my father"s church
in Atlanta for four years, and having done all of the preaching
there for three successive summers---I was very conscious this
time that I was on trial. How could I best impress the congrega-
tion? Since the membership was educated and intelligent, should
I attempt to interest it with a display of scholarship? Or should I
preach just as I had always done, depending finally on the inspira-
tion of the spirit of God? I decided to follow the latter course.
I said to myself, "Keep Martin Luther King in the background
and God in the foreground and everything will be all right. Re-
member you are a channel of the gospel and not the source."
At eleven o'clock on Sunday I was in the pulpit, delivering my
sermon before a large congregation. My topic was: "The Three
Dimensions of a Complete Life." The congregation was recep-
tive, and I left with the feeling that God had used me well, and
that here was a fine church with challenging possibilities. Later
in the day the pulpit committee talked to me concerning many
business details of the church, and asked me if I would accept
the pastorate in the event they saw fit to call me. After answering
STRROE TOWARD FREEDOM
that I would give such a call my most prayerful and serious con-
sideration, I lcft Montgomery for Atlanta, and then took a flight
back to Boston.
About a month later I received an air-mail, special-delivery
letter from Montgomery, telling me that I had been unanimously
called to the pastorate of the Dexter Avenue Baptist Church.
I was very happy to have this offer, but I did not answer imedi-
ately; for I was to fiy to Detroit the next morning for a preaching
engagement the following Sunday.
It was one of those turbulent days in which the clouds hovered
low, but as the plane lifted itself above the weather, the choppi-
ness of the flight soon passed. As I watched the silvery sheets of
clouds below and the deep dark shadow of the blue above, I faced
up to the problem of what to do about the several offers that had
come my way. At this time I was torn in two directions. On the
one band I was inclined toward the pastorate; on the other hand,
toward educational work. Which way should I go? And if I
accepted a church, should it be one in the South, with all the
tragic implications of segregation, or one of the two available
pulpits in the North?
As far back as I could remember, I had resented segregation,
and had asked my parents urgent and pointed questions about it.
While I was still too young for school I had already learned some-
thing about discrimination. For three or four years my insepar-
able playmates had been two white boys whose parents ran a store
across the street from our home in Atlanta. Then something began
to happen. When I went across the street to get them, their
parents would say that they couldn't play. They weren"t hostile;
they just made excuses. Finally I asked my mother about it.
Every parent at some time faces the problem of explaining
the facts of life to his child. Just as inevitably, for the Negro par-
ent the moment comes when he must explain to his offspring the
facts of segregation. My mother took me on her lap and began
by telling me about slavery and how it had ended with the Civil
War. She tried to explain the divided system of the South---the
segregated schools, restaurants, theaters, housing; the white and
colored signs on drinking fountains, waiting rooms, lavatories---
as a social condition rather than a natural order. Then she said
the words that almost every Negro hears before he can yet under-
stand the injustice that makes them necessary: 'You are as good
as anyone."
My mother, as the daughter of a successful minister, had grown
up in comparative comfort. She had been sent to the best available
school and college and had, in general, been protected from the
worst blights of discrimination. But my father, a sharecropper's
son, had met its brutalities at first hand, and had begun to strike
back at an early age. With his fearless honesty and his robust
dynamic presence, his words commanded attention.
I remembered a trip to a downtown shoestore with Father when
I was still small. We had sat down in the first empty seats at the
front of the store. A young white clerk came up and murmured
politely :
"I"ll be happy to wait on you if youll just move to those seats
in the rear."
My father answered, "There's nothing wrong with these seats.
We're quite comfortable here."
"Sorry," said the clcrk, "but youll have to move."
"We"ll either buy shoes sitting here," my father retorted, "or we
won't buy shoes at all." Whereupon he took me by the hand and
walked out of the store. This was the first time I had ever seen
my father so angry. I still remember walking down the street
beside him as he muttered, "I don't care how long I have to live
with this system, I will never accept it,"
And he never has. I remembered riding with him another day
when he accidentally drove past a stop sign. A policeman pulled
up to the car and said:
"All right, boy, pull over and lct me sce your license."
My fathcr replied indignantly, "l"m no boy." Then, pointing
to me, "This is a boy. I"m a man, and until you call me one, I
will not listcn to you."
The policeman was so shocked that he wrote the ticket up
nervously, and left the scene as quickly as possible.
From before I was born, my father had refused to ride the
city buses, after witnessing a brutal attack on a load of Negro
passengers. He had led the fight in Atlanta to equalize tcachers"
salaries, and had been instrumental in the elimination of Jim
Crow elcvators in the courthouse. As pastor of the Ebenezer
Baptist Church, where he still presides over a congregation of
four thousand, he had wielded great inflnence in the Negro com-
munity, and had perhaps won the grudging respect of the whites.
At any rate, they had never attacked him physically, a fact that
filled my brother and sister and me with wonder as we grew up
in this tension-packed atmosphere.
With this heritage, it is not surprising that I had also learned
to abhor segregation, considering it both rationally inexplicable
and morally unjustifiable. As a teenager I bad never been able
to accept the fact of having to go to the back of a bus or sit in
the segregated section of a train. The first time that I had been
seated behind a curtain in a dining car, I felt as if tbe curtain had
been dropped on my selfhood. Having tbe usual growing boy's
pleasure in movies, I had yet gone to a downtown theater in
Atlanta only once. The expericnce of having to enter a rear door
and sit in a filthy peanut gallery was so obnoxious tbat I could
not enjoy tbe picture. I could never adjust to the separate wait-
ing rooms, separate eating places, separate rest rooms, partly
because the separate was always unequal, and partly because the
very idea of separation did something to my sense of dignity
and self-respect.
Now, I thought, as the plane carried me toward Detroit, I
have a chance to escape from the long night of segregation. Can
I return to a society that condones a system l have abhorred since
childhood?
These questions were still unanswered when I returned to
Boston. I discussed them with my wife, Corctta (we had been
married less than a year), to find that sbe too was hesitant about
returning South. We discussed the all-important qucstion of rais-
ing children in the bonds of segregation. We reviewed our own
growth in the South, and the many advantages that we had been
deprived of as a result of segregation. The question of my wife's
musical career came up. She was certain that a Northern city
would afford a greater opportunity for continucd study than any
city in the deep South. For several days we talked and thought
and prayed over each of tbese matters. Finally we agreed that,
in spite of the disadvantages and inevitable sacrifices, onr greatest
service could be rendered in our native South. We came to the
conclusion that we had somcthing of a moral obligation to re-
turn---at least for a few years.
The South, after all, was our home. Despite its shortcomings
we loved it as bome, and had a real desire to do something about
the problems that we had felt so keenly as youngsters. We never
wanted to be considered detached spectators. Since racial dis-
crimination was most intense in the South, we felt that some of
the Negroes who had received a portion of their training in other
sections of the country should return to share their broader con-
tacts and educational experience in its solution. Moreover, despite
having to sacrifice much of the cultural life we loved, despite the
existence of Jim Crow which kept reminding us at all times of the
color of our skin, we had the feeling that something remarkable
was unfolding in the South, and we wanted to be on hand to
witness it. The region had marvelous possibilities, and once it
came to itself and removed the blight of racial segregation, it
would experience a moral, political, and economic boom hardly
parallcled by any other section of the country.
With this decision my inclination toward the pastorate tem-
porarily won out over my desire to teach, and I decided to accept
the call to Dexter for a few years and satisfy my fondness for
scholarship later by tuming to the teaching field. I sent a telegram
to Montgomery that I would be down in three weeks to discuss
details.
So I went back to Montgomery. After exploring arrangements
with the officers, I accepted the pastorate. Because of my desire to
spend at least four more months if intensive work on my doctoral
thesis, I asked for and was granted the condition that I would
not be required to take up the full-time pastorate until September
1, 1954. I agreed, however, to come down to Montgomery at least
once a month to keep things running smoothly during this interim
period. On a Sunday in May 1954 I preached my first sermon
as minister of the Dexter Avenue Baptist Church, and for the next
four months I commuted by plane between Boston and Mont-
gomery.
On my July trip I was accompanied by Coretta. Montgomery
was not unfamiliar to her, for her home was just 50 miles away,
in the little town of Marion, Alabama. There her father, Obie
Scott, though born on a farm, had made a success in business,
operating a trucking concern, a combination filling station and
grocery store, and a chicken farm. Despite the reprisals and physi-
cal threats of his white competitors, he had dared to make a
decent living for his family, and to maintain an abiding faith in
the future. Coretta had lived in Marion until she left to attend
Antioch College in Yellow Springs, Ohio. Having inherited a
talent for music from her mother, Bemice Scott, as well as the
strength of quiet determination, she had then gone on with the
aid of a scholarship to work her way through the New England
Conservatory in Boston. It was in Boston that I had met and fallen
in love with the attractive young singer whose gentle manner and
air of repose did not disguise her lively spirit. And although we
had returned to Marion on June l8, 1953, to be married by my
father on the Scotts' spacious lawn, it was in Boston that we had
begun our married life together.
So on the July visit Coretta looked at Montgomery with fresh
eyes. Since her teens she had breathed the free air of unsegregated
colleges, and stayed as a welcome guest in white homes. Now
in preparation for our long-term return to the South, she visited
the Negro section of town where we would be living without
choice. She saw the Negroes crowded into the backs of segregated
buses and knew that she would be riding there too. But on the
same visit she was introduced to the church and cordially re-
ceived by its fine congregation. And with her sense of optimism
and balance, which were to be my constant support in the days to
come, she placed her faith on the side of the opportunities and the
challenge for Christian service that were offered by Dexter and
the Montgomery comnunity.
On September 1, 1954, we moved into the parsonage and I
began my full-time pastorate. The first months were busy with
the usual chores of getting to know a new house, a new job, a
new city. There were old friendships to pick up and new ones
to be made, and little time to look beyond our private lives to
the general community around us. And although we had come
back to the South with the hope of playing a part in the changes
we knew were on the horizon, we had no notion yet of how the
changes would come about, and no inkling that in little more than
a year we would be involved in a movement that was to alter
Montgomery forever and to have repercussions throughout the
world.
THE church work was stimulating from the be-
ginning. The first few weeks in the autumn of 1954 were spent
formulating a program that would be meaningful to this particular
congregation. I was anxious to change the impression in the com-
munity that Dexter was a sort of silk-stocking church catering
only to a certain class. Often it was referred to as the "big folks'
church." Revolting against this idea, I was convinced that worship
at its best is a social experience with people of all levels of life
coming together to realize their oneness and unity under God.
Whenever the church, consciously or unconsciously, caters to
one class it loses the spiritual force of the "whosoever will, let him
come" doctrine, and is in danger of becoming little more than a
social club with a thin veneer of religiosity.
l was also concerned with broadening tbe auxiliary program of
the church. These activities, when I arrived, consisted chiefly of
the Sunday School, where adults and children assembled to
study the tenets of Christianity and the Bible; the Baptist Train-
ing Union, designed to develop Christian leadership; and the Mis-
sionary Society, which carried the message of the church into the
community. Among the new functions I decided to recommend
were a committee to revitalize religious education; a social service
committee to channel and invigorate services to the sick and
needy; a social and political action committee; a committee to
raise and administer scholarship funds for high school graduates;
and a cultural committee to give encouragement to promising
artists .
Since many points in the new program represented a definite
departure from the traditional way of doing things, I was some-
what dubious about its acccptancc. I therefore presented my
recommendations to tbe church with some trepidation; but, to my
surprise, they were heartily approved. The response and coopera-
tion of the members from this moment on was impressive. Almost
immcdiately the membership began to grow, and the financial
report for the first six months revealed that the income of the
church bad almost tripled over previous years. The various new
committees were functioning well, and the program of religious
education was charactcrized by sturdy growth.
For several montbs I had to divide my efforts between complet-
ing my thesis and carrying out my duties with thc church. I rose
every morning at five-thirty and spent three bours writing the
thesis, returning to it late at night for another three hours. The
remainder of the day was given to church work, including, besides
tbe weekly service, marriages, funerals, and personal confercnces.
One day each week was given over to visiting and praying with
members who were either sick or otherwise confincd to thcir
homes.
A great deal of time in the early days was also occupied with
getting to know all the members of the congregation. This en-
tailed visiting them at home and attending the various auxiliary
meetings of tbe church. Almost every wcck I attendcd from five
to ten such group meetings, and most of my early cvenings were
consumed in this fashion. I was also spcnding a minimum of
fifteen hours a week in preparing my Sunday sermon. I usually
began an outline on Tuesday. On Wednesday I did the necessary
rescarch and thought of illustrative material and life situations
that would give the sermon practical content. On Friday I began
writing, and usually finished the writing on Saturday night.
I still found additional time to take an immediate interest in the
larger community of Montgomery. The city's economic life was
heavily influenced by the presence there of the Maxwell and
Gunter Air Force bases. According to the annual report of the
Montgomery Chamber of Commerce, these two bases channeled
a total of $55 million into Montgomery's business economy during
1955. One in every fourteen employed civilians in Montgomery
worked at these bases, and approximately one in every seven
families was an air force family, either civilian or military. Four
thousand families living outside base reservations occupied homes
in the city. Yet ironically, although the bases, which contributed
so much to the economic life of the community, were fully inte-
gated, the city around them adhered to a rigorous pattern of
racial segregation. One could not help wishing that the vast
economic power of the federal agencies were being used for the
good of race relations in Montgomery.
Modern Montgomery is a prominent market for cotton, live-
stock, yellow pine, and hardwood lumber, and is one of the na-
tion's important centers for the manufacture of commercial
fertilizer. It has the largest cattle market east of Fort Worth,
Texas, and south of the Ohio River, marketing approximately $30
million worth of cattle annually. But there is a dearth of heavy
industry. This lack of industry is one of the reasons why so
many Negroes go into domestic service: 63 per cent of the Negro
women workers in Montgomery are domestics, and 48 per cent of
the Negro men are laborers or domestic workers. It is also
probably one of the factors in the appalling gap between the
living conditions of the whites and the Negroes. In 1950 the
median income for the approximately 70,000 white people of
Montgomery was $1730, compared witb $970 for the 50,000 Ne-
groes. Ninty-four per cent of the white families in Montgomery
have flush toilets inside their homes, while only 31 per cent of the
Negro families enjoy such facilities. Aside, then, from the problem
of segregation itself, with its effects on every aspect of Negro
life, it was clear that Montgomery's Negroes were also the victims
of severe economic deprivation.
The two communities moved, as it were, along separate chan-
nels. The schools of course were segregated; and the United
States Supreme Court dccision on school integration, handed
down in May 1954, appeared to have no effect on Montgomery's
determination to keep them that way. If a white man and a Negro
wanted to ride in a taxi together, they could not have done so,
since by law white operators served white passengers exclusively
and Negroes rode in a separate system confincd to them. True,
Negroes and whites met as employers and employees, and they
rode to work together at either ends of the same buses, with
a sharp line of separation betwecn the two groups. They used the
same shopping centers, though Negroes were sometimes forced
to wait until all the whites had been served, and they were
seldom given the dignity of courtesy titles. In several sections of
town, Negro and white residential neighborhoods adjoined, and
in others they interlocked like the fingers of two hands. But each
section turned its back on its neighbor and faced into its own
community for its social and cultural life.
There were no intcgrated professional organizations of physi-
cians, lawyers, teachcrs, and so forth; and even when such pro-
fessionals shared membership in national organizations, they went
their separate ways at home. No interracial ministerial alliance
existed in Montgomery. There was no local Urban League to
bring Negro and white together on an interracial board, and the
active membership of the Montgomery Chapter of the National
Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP)
was entirely Negro. The largcst institution of higber learning in
Montgomcry was the all-Negro Alabama State College, mainly
devoted to teacher training, with a faculty of almost 200 and a
student body of approximately 2000. Although the faculty had
included such nationally known figures as Horace Mann Bond
and Cbarles H. Thompson, and tbe college still exerted a lively
cultural influence on both city and state, it drew few local white
visitors to its handsome campus. In fact, the local chapter of the
Alabama Council on Human Relations alone in Montgomery
brought the two raccs together in mutual efforts to solve shared
problems.
Alabama law and its administration had worked to keep Negro
voting down to a minimum. By 1940 tbere were not more than
2000 Negro voters in all Alabama. Today the number is closer to
50,000, but although this represents progress, it is still lcss than
10 per cent of all Negroes of voting age in the state. In l954 there
were some 30,000 Negroes of voting age in Montgomery County,
but only a few morc than 2000 were registercd. This low figure
was in part the result of the Negroes" own lack of interest or
persistence in surmounting the barricrs erected against them; but
tbe barriers were themselves formidable. Alabama law gives the
registrars wide discretionary powers. At the registration office are
separate lines and separate tables for voters according to race.
The registrars servicing Negro lines move at a noticeablv leisurely
pace, so that of fifty Negroes in line, as few as fifteen may be
reached by the end of tbe day. All voters are required to fill out
a long questionnaire as a test of eligibility. Often Negroes fill out
the questionnaire at several different times before they have
been informed that they have done so successfully. In the light of
these facts it was not surprising to find that there was no Negro
in public office in either the city or the county of Montgomery.
As an expression of my concern with such problems as these,
one of the first committees that I set up in my church was de-
signed to keep the congregation intelligently informed on the
social, political, and economic situations. The duties of the Social
and Political Action Committee were, among others, to keep
before the congregation the importance of the NAACP and the
necessity of being registered voters, and----during state and na-
tional elections----to sponsor forums and mass meetings to discuss
the major issues. I sought members for this committee who had
already evinccd an interest in social problems, and who had some
prior experience in this area. Fortunately this was not a difficult
task, for Dexter had several members who were deeply concerned
with community problems, and who accepted with alacrity. Inter-
estingly enough, two members of this committee----Mrs. Jo Ann
Robinson and Rufus Lewis----were among the first people to
become prominent in the bus boycott that was soon to mobilize
the latent strength of Montgomery's Negro community.
As the year passed I saw impressive results from the work of
this committee. By the first of November it was publishing a bi-
weeldy newsletter, SAPAC, which was distributed to every mem-
ber of the church and proved to be of great value in placing major
social and political issues before the church members. Under
the committee's auspices a voting clinic had trained almost every
unregistered member of the congregation in the pitfalls of dis-
criminatory registration procedures. By November 1955, in my
annual report to the membership, I was able to say that "the
work of this committee has been superb, and every member of
Dexter has felt its influence. Through the work of this committee
many persons have become registered voters, and Dexter has led
all other churches in Montgomery in contributions to the NAACP."
After having started the program of the church on its way, I
joined the local branch of the NAACP and began to take an active
interest in implementing its program in the community itself.
Besides raising money through my church, I made several
speeches for the NAACP in Montgomery and elsewhere. Less
than a year after I joined the branch I was elected to the execu-
tive committee. By attending most of the montldy meetings I
was brought face to face with some of the racial problems that
plagued the community, especially those involving the courts.
Before my arrival in Montgomery, and for several years after,
most of the local NAACPS energies and funds were devoted to
the defense of Jeremiah Reeves. Reeves, a drummer in a Negro
band, had been arrested at the age of sixteen, accused of raping
a white woman. One of the authorities had led him to the death
chamber, threatening that if he did not confess at once he would
burn there later. His confession, extracted under this duress, was
later retracted, and for the remaining seven years that his case,
and his life, dragged on, he continued to deny not only the charge
of rape but the accusation of having had sexual relations at all
with his white accuser.
The NAACP hired the lawyers and raised the money for
Reeves's defense. In the local court he was found guilty and
condemned to death. The conviction was upheld in a series of
appeals through the Alabama courts. The case was appealed to the
United States Supreme Court on two occasions. The first time,
the Court reversed the decision and turned it back to the State
Supreme Court for rehearing. The second time, the United States
Supreme Court agreed to hear the case but later dismissed it,
thus leaving the Alabama Court free to electrocute. After
failure of a final appeal to the Governor to commute the sen
the police officials kept their promise. On March 28, 1958,
was electrocuted.
The Reeves case was typical of the unequal justice of South
courts. In the years that he sat in jail, several white men in
Alabama had also been charged with rape; but their accusers were
Negro girls. They were seldom arrested; if arrested, they were
soon released by the Grand Jury; none was ever brought to
For good reason the Negroes of the South had learned to
and mistrust the white man's justice.
Around tbe time that I started working with the NAACP
Alabama Council on Kuman Relations also caught my attention.
This interracial group was concerned with human relation
the State of Alabama and employed educational methods
achieve its purpose. An affiliate of the Southern Regional Council
and the successor to the Alabama Inter-Racial Committee,
Council on Human Relations sought to attain through rese
and action equal opportunity for all the people of Alabamsi
basic philosophy recognized "that all men are created equal
under God. Interpreted into the life of our nation, this mea
that each individual is endowed with the right of equal oppor-
tunity to contribute to and share in the life of our nation.
Individual or group of individuals has the privilege to limit
right in any way."
I joined this organization, and attended most of the monthly
meetings of the Montgomery Chapter, which were held in the
meeting room of my church. After working with the Council for
a few months I was elected to the office of vice-president, and
served in this capacity until other responsibilities intervened. The
president of the Council was Rev. Ray Wadley, the young whi
minister of St. Mark's Methodist Church. A native Southerner, he
was later shifted to a small, backwoods community after his con-
gregation protested his activities in the field of race relations.
Two other prominent white members of the Council were Revs.
Thomas P. Thrasher and Robert Graetz, both of whom were to be
prominent in the subsequent bus struggle.
Although the Montgomery Council never had a large member-
ship, it played an important role. As the only truly interracial
group in Montgomery, it scrvcd to keep the desperately needed
channels of communication open between the races. Men often
hate each other because they fear each other; they fear each other
because they do not know each other; they do not know each
other because they cannot communicate; they cannot communi-
cate because they are separated. In providing an avenue of com-
munication, the Council was fulfilling a necessary condition for
better race relations in the South.
l was surprised to learn that many people found my dual in-
terest in the NAACP and the Council inconsistent. Many Negroes
felt that integration could come only through legislation and court
action---the chief emphases of the NAACP. Many white people
felt that integration could come only through education----the
chief emphasis of the Council on Human Relations. How could
one give his allegiance to two organizations whose approaches
and methods seemed so diametrically opposed?
The question betrayed an assumption that there was only one
approach to the solution of the race problcm. On the contrary I
felt that both approaches were necessary. Through education we
seek to change attitudes; through legislation and court orders
we seek to regulate behavior. Through education we seek to
change internal feelings ( prejudice, hate, etc. ) ; through legisla-
tion and court orders we seek to control the external effects of
those feelings. Through education we seek to break down the
spiritual barriers to integration; through legislation and court
One method is not a substitute for the other, but a meal
and necessary supplement. Anyone who starts out with the
viction that the road to racial justice is only one lane which
inevitably create a traffic jam and make the journey infinetly
longer. My work with the NAACP and the Alabama County
Human Relations grew out of the conviction that both organisa-
tions met a real need in the community, and each carried its
work at a high level of dignity and wisdom.
As time went on, I discovered several things in the Negro comu-
munity which needed to be remedied before any real social
progress could be effected. First, there was an appalling lack of unity
among the leaders. Several civic groups existed, each at logger-
heads with the other. There was the organization known as
Progressive Democrats headed by E. D. Nixon. There was
Citizens Committee headed by Rufus Lewis. There was
Women"s Political Council hcadcd by Mrs. Mary Fair Burks
Jo Ann Robinson. Thcre was the NAACP headed by R.
Matthcws. Smallcr groups further divided the Ncgro commun
While the heads of each of these organizations were able a
dcdicatcd leaders witb common aims, thcir separatc allegian
made it difficult for tbcm to come togethcr on the basis of
higher unity.
Many people sensed the effects of this crippling factionalisi
Early in 1955 some influcntial leaders attemptcd to solve the pro
lcm by organizing a group lwhich finally came to be known as
Citizens Cotrdinating Committec. I can rcmember the anticip
tion with which I attendcd thc first mccting of this gronp, feeli
that here the Neigio commnnity had an answer to a problem tha
had stood too long as a stumbling block to social progress. Soon
however, my hopes were shattcred. Due to a lack of tenacity o
the part of the leaders and of active interest on the part of the
citizens in general, the Citizens Coordinating Committee finally
dissolved. With tbe breakdown of this promising undertaking, it
appeared that the tragic division in the Negro community could
be cured only by some divine miracle.
But not only was the community faced witb competing leader-
ship; it was also crippled by the indifference of the educated
group. This indifference expressed itself in a lack of participation
in any move toward better racial conditions, and a sort of tacit
acceptance of things as they were. To be sure, there were always
some educated people who stood in the forefront of the struggle
for vacial justice----but they werc exceptions. The vast majority
were indifferent and complacent.
Some of this lack of concern had its basis in fear. Many of the
educated group were employed in vulnerable positions, and a
forthright stand in the area of racial justice might result in the
loss of a job. So rather than jeopardize their cconomic security,
many steered clear of any move toward altering the status quo.
This, however, was not the whole story. Too much of the inaction
was due to sheer apathy. Even in areas----such as voting---where
they would not really be accused of tampering with the estab-
lished order, the educated group had an indifference that for a
period appeared incurable.
The apparent apathy of the Negro ministers presented a special
problem. A faithful few had always shown a deep concern for
social problems, but too many had remained aloof from the area
of social responsibility. Much of this indifference, it is true,
stemmed from a sincere feeling that ministers were not supposed
to get mixed up in such carthly, temporal matters as social and
economic improvement; they were to "preach the gospel," and
keep men"s minds centered on "the heavenly." But however sin-
cere, this view of religion, I felt, was too confined.
Certainly, otherworldly concerns have a deep and significant
place in all religions worthy of the name. Any religion that is
completely earthbound sells its birthright for a mess of naturalistic
pottage. Religion, at its best, deals not only with man's pre-
liminary concerns but with his inescapable ultimate concern.
When religion overlooks this basic fact it is reduced to a mere
ethical system in which eternity is absorbed into time and God
is relegated to a sort of meaningless figment of the human imag-
ination.
But a religion true to its nature must also be concerned about
man's social conditions. Religion deals with both earth and
heaven, both time and eternity. Religion operates not only on the
vertical plane but also on the horizontal. lt seeks not only to
integrate men with God but to integrate men with men and
each man with himself. This means, at bottom, that tbe Christian
gospel is a two-way road. On the one hand it seeks to change
the souls of men, and thereby unite them with God; on the other
hand it seeks to change the environmental conditions of men so
that the soul will have a chance after it is changed. Any religion
that professes to be concemed with the souls of men and is not
concerned with the slums that damn them, tbe economic con-
ditions that strangle them, and the social conditions that cripple
them is a dry-as-dnst religion. Such a religion is the kind the
Marxists like to see---an opiate of the people.
Another striking fact about Montgomery's Negro community
was the apparent passivity of the majority of the uneducated.
While there were always some who struck out against segrega-
tion, the largest number accepted it without apparent protest.
Not only did they seem resigned to segregation per se; they also
accepted the abuscs and indignities which came with it. My
predecessor at the Dexter Avenue Baptist Church---Rev. Vemon
Johns---tells of an incident that illustrates the attitude of the
people at this time. One day he boarded a bus and sat in one of
the front seats reserved for whites only. The bus driver demanded
that he move back. Mr. Johns refused. The operator then ordered
him off the bus. Again Mr. Johns refused, until the driver agreed
to return his fare. Before leaving, Mr. Johns stood in the aisle and
asked how many of his people would follow him off the bus in
protest. Not a single person responded. A few days later when
he chided a woman who had been on the bus for not joining his
protest, she quoted her fellow passengers as saying: "You ought
to know better."
Some of the passivity of the uneducated could, like that of the
educated, be attributed to the fear of economic reprisals. De-
pendent on the white community, they dared not protest against
unjust racial conditions for fear of losing their jobs. But perhaps
an even more basic force at work was their corroding sense of
inferiority, which often expressed itself in a lack of self-respect.
Many unconsciously wondered whether they actually deserved
any better conditions. Thcir minds and souls were so conditioned
to the system of segrcgation that they submissively adjusted them-
selves to things as they were. This is the ultimate tragedy of
segregation. It not only harms one physically but injures one
spiritually. It scars the soul and degrades the personality. It
infiicts the segregated with a false sense of inferiority, while con-
firming the segregator in a false estimate of his own superiority.
It is a system which forever stares the segregated in the face,
saying: "You are less than . . ." "You are not equal to . . ." The
system of segregation itself was responsible for much of the pas-
sivity of the Negroes of Montgomery.
So I found the Negro community the victim of a threefold
malady---factionalism among the leaders, indifference in the edu-
cated group, and passivity in the uneducated. All of these con-
ditions had almost persuaded me that no lasting social reform
could ever be achieved in Montgomery.
Beneath the surface, however, there was a ground swell of
discontent. Such men as Vernon Jobns and E. D. Nixon bad never
tired of kecping the problem before the conscience of the com-
munity. When othcrs had feared to speak, they had spoken with
courage. Whcn othcrs had dared not take a stand, tbcy had stood
with valor and determination.
Vernon Johns, now the director of Maryland State Baptist
Center, was a brilliant prcachcr with a creative mind and an
incredibly retentive memory. It was not unusual for him to quote
from the classics of literature and philosopby for hours without
ever referring to a manuscript. A fearless man, he never allowed
an injustice to come to his attention without spcaking out against
it. When he was still pastor, hardly a Sunday passed that he did
not lash out against complacency. He often guided the congrega-
tion for sitting up so prondly with tbeir many academic degrees,
and yet lacking the very thing tbat degrees should confer, that
is, self-respeet. One of his basic theses was that any individual
who submitted willingly to injustice did not really deserve more
justice.
Johns loved to farm and live close to nature. He agreed with
Booker T. Washington that "no race can prosper till it learns there
is as much dignity in tilling a field as in writing a poem." Johns
also felt, as Washington did, that the Negro must lift himself
by his own bootstraps, and that one of the best ways to do this
was by gaining an economic stronghold. Considering it a tragedy
that the Negro produced so little of what he consumed, be con-
sistently urged the Negroes of Montgomery to pool their eco-
nomic rcsources. As a result, a fcw entcrprising individuals came
together in 1953, undcr Johns"s influence, and organized Farm
and City Enterprises---a cotpcrative supermarket wbich has
today developed into a thriving busincss. This was a tour de force
in a community that had generally been abysmally slow to move.
Like Vernon Johns, E. D. Nixon had always been a foe of in-
justice. You could look at the face of this tall, dark-skinned, gray-
ing man and tell that he was a fighter. In his work as a Pullman
portcr---a job he still holds----be was in close contact with or-
ganized labor. He had served as state president of the NAACP
and also as prcsident of thc Montgomery branch. Through each
of these mediums E. D. Nixon worked fearlessly to achieve tbe
rights of his people, and to rouse the Negroes from their apathy.
Thanks to his efforts, hundreds of Negroes had been encouraged
to register at the polls. As the result of his fearless stand, he was
one of the chief voices of the Negro community in the area of
civil rights, a symbol of the hopes and aspirations of the long
oppressed people of the State of Alabama.
So through the work of men like Johns and Nixon there bad
developed beneath the surface a slow fire of discontent, fed by tbe
continuing indignities and inequities to which the Negroes were
aubjected. These were the fearless men who created the atmos-
phere for the social revolution that was slowly developing in the
Cradle of the Confederacy.
But this discontcnt was still latent in 1954. At that time both
Negroes and whites accepted the well-established pattcms of
segrcgation as a matter of fact. Hardly anyone challenged the
system. Montgomery was an easygoing town; it could even bave
been described as a peaceful town. But the peace was achieved at
the cost of human servitude.
Many months later, an iniluential white citizen of Montgomery
was to protest to me:
"Over the years we have bad such peacefnl and harmonious
race relations here. Why have you and your associates come in to
destroy this long tradition?"
My reply was simple: Sir' I said' "you have never had real
peace in Montgomery. You have had a sort of negative peace in
which the Negro too often accepted bis state of subordination. But
this is not true peace. True peace is not merely the absence of
tension; it is the presence of justice. The tension we see in Mont-
gomery today is the necessary tension that comes when the op-
pressed rise up and start to move forward toward a permanent
positive peace."
I went on to speculate that this was what Jesus meant when he
said: "I have not come to bring peace, but a sword." Certainly
Jesus did not mean that he came to bring a physical sword. He
seems to have been saying in substance: "I have not come to bring
this old negative peace with its deadening passivity. I have come
to lash out against such a peace. Whenever I come, a conflict is
prccipitatcd between the old and the new. Whenever I come, a
division sets in bctween justice and injustice. I have come to bring
a positive peace which is the presence of justice, love, yea, even
tbe Kingdom of God."
The racial peace which had existed in Montgomery was not a
Christian peace. It was a pagan peace and it had bcen bought at
too great a price.
One place where the peace had long been precarious was on
the city-wide buses. Here the Negro was daily remindcd of the
indignities of segregation. There were no Negro drivers, and al-
though some of tbe white men who drove the buses were courte-
ous, all too many were abusive and vituperative. It was not
uncommon to bear them referring to Negro passengers as "nig-
gers," "black cows," and "black apes." Frequently Negroes paid
their fares at the front door, and then were forccd to get off and
reboard the bus at the rcar. Often the bus pulled off with the
Negro's dime in the box before he had had time to reach the rear
door.
An even more humiliating practice was the custom of forcing
Negroes to stand over empty seats reserved for "whites only."
Even if the bus had no white passengers, and Negroes were
packed throughout, they were prohibitcd from sitting in the first
four seats (which held ten persons). But the practice went fur-
ther. If white passengers were already occupying all of their
reserved seats and additional white people boarded the bus,
Negroes sitting in the unreserved section immediately behind tho
whites were asked to stand so that the whites could be seated.
If the Negroes refused to stand and move back, they were
arrested. In most instances tbe Negroes submitted without pro-
test. Occasionally, however, there were those, like Vernon Johns,
who refused.
A few months after my arrival a fifteen-year-old high school
girl, Claudette Colvin, was pulled off a bus, handcuffed, and
taken to jail because she refused to give up hcr seat for a
white passenger. This atrocity seemed to arouse the Negro com-
munity. There was talk of boycotting the buscs in protest. A
citizens committee was formed to talk with the manager of the
bus company and the City Commission, demanding a statement
of policy on seating and more courtesy from the drivers.
I was asked to scrve on this committce. We met one afternoon
in March 1955 in the office of J. E. Bagley, manager of the
Montgomery City Lines. Dave Birmingham, the police commis-
sioner at the time, represented the city commission. Both men were
quite plcasant, and expressed deep concern over what had hap-
pened. Bagley wcnt so far as to admit that the bus operator was
wrong in having Miss Colvin arrested, and promised to repri-
mand him. Commissioner Birmingham agreed to have the city
attorney give a definite statcment on the scating policy of the city.
We left the meeting hopeful; but nothing happened. The same old
patterns of humiliation continued. The city attorney never clari-
fied the law. Claudette Colvin was convicted with a suspended
sentenet.
But despite the fact that the city commission and the bns com-
pany did not act, something else had begun to bappen. The long
repressed feelings of resentment on the part of the Negroes had
begun to stir. The fear and apathy which had for so long cast a
shadow on tbe life of the Negro community were gradually fading
before a new spirit of courage and self-respect. The inaction of
the city and bus officials after tbe Colvin case would make it
mittee supported by the longings and aspirations of nearly 50,000
people, tired people who had come to see that it is ultimately
more honorable to walk the streets in dignity than to ride the
buses in humiliation.
ON December 1, l955, an attractive Negro
mistress, Mrs. Rosa Parks, boarded the Cleveland Avenue Bus
in downtown Montgomery. She was returning home after her
regular day's work in the Montgomery Fair---a leading depart-
ment store. Tired from long hours on her feet, Mrs. Parks sat
down in the first seat behind the section reserved for whites.
Not long after she took her seat, the bus operator ordered her,
along with three other Negro passengers, to move back in order
to accommodate boarding white passengers. By this time every
seat in the bus was taken. This meant that if Mrs. Parks followed
the driver's command she would have to stand while a white
male passenger, who had just boarded the bus, would sit. The
other three Negro passcngers immediately complied with the
driver's rcquest. But Mrs. Parks quietly refused. The result was
her arrest.
There was to be much speculation about why Mrs. Parks did
not obey tbe driver. Many people in the white community argued
that she bad bcen "`planted'" by the NAACP in order to lay the
groundwork for a test case, and at first glance that explanation
seemed plausible, since she was a former secretary of the local
branch of the NAACP. So persistent and persuasive was this argu-
ment that it convinccd many reporters from all over the country.
Latcr on, whcn I was having press conferences three times a
week----in order to accommodate the reporters and journalists who
came to Montgomery from all over the world---the invariable first
question was: "Did the NAACP start the bus boycott?"
But the accusation was totally unwarranted, as the testimony
of both Mrs. Parks and the officials of the NAACP revealed.
Actually, no one can understand the action of Mrs. Parks unless
he realizes that eventually the cup of endurance runs over, and the
human personality cries out, "I can take it no longer." Mrs. Parks's
refusal to move back was her intrepid affirmation that she had
had enough. It was an individual expression of a timeless long-
ing for human dignity and freedom. She was not "planted" there
by the NAACP, or any other organization; she was planted there
by her personal sense of dignity and self-respect. She was
anchored to that seat by the accumulated indignities of days gone
by and the boundless aspirations of generations yet unborn.
She was a victim of both tbe forces of history and the forces of
destiny. She had been tracked down by the Zeitgeist----the spirit
of the time.
Fortunately, Mrs. Parks was ideal for the role assigned to her by
history. She was a cbarming person with a radiant personality, soft
spokcn and calm in all situations. Her cbaracter was impeccable
and her dedication deep-rooted. All of these traits together made
her one of the most respected people in the Negro community.
Only E. D. Nixon---the signer of Mrs. Parks"s bond---and one or
two other persons were aware of the arrest wben it occurred early
Thursday evening. Later in the evening the word got around to a
few influential women of the community, mostly mcmbcrs of the
Women's Political Council. After a series of telephone calls back
and forth they agrecd that the Negroes should boycott the buses.
They immediately suggested the idea to Nixon, and he readily
concurred. In his usual courageous manner he agreed to spear-
head tbe idea.
Early Friday morning, December 2, Nixon called me. He was so
caught up in what he was about to say that he forgot to greet me
with the usual "hello" but plunged immediately into the story of
what had happencd to Mrs. Parks tbe night before. I listened,
deeply shocked, as he described the humiliating incident. "We
have taken this type of thing too long already," Nixon concludcd,
his voice trembling. "I feel that the time bas come to boycott the
buses. Only through a boycott can we make it clear to the white
folks that we will not accept this type of treatment any longer."
I agreed at once that some protest was necessary, and that the
boycott method would be an effective one.
Just before calling me Nixon had discussed the idca with Rev.
Ralph Abcrnathy, the young minister of Montgomery's First
Baptist Church who was to bccome one of the ccntral figures
in the protest, and one of my closest associates. Abernathy also
felt a bus boycott was our best course of action. So for thirty
or forty minutes the three of us telephoned back and forth con-
cerning plans and strategy. Nixon suggested that we call a meet-
ing of all the ministers and civic leadcrs the same evening in
order to get their thinking on the proposal, and I offered my
church as the meeting place. The three of us got busy immedi-
ately. With the sanction of Rev. H. H. Hubbard---president of
the Baptist Ministerial Alliance---Abernathy and I began calling
all of the Baptist ministers. Since most of the Methodist ministers
were attending a denominational meeting in one of the local
churches that afternoon, it was possible for Abernathy to get the
announcement to all of them simultaneously. Nixon reached Mrs.
A. W. West----the widow of a prominent dcntist----and enlisted her
assistance in getting word to tbe civic leaders.
By early afternoon the arrest of Mrs. Parks was becoming
public knowledge. Word of it spread around the community like
uncontrolled fire. Telephones began to ring in almost rhythmic
succession. By two o'clock an enthusiastic group had mimeo-
graphed leaflets concerning the arrest and the proposed boycott,
and by evening these had been widely circulated.
As the hour for the evening meeting arrived, I approached the
doors of the church with some apprehension, wondering how
many of the leaders would respond to our call. Fortunately, it
was one of those pleasant winter nights of unseasonable warmth,
and to our relief, almost everybody who had been invited was
on hand. More than forty people, from every segment of Negro
life, were crowded into the large church meeting room. I saw
physicians, schoolteachers, lawyers, businessmen, postal work-
ers, union leaders, and clergymen. Virtually every organization of
the Negro community was represented.
The largest number there was from the Christian ministry. Hav-
ing left so many civic meetings in the past sadly disappointed by
the dearth of ministers participating, I was filled with joy when
I entered the church and found so many of them there; for then
I knew that something unusual was about to happcn.
Had E. D. Nixon been present, he would probably have been
automatically selected to preside, but he had had to leave town
earlier in the afternoon for his regular run on the railroad. In his
absence, we concluded that Rev. L. Roy Bennett---as president of
the Interdenominational Ministerial Alliance---was the logical
person to take the chair. He agreed and was seated, his tall, erect
figure dominating the room.
The meeting opened around seven-thirty with H. H. Hubbard
leading a brief devotional period. Then Bennett moved into
action, explaining the purpose of the gathering. With excited
gestures be reported on Mrs. Parks's resistance and her arrest.
He presented the proposal that the Negro citizens of Montgomery
should boycott the buses on Monday in protest. "Now is the time
to move," he concluded. "This is no time to talk; it is time to act."
So seriously did Bennett take his "no time to talk" admonition
that for quite a while he refused to allow anyone to make a sugges-
tion or even raise a question, insisting that we should move on and
appoint committees to implement the proposal. This approach
aroused the opposition of most of those present and created a
temporary uproar. For almost forty-five minutes the confusion
persisted. Voices rose high, and many people threatened to leave
if they could not raise questions and offer suggestions. It looked
for a time as though the movement had come to an end before it
began. But finally, in the face of this blistering protest, Bennett
agreed to open the meeting to discussion.
Immediately questions began to spring up from the floor.
Several people wanted further clarification of Mrs. Parks's actions
and arrest. Then came the more practical questions. How long
would the protest lastl How would the idea be further dis-
seminated throughout the community? How would the people be
transported to and from their jobs?
As we listened to the lively discussion, we were heartened to
notice that, despite the lack of coherence in the meeting, not once
did anyone question the validity or desirability of the boycott
itself. It seemed to be the unanimous sense of the group that the
boycott should take place.
The ministers endorsed the plan with enthusiasm, and promised
to go to their congregations on Sunday morning and drive home
their approval of the projected one-day protest. Their co-opera-
tion was significant, since virtually all of the influential Negro
ministers of the city were present. It was decided that we should
hold a city-wide mass meeting on Monday night, December 5, to
determine how long we would abstain from riding the buses.
Rev. A. W. Wilson---minister of the Holt Street Baptist Church---
offered his church, which was ideal as a meeting place because of
its size and central location. The group agreed that additional
leaflets should be distributed on Saturday and the chairman ap-
pointed a committee, including myself, to prepare the statement.
Our committee went to work while the meeting was still in
progress. The final message was shorter than the one that had
appeared on the first leaflets, but the substance was the same,
It read as follows:
Don't ride the bus to work, to town, to school, or any
P ' has been arrested and put in jail
because she refused to give up her bus seat-
Don't ride the buses to work, to town, to school, or any
where on Monday. If you work, take a cab, or share a ride,
or walk.
Come to a mass meeting, Monday at 7:00 p.M., at the Holt
Street Baptist Church for further instruction.
After finishing the statement the committee began to mimeograph
it on the church machine; but since it was late, I volunteered to
have the job completed early Saturday morning.
The final question before the meeting concerned transporta-
tion. It was agreed that we should try to get the Negro taxi com-
panies of the city---eighteen in number, with approximately 210
taxis---to transport the people for the same price that they were
currently paying on the bus. A committee was appointed to make
this contact, with Rev. W. J. Powell, minister of the Old Ship
A.M.E. Zion Church, as chairman.
With these responsibilities before us the meeting closed. We
left with our hearts caught up in a great idea. The hours were
moving fast. The clock on the wall read ahnost midnight, but the
clock in our souls revealed that it was daybreak.
49
I was so excited that I slept very little that night, and early the
next morning I was on my way to the church to get the leaflets out.
By nine o'clock the church secretary had finished mimeographing
the 7000 leaflets and by eleven o'clock an army of women and
young people had taken them off to distribute by hand.
Those on the committee that was to contact the taxi companies
got to work early Saturday afternoon. They worked assiduously,
and by evening they had reached practically all of the companies,
and triumphantly reported that every one of them so far had
agreed to coooperate with the proposed boycott by transporting
the passengers to and from work for the regular ten-cent bus
fare.
Meanwhile our efforts to get the word across to the Nego com-
munity were abetted in an unexpected way. A maid who could
aot read very well came into possession of one of the unsigned
appeals that had been distributed Friday afternoon. Apparently
not knowing what the leaflet said, she gave it to her employer.
As soon as the white employer received the notice she turned it
over to the local newspaper, and the Montgomery Aduefrtiser
made the oontents of the leaflet a front-page story on Saturday
morning. It appears that the Aduefrtiser printed the story in order
to let the white oommunity know what the Negroes were up to;
but the whole thing turned out to the Negroes' advantage, since
it served to bring the information to hundreds who had not pre
viously heard of the plan. By Sunday afternoon word had spread
to practically every Negro citizen of Montgomery. Only a few
peopIe who lived in remote areas had not heard of it.
After a heavy day of work I went home late Sunday afternoon
and sat down to read the morning paper. There was a long ar-
ticle on the proposed boycott. Implicit throughout the article,
l noticed, was the idea that the Negroes were preparing to use
STRIDE TOWARD FREEDOM
the same approach to their problem as the White Citizens
Councils used. This suggested parallel had serious implications.
The White Citizens Councils, which had had their birth in Missis-
sippi a few months after the Supreme Court"s school decision, had
come into being to preserve segregation. The Councils had multi-
plied rapidly throughout the South, purporting to achieve thcir
ends by the legal mancuvers of "interposition" and "nullifica-
tion." Unfortunately, however, the actions of some of these
Councils extended far beyond the bounds of the law. Their
methods were the methods of open and covert terror, brutal
intimidation, and threats of starvation to Negro men, women, and
children. They took open economic reprisals against whites who
dared to protest their defiance of the law, and the aim of their
boycotts was not merely to impress their victims but to destroy
them if possible.
Disturbed by the fact that our pending action was being
equated with the boycott methods of the White Citizcns Councils,
I was forced for the first time to think seriously on the nature of
the boycott. Up to this time I had uncritically accepted this
method as our best course of action. Now certain doubts began to
bother me. Were we following an ethical course of action? Is the
boycott method basically unchristian? Isn"t it a negative approach
to the solution of a problem? Is it true that we would be follow-
ing the course of some of the White Citizens Councils? Even if
lasting practical results came from such a boycott, would immoral
means justify moral ends? Each of these questions demanded
honest answers.
I had to recognize that the boycott method could be used to un-
ethical and unchristian ends. I had to concede, further, that this
was the method used so often by the White Citizens Councils
to deprive many Negroes, as well as white persons of good will,
of the basic necessities of life. But certainly, I said to myself,
our pending actions could not be interpreted in this light. Ou
sl
pusposes were altogether different. We would use this method
o give birth to justice and Feedom, and also to urge men to
emply with the law of the land; the White Citizens Councils used
t to perpetuate the reign of injustice and human servitude, and
irged men to defy the law of the land. I reasoned, therefore,
hat the word "boycott" was really a misnomer for our proposed
action. A boycott suggests an economic squeeze, leaving one
ogged down in a negative. But we were concerned with the
positive. Our concern would not be to put the bus company out
f business, but to put justice in business.
As I thought further I came to see that what we were really
doing was withdrawing our cooperation from an evil system,
rather than merely withdrawing our economic support from the
bus company. The bus company, being an external expression of
the system, would naturally suffer, but the basic aim was to refuse
to cooperate with evil. At this point I began to think about Thor-
eaus Esaay on Civil Disobedience. I remembered how, as a col-
lege student, l had been moved when I first read this work. I
became convinced that what we were preparing to do in Mont-
gomery was related to what Thoreau had expressed. We were
simply saying to the white community, "We can no longer lend
our cooperation to an evil system."
Something began to say to me, "He who passively accepts evil
is as much involved in it as he who helps to perpetrate it. He
who accepts evil without protesting against it is really cooperating
with it." When oppressed people willingly accept their oppression
they only serve to give the oppressor a convenient justification
for his acts. Often the oppressor goes along unaware of the evil
involved in his oppression so long as the oppressed accepts it.
So in order to be true to one's conscience and true to God, a
righteous man has no altemative but to refuse to cooperate with
an evil system. This I felt was the nature of our action. From
ATRIDE TOWARD FREEDOM
THIS moment on I conceived of our movement as an act of massive
noncooperation. From then on I rarely used the word "boycott."
Wearied, but no longer doubtful about the morality of our pro-
posed protest, I saw that the evening had arrived unnoticed. After
severad telephone calls I prepared to retire early. But soon after
I was in bed our two-week-old daughter---Yolanda Denisffe---
began crying; and shortly after that the telephone started ringing
again. Clearly condemned to stay awake for some time longer,
I used the time to think about other things. My wife and I dis-
cussed the possible success of the protest. Franldy, I still had
doubts. Even though the word had gotten around amazingly well
and the ministers had given the plan such crucial support, I still
wondered whether the people had enough courage to follow
through. I had seen so many admirable ventures fall through
in Montgomery. Why should this be an exception? Coretta and I
finally agreed that if we could get 60 per cent cooperation the
protest would be a success.
Around midnight a call from one of the committee members
informed me that every Negro taxi company in Montgomery had
agreed to support the protest on Monday morning. Whatever our
prospects of success, I was deeply encouraged by the untiring
work that had been done by the ministers and civic leaders.
This in itself was a unique accomplishment.
After the midnight call the phone stopped ringing. Just a few
minutes earlier "Yoki" had stopped crying. Wearily, I said good
night to Coretta, and with a strange mixture of hope and anxiety,
I fell asleep.
I V
The Day of Days, December 5
MY WIFE and I awoke earlier than usual on
Monday morning. We were up and fully dressed by five-thirty.
he day for the protest had arrived, and we were determined to
see the first act of this unfolding drama. I was still saying that if
he could get 60 per cent coo#peration the venture would be a
success.
Fortunately, a bus stop was just five feet from our house. This
meant that we oould observe the opening stages from our front
window. The first bus was to pass around six o'clock. And so
we waited through an interminable half hour. I was in the kitchen
drinking my coffee when I heard Coretta cry, "Martin, Martin,
no quickyl" I put down my cup and ran toward the living
room. As I approached the front window Coretta pointed joyfully
0 a slowly moving bus: "Darling, it's empty!" I could hardly
believe what I saw. I knew that the South Jackson line, which
an past our house, carried more Negro passengers than any other
line in Montgomery, and that this first bus was usually filled with
domestic workers going to their jobs. Would all of the other buses
follow the pattern that had been set by the first? Eagerly we
waited for the next bus. In fifteen minutes it rolled down the
treet, and, like the first, it was empty. A third bus appeared,
and it too was empty of all but two white passengers.
I jumped in my car and for almost an hour I cruised down
STRIDE TOWARD FREEDOM
every major street and examined every passing bus. During this
hour, at the peak of the morning traffic, I saw no more than eight
Negro passengers riding the buses. By this time I was jubilant.
Instead of the 60 per cent coo#peration we had hoped for, it was
becoming apparent that we had reached almost loo per cent A
miracle had taken place. The once dormant and quiescent Negro
community was now fully awake.
All day long it continued. At the afternoon peak the buses were
still as empty of Negro passengers as they had been in the mom-
ing. Students of Alabama State College, who usually kept the
South Jackson bus crowded, were cheerfully walking or thumbing
rides. Job holders had either found other means of transporta-
tion or made their way on foot. While some rode in cabs or
private cars, others used less conventional means. Men were seen
riding mules to work, and more than one horse-drawn buggy
drove the streets of Montgomery that day.
During the rush hours the sidewalks were crowded with
laborers and domestic workers, many of them well past middle
age, trudging patiently to their jobs and home again, sometimes
as much as twelve miles. They knew why they walked, and the
knowledge was evident in the way they carried themselves. And
as I watched them I knew that there is nothing more majestic
than the determined courage of individuals willing to suffer and
sacrifice for their freedom and dignity.
Many spectators had gathered at the bus stops to watch what
was happening. At first they stood quietly, but as the day pro-
gressed they began to cheer the empty buses and laugh and make
jokes. Noisy youngsters could be heard singing out, "No riders
today." Trailing each bus through the Negro section were two
policemen on motorcycles, assigned by the city commissioners,
who claimed that Negro "goon squads" had been organized to
keep other Negroes from riding the buses. In the course of the day
"intimidating passengers." But the "goon squads" existed only in
the commission's imagination. No one was threatened or in-
timidated for riding the buses; the only harassment anyone faced
was that of his own conscience.
Around nine-thirty in the morning I tore myself from the action
of the city streets and headed for the crowded police court. Here
Mrs. Parks was being tried for disobeying the city segregation
ordinance. Her attorney, Fred D. Gray----the brilliant young Negro
who later became the chief counsel for the protest movement----
was on hand to defend her. After the judge heard the arguments,
he found Mrs. Parks guilty and fined her ten dollars and court
costs (a total of fourteen dollars). She appealed the case. This
was one of the first clear-cut instances in which a Negro had
been convicted for disobeying the segregation law. In the past,
either cases like this had been dismissed or the people involved
had been charged with disorderly conduct. So in a real sense the
arrest and conviction of Mrs. Parks had a twofold impact: it was
a precipitating factor to arouse the Negroes to positive action;
and it was a test of the validity of the segregation law itself. I
am sure that supporters of such prosecutions would have acted
otherwise if they had had the prescience to look beyond the
moment.
Leaving Mrs. Parks's trial, Ralph Abernathy, E. D. Nixon, and
Rev. E. N. French---then minister of the Hilliard Chapel A. M. E.
Zion Church----discussed the need for some organization to guide
and direct the protest. Up to this time things had moved forward
more or less spontaneously. These men were wise enough to see
that the moment had now come for a clearer order and direction.
Meanwhile Roy Bennett had called several people together at
56
three o'clock to make plans for the evening mass meeting. Every-
one present was elated by the tremendous success that had
already attended the protest. But beneath this feeling was the
question, where do we go from here? When E. D. Nixon reported
on his discussion with Abernathy and French earlier in the day,
and their suggestions for an ad hoc organization, the group
responded enthusiastically. The next job was to elect the officers
for the new organization.
As soon as Bennett had opened the nominations for president,
Rufus Lewis spoke fiom the far corner of the room: "Mr. Chair-
man, I would like to nominate Reverend M. L. King for presi-
dent." The motion was seconded and carried, and in a matter
of minutes I was unanimously elected.
The action had caught me unawares. It had happened so
quickly that I did not even have time to think it through. It is
probable that if I had, I would have declined the nomination.
Just three weeks before, several members of the local chapter
of the NAACP had urged me to run for the presidency of that
organization, assuring me that I was certain of election. After my
wife and I had discussed the matter, we agreed that I should
not then take on any heavy community responsibilities, since I had
so recently finished my thesis, and needed to give more attention
to my church work. But on this occasion events had moved too
fast.
The election of the remaining officers was speedily oompleted:
Rev. L. Roy Bennett, vice-president; Rev. U. J. Fields, recording
secretary; Rev. E. N. French, corresponding secretary; Mrs. Ema
A. Dungee, financial secretary; Mr. E. D. Nixon, treasurer. It was
then agreed that all those present would constitute the executive
board of the new organization. This board would serve as the co-
o#rdinating agency of the whole movement. It was a well-balaaced
THE DAY OF DAYs, DECEMBER 5
group, including ministers of all denominations, schoolteachers,
businessmen, and two lawyers.
The new organization needed a name, and several were aug-
gested. Someone proposed the Negro Citizens Committee; but this
was rejected because it resembled too closely the White Citiz- ens
Council. Other suggestions were made and dismissed until finally
Ralph Abernathy offered a name that was agreeable to all---the
Montgomery Improvement Association ( MIA) .
With these organizational matters behind us, we tumed to a
discussion of the evening meeting. Several people, not wanting
the reporters to know our future moves, suggested that we just
sing and pray; if tliere were specific recommendations to be made
to the people, these could be mimeographed and passed out
secretly during the meeting. This, they felt would leave the re"
porters in the dark Others urged that something should be done
to oonceal the true identity of the leaders, feeling that if no par-
ticular name was revealed it would be safer for all involved. After
a rather lengthy discussion, E. D. Nixon rose impatiently:
"We are acting like little boys," he said. "Somebody's name will
have to be known, and if we are afraid we might just as well fold
up right now. We must also be men enough to discuss our recom-
mendations in the open; this idea of secretly passing something
around on paper is a lot of bunk. The white folks are eventaally
going to find it out anyway. We'd better decide now if we are
going to be fearless men or scared boys."
Witli this forthright statement the air was cleared. Nobody
would again suggest that we try to conceal our identity or avoid
facing the issue head on. Nixon's courageous affirmation had given
new heart to those who were about to be crippled by fear.
lt was unanimously ageed that the protest should oontinuB
ntil certain demands were met, and that a committee under thB
58
chairmanship of Ralph Abernathy would draw up these demands
in the form of a resolution and present them to the evening
mass meeting for approval. We worked out the remainder of the
program quickly. Bennett would preside and I would make the
by a few other speakers, along with Scrip-
ture reading, prayer, hymns, and collection, would round out the
program.
Immediately the resolution committee set to drafting its state-
ment. Despite our satisfaction at the success of the protest so far,
we were still concemed. Would the evening meeting be well
attended? Could we hope that the fortitude and enthusiasm of
the Negro community would survive more than one such day of
hardship? Someone suggested that perhaps we should reconsider
our decision to continue the protest. "Would it not be better,"
said the speaker, "to call off the protest while it is still a success
rather than let it go on a few more days and fizzle out? We
have already proved our united strength to the white community.
If we stop now we can get anything we want from the bus com-
pany, simply because they will have the feeling that we can do it
again. But if we continue, and most of the people retum to the
buses tomorrow or the next day, the white people will laugh at us,
and we will end up getting nothing." This argument was so con-
vincing that we almost resolved to end the protest. But we finally
agreed to let the mass meeting----which was only about an hour
off---be our guide. If the meeting was well attended and the
people were enthusiastic, we would continue; otherwise we would
call off the protest that night.
I went home for the first time since seven that morning, and
found Coretta relaxing from a long day of telephone calls and
general excitement. After we had brought each other up to date
on the day's developments, I told her, somewhat hesitantly---
59
aot knowing what her reaction would be---that I had been elected
president of the new association. I need not have worried. Nat-
urally surprised, she still saw that since the responsibility had
fallen on me, I had no alternative but to accept it. She did not
aeed to be told that we would now have even less time together,
and she seemed undisturbed at the possible danger to all of us
in my new position. "You know," she said quietly, "that whatever
ou do, you have my backing."
Reassured, I went to my study and closed the door. The minutes
were passing fast. It was now six-thirty, and I had to leave no
later than six-fifty to get to the meeting. This meant that I had
only twenty minutes to prepare the most decisive speech of my
life. As I thought of the limited time before me and the possible
implications of this speech, I became possessed by fear. Each
week I needed at least fifteen hours to prepare my Sunday sermon.
Now I was faced with the inescapable task of preparing, in almost
no time at all, a speech that was expected to give a sense of
direction to a people imbued with a new and still unplumbed
passion for justice. I was also conscious that reporters and tele-
vision men would be there with their pencils and sound cameras
poised to record my words and send them across the nation.
I was now almost overcome, obsessed by a feeling of inade-
quacy. In this state of anxiety, I had already wasted five minutes
of the original twenty. With nothing left but faith in a power
whose matchless strength stands over against the frailties and
inadequacies of human nature, I tumed to God in prayer. My
words were brief and simple, asking God to restore my balance
and to be with me in a time when I needed His guidance more
than ever.
With less than fifteen minutes left, I began preparing an out-
line. In the midst of this, however, I faced a new and sobering
dilemma: How could I make a speech that would be militant
STRIDE TOWARD FREEDOM
enough to keep my people aroused to positive action and yet
moderate enough to keep this fervor within controllable and Chris-
tian boundsl I knew that many of the Negro people were victims
of bitterness that could easily rise to fiood proportions. What
oould I say to keep them courageous and prepared for positive
action and yet devoid of hate and resentment? Could the militant
and the moderate be combined in a single speech?
I decided that I had to face the challenge head on, and attemp
to combine two apparent irreconcilables. I would seek to arouse
the group to action by insisting that their self-respect was at stake
and that if they accepted such injustices without protesting, they
would betray their own sense of dignity and the eternal edicts of
God Himself. But I would balance this with a strong affirmation
of the Christian doctrine of love. By the time I had sketched an
outline of the speech in my mind, my time was up. Without stop
ping to eat supper (I had not eaten since moming) I said good-by
to Coretta and drove to the Holt Street Churcli.
Within five blocks of the church I noticed a traffic jam. Cars
were lined up as far as I could see on both sides of the street.
It was a moment before it occurred to me that all of these cars
were headed for the mass meeting. I had to park at least four
blocks from the church, and as I started walking I noticed that
hundreds of people were standing outside. In the dark night,
police cars circled slowly around the area, surveying the orderly,
patient, and good-humored crowd. The three or four thousand
people who could not get into the church were to stand cheer-
fully throughout the evening listening to the proceedings on the
loud-speakers that had been set up outside for their benefit. And
when, near the end of the meeting, these speakers were silenced
at tlie request of tlie white people in surrounding neigliborhoods,
THE DAY OF DAYS, DECEMBER 5
the crowd would still remain quietly, content simply to be
present.
It took fully fifteen minutes to push my way through to the
pastor's study, where Dr. Wilson told me that the church had
been packed since five o'clock. By now my doubts concerning the
continued success of our venture were dispelled. The question of
calling off the protest was now academic. The enthusiasm of these
thousands of people swept everything along like an onrushing
tidal wave.
It was some time before the remaining speakers could push
their way to the rostrum through the tightly packed church. When
the meeting began it was almost half an hour late. The opening
ymn was the old familiar "Onward Christian Soldiers," and when
that mammoth audience stood to sing, the voices outside swelling
he chorus in the church, there was a mighty ring like the glad
echo of heaven itself.
Rev. W. F. Alford, minister of the Beulah Baptist Church, led
the congegation in prayer, followed by a reading of the Scrip-
re by Rev. U. J. Fields, minister of the Bell Street Baptist
Church. Then the chairman introduced me. As the audience ap-
lauded, I rose and stood before the pulpit. Television cameras
began to shoot from all sides. The crowd grew quiet.
Without manuscript or notes, I told the story of what had hap-
pened to Mrs. Parks. Then I reviewed the long history of abuses
nd insults that Negro citizens had experienced on the city buses.
"But there comes a time," I said, "that people get tired. We are
ere this evening to say to those who have mistreated us so long
that we are tired----tired of being segregated and humiliated; tired
f being kicked about by the bmtal feet of oppression." The
coagregation met this statement with fervent applause. "We had
o alternative but to protest," I continued. "For many years, we
STRIDE TOWARD FREEDOM
have shown amazing patience. We have sometimes given our
white brothers the feeling that we liked the way we were being
treated. But we come here tonight to be saved from that patience
that makes us patient with anything less than freedom and jus-
tice." Again the audience interrupted with applause.
Briefly I justified our actions, both morally and legally. "One of
the great glories of democracy is the right to protest for right."
Comparing our methods with those of the White Citizens Councils
and the Ku Klux Klan, I pointed out that while "these organiza-
tions are protesting for the perpetuation of injustice in the com-
munity, we are protesting for the birth of justice in the community.
Their methods lead to violence and lawlessness. But in our protest
there will be no cross burnings. No white person will be taken
from his home by a hooded Negro mob and brutally murdered.
There will be no threats and intimidation. We will be guided by
the highest principles of law and order."
With this groundwork for militant action, I moved on to words
of caution. I urged the people not to force anybody to refrain
from riding the buses. "Our method will be that of persuasion,
not coercion. We will only say to the people, "Let your conscience
be your guide.' " Emphasizing the Christian doctrine of love, "our
actions must be guided by the deepest principles of our Christian
faith. Love must be our regulating ideal. Once again we must
hear the words of Jesus echoing across the centuries: "Love your
enemies, bless them that curse you, and pray for them that
despitefully use you.' If we fail to do this our protest will end up
as a meaningless drama on the stage of history, and its memory
will be shrouded with the ugly garments of shame. In spite of the
mistreatment that we have confronted we must not become bitter,
and end up by hating our white brothers. As Booker T. Washing-
ton said, "Let no man pull you so low as to make you hate him."
Once more the audience responded enthusiastically.
Then came my closing statement. "If you will protest coura-
geously, and yet with dignity and Christian love, whcn the history
books are written in future generations, the historians will have
to pause and say, "There lived a great people---a black peoplc----
who injected new meaning and dignity into the veins of civiliza-
tion.' This is our challenge and our overwhelming responsibilty."
As I took my seat the people rose to their feet and applauded.
I was thankful to God that the message had gotten over and that
the task of combining the militant and the moderate had been at
least partially accomplished. The people had been as enthusiastic
when I urged them to love as they were when I urged them to
protest.
As I sat listening to the continued applause I realized that this
speech had evoked more response tban any speech or sermon I
had ever delivered, and yet it was virtually unprepared. I came
to see for the first time what the older preachers meant when they
said, "Open your mouth and God will speak for you." While I
would not let this experience tempt me to overlook the need for
continued preparation, it would always remind me that God can
transform man's weakness into his glorious opportunity.
When Mrs. Parks was introduced from the rostrum by E. N.
French, the audience responded by giving her a standing ovation.
She was their heroine. They saw in her courageous person the
symbol of their hopes and aspirations.
Now the time had come for the all-important resolution. Ralpli
Abernathy read the words slowly and forcefully. The main sub-
stance of the resolution called upon the Negroes not to resume
riding the buses until ( l) courteous treatment by the bus opera-
tors was guaranteed; (2) passengers were seated on a first-come,
first-served basis----Negroes seating from the back of the bus
toward thc front while whites seated from the front toward the
back; (3) Negro bus operators were employed on predominantly
64 STRIDE TOWARD FREEDOM
Negro routes. At the words "All in favor of the motion stand,"
every person to a man stood up, and those who were already
standing raised their hands. Cheers began to ring out from both
inside and outside. The motion was carried unanimously. The
people had expressed their determination not to ride the buses
until conditions were changed.
At this point I had to leave the meeting and rush to the other
side of town to speak at a YMCA banquet. As I drove away my
heart was full. I had never seen such enthusiasm for freedom.
And yet this enthusiasm was tempered by amazing self-discipline.
The unity of purpose and esprif de corps of these people had been
indescribably moving. No historian would ever be able fully to
describe this meeting and no sociologist would ever be able to
interpret it adequately. One had to be a part of the experience
really to understand it.
At the Ben Moore Hotel, as the elevator slowly moved up to
the roof garden where the banquet was being held, I said to my-
self, the victory is already won, no matter how long we struggle
to attain the three points of the resolution. It is a victory infhitely
larger than the bus situation. The real victory was in the mass
meeting, where thousands of black people stood revealed with a
new sense of dignity and destiny.
Many will inevitably raise the question, why did this event take
place in Montgomery, Adabama, in I955? Some have suggested
that the Supreme Court decision on school desegregation, handed
down less than two years before, had given new hope of eventual
justice to Negroes everywhere, and fired them with the necessary
spark of encouragement to rise against their oppression. But al-
tliough this might help to explain why the protest occurred when
it did, it cannot explain why it happened in Montgomery.
Certainly, there is a partial exphanation in the long history of
THE DAY OF DAYS, DECEMMBER 5
injustice on the buses of Montgomery. The bus protest did not
spring into being full grown as Athena sprang from the head of
Zeus; it was the cumination of a slowly developing process. Mrs.
Parks's arrest was the precipitating factor rather than the cause
of the protest. The cause lay deep in the record of similar injus-
tices. Almost everybody could point to an unfortunate episode
that he himself had experienced or seen.
But there comes a time when people get tired of being trampled
by oppression. There comes a time when people get tired of being
plunged into the abyss of exploitation and nagging injustice. The
story of Montgomery is the story of 50,000 such Negroes who were
willig to substitute tired feet for tired souls, and walk the streets
of Montgomery until the walls of segregation were finally battered
by the forces of justice.
But neither is this the whole explanation. Negroes in other
communities confronted oonditions equally as bad, and often
worse. So we cannot explain the Montgomery story merely in
terms of the abuses that Negroes suffered there. Moreover, it
cannot be explained by a pree#xistent unity among the leaders,
since we have seen that the Montgomery Negro community prior
to the protest was marked by divided leadership, indifference,
and complacency. Nor can it be explained by the appearance upon
the scene of new leadership. The Montgomery story would have
taken place if the leaders of the protest had never been born.
So every rational explanation breaks down at some point. There
is something about the protest that is suprarational; it cannot be
explained without a divine dimension. Some may call it a prin-
ciple of concretion, with Alfred N. Whitehead; or a process of
integration, with Henry N. Wieman; or Being-itself, with Paul
Tillich; or a personal God. Whatever the name, some extra-human
force labors to create a harmony out of the discords of the uni-
verse. There is a creative power that works to pull down moun-
STRIDE TOWARD FREEDOM
tains of evil and level hilltops of injustice. God still works through
liistory His wonders to perform. It seems as though God had de-
cided to use Montgomery as the proving ground for the struggle
and triumph of freedom and justice in America. And what better
place for it than the leading symbol of the Old South? It is one
of the splendid ironies of our day that Montgomery, the Cradle
of the Confederacy, is being transformed into Montgomery, the
cradle of freedom and justice.
The day of days, Monday, December 5, I955, was drawing to a
close. We all prepared to go to our homes, not yet fully aware
of what had happened. The deliberations of that brisk, cool night
in December will not be forgotten. That night we were starting
a movement that would gain national recognition; whose echoes
would ring in the ears of people of every nation; a movement that
would astound the oppressor, and bring new hope to tlie op-
pressed. That night was Montgomery's moment in history.
V
The Moluement Gathers
Momentum
AFTER ascending the mountain on Monday
night, I woke up Tuesday morning urgently aware that I had to
leave the heights and come back to earth. I was faced with a num-
ber of organizational decisions. The movement could no longer
continue without careful planning.
I began to think of the various oommittees necessary to give
the movement guidance and direction. First we needed a more
permanent transportation committee, since the problem of getting
the ex-bus riders about the city was paramount. I knew that we
could not work out any system that would solve all the transporta-
tion problems of the nearly l7,500 Negroes who had formerly
ridden the buses twice daily; even the most effective system that
we could devise would still leave almost everyone walking a little
more than he had done formerly. But a well-worked-out system
could do a good deal to alleviate the problem.
We would also need to raise money to carry on the protest.
Therefore, a finance committee was necessary. Since we would
be having regular mass meetings, there must be a program com-
mittee for these occasions. And then, I reasoned, from time to
time strategic decisions would have to be made; we needed the
best minds of the association to think them through and then
make recommendations to the executive board. So I felt that a
71
72
strategy committee was essential.
With all of these things in mind I called a meeting of the execa-
tive board for Wednesday at ten o'clock in one of the larger rooms
of the Alabama Negro Baptist Center. Every board member was
present to applaud the report that after almost two and a half
days the protest was still more than 99 per cent effective. Tliere
followed the appointment of the various committees. Because of
the relatively small number on the executive board, it was neces-
sary to place several people on more than one conmittee. As in
all organizations, the problem of conflicting egos was involved,
and the selections were guided by the desire to assure that the
people on each committee could work well together. Rufus Lewis
agreed to be chairman of the transportation committee, and Rev.
R. J. Glasco, our host for the morning, chairman of the finance
committee. The executive board was expanded to make it a broad
cross section of the Negro community.*
The members of the strategy oommittee were appointed a few
days later. This new committee brought together a dozen men
and women who had already provided strong leadership in the
early days of the protest, and whose clear thinking and coura-
geous guidance were to be of inestimable help in the dificult
decisions that still lay ahead. Besides the indispensable E. D.
Nixon and our brilliant legal strategist, Fred Gray, the committee
included Roy Bennet, who had chaired the first meeting to
organize the protest and was to continue to give the movement his
loyal support until he was transferred to a pastorate in Cali-
fornia. H. H. Hubbard and A. W. Wilson, both Baptist ministers,
represented the largest Negro congregations in Montgomery.
Hubbard's stately presence brought a sense of security to every
meeting that he attended; and his colleague, Wilson, who has lield
73
key positions in the Alabama Baptist State Convention, con-
tributed his fine talent as an organizer and administrator.
Mrs. Euretta Adair, the wife of a prominent Montgomery physi-
cian, was a one-time facudty member of Tuskegee Institute who
eombined a rich academic background with a passion for social
betterment. The current academic world was represented by Jo
Ann Robinson and J. E. Pierce, both faculty members of Alabama
State College, who had never allowed their secure positions to
make them indifferent to the problems of the people. Rufus Lewis,
a businessman who had also had a long interest in the Negroes'
struggle for first-class citizenship, was to display his conscientious-
ness and coo#perative spirit as first chairman of the transportation
committee. When, after several months, the need for extending
the MIA's activities into such areas as voting became apparent,
he took the chairmanship of the new registration and voting
committee, a responsibility which he still holds.
W. J. powell and S. S. Seay, like Bennett, were ministers of the
A.M.E. Zion Church. Powell brought a cool head and an even
temper to the problems that confronted the strategy committee
in these tempestuous days. S. S. Seay's was one of the few clerical
voices that, in the years preceding the protest, had lashed out
against the injustices heaped on the Negro, and urged his people
to a greater appreciation of their own worth. A dynamic preacher,
his addresses from time to time at the weeldy mass meetings raised
the spirits of all who heard him.
The final member of the strategy committee was already in the
forefront of the forces of protest. Ralph Abemathy was another
of the few Negro clergymen who had long been active in civic
affairs. Although he was then only twenty-nine, his devotion to
the cause of freedom was already beyond question. With his short,
stocky frame and his thoughtful expression, he looked older than
his years. But a boyish smile always lurked beneath the surface of
74
his face. Ralph's slow movements and slow, easy talk were decep-
tive. For he was an indefatigable worker and a sound thinker,
possessed of a fertile mind. As a speaker, he was persuasive and
dynamic, with the gift of laughing people into positive action.
When things became languid around the mass meetings, Ralph
Abernathy infused his audiences with new life and ardor. The
people loved and respected him as a symbol of courage and
strength.
From the beginning of the protest Ralph Abernathy was my
closest associate and most trusted friend. We prayed together and
made important decisions together. His ready good humor light-
ened many tense moments. Whenever I went out of town I always
left him in charge of the important business of the association,
knowing that it was in safe hands. After Bennett left Montgomery,
Ralph became first vice-president of the MIA, and has held that
position ever since with dignity and efficiency.
These were the people with whom, from the beginning, I
worked most closely. As time went on others were added. Among
these, an early recruit to the executive committee was Rev.
Robert Graetz, whom I had first met in the Council on Human
Relations. This boyish-looking white ministe; of the Negro Trinity
Lutheran Church was a constant reminder to us in the trying
months of the protest that many white people as well as Negroes
were applying the "7ove-thy-neighbor-as-thyself" teachings of
Christianity in their daily lives. Other close associates who were
later added to the board were Clarence W. Lee, a tall distin-
guished-looking mortician, whose sound business ability became
a great asset to tlie organization, and Moses W. Jones, a prominent
physician, who later became the second vice-president of the
MIA.
We met at all hours, whenever a new emergency demanded
attention. It was not unusual to find some of us taWing things
75
over in one of our homes at two-thirty in the morning. While our
wives plied us with coffee, and joined the informal discussion, we
laid plans and arrived at agreements on policy. No parliamentary
rules were necessary in this small group; the rule of the majority
was tacitly accepted.
In the early stages of the protest the problem of transportation
demanded most of our attention. The labor and ingenuity that
went into that task is one of the most interesting sides of the
Montgomery story. For the first few days we had depended on
the Negro taxi eompanies who had agreed to transport the people
for the same ten-cent fare that they paid on the buses. Except for
a few private cars that had been volunteered, these taxis had pro-
vided the only transportation. But during the first "negotiation
meeting" that we were to hold with the city commission on Thurs-
day, December 8, Police Commissioner Sellers mentioned in pass-
ing that there was a law that limited the taxis to a minimum fare.
l caught this hint and realized that Commissioner Sellers would
probably use this point to stop the taxis from assisting in the
protest.
At that moment I remembered that some time previously my
good friend Rev. Theodore Jemison had lead a bus boycott in
Baton Rouge, Louisiana. Knowing that Jemison and his associates
had set up an effective private car pool, I put in a long-distance
call to ask him for suggestions for a similar pool in Montgomery.
As I expected, his painstaking description of the Baton Rouge
experience was invaluable. I passed on word of Sellers' remark
and Jemison's advice to the transportation committee and sug-
gested that we immediately begin setting up a pool in order to
offset the confusion which oould come if the taxis were eliminated
fiom service.
Fortunately, a mass meeting was being held that night. TherB
I asked all those who were willing to offer their cars to give us
their names, addresses, telephone numbers, and the hours that
they couId drive, before leaving the meeting. The response was
tremendous. More than a hundred and fifty signed slips volunteer-
ing their automobiles. Some wlio were not working offered to
drive in tlie car pool all day; others volunteered a few hours before
and after work. Practically all of the ministers offered to drive
whenever they were needed.
On Friday afternoon, as I had predicted, the police oom-
missioner issued an order to all of the cab companies reminding
them that by law they had to charge a minimum fare of forty-five
cents, and saying that failure to comply would be a legal offense.
This brought an end to the cheap taxi service.
Our answer was to call hastily on our volunteers, who responded
immediately. They started out simply by cruising the streets of
Montgomery with no particular system. On Saturday the ministers
agreed to go to their pulpits the following day and seek additional
recruits. Again the response was tremendous. With the new addi-
tions, the number of cars swelled to about three hundred.
The real job was just beginning---that of working out some
system for these three hundred-odd automobiles, to replace their
haphazard movement around the city. During the days that fol-
lowed, the transportation committee worked every evening into
the morning hours attempting to set up an adequate system. Sev-
eral of Jemison's suggestions proved profitable. Finally, the de-
cision was made to set up "dispatch" and "pick-up" stations, points
at which passengers would assemble for transportation to their
jobs and home again. The dispatch stations would be open from
6:00 to I0:00 A.M., and the pick-up stations from 3:00 to 7:00 P.M.
Next came the difficult task of selecting sites for the stations that
would adequately cover the whole city. While most of us found
it relatively easy to think of dispatch stations, since they would
be in Negro sections of town, we disoovered that we were at a
THE MOVEMENR GATHES MOMENTUM
loss in selecting pick-up stations. The problem was that the vast
majority of those who had ridden tlie buses worked for white
employers, and the pick-up stations would therefore have to be in
white sections, of which we had little, if any, knowledge. For-
tunately, however, we had two postal workers on the committee,
who knew the city from end to end. With their assistance and the
aid of a city map we began working with new facility.
At this time, R. J. Glasco was prominent on the transportation
oommittee along with the chairman, Rufas Lewis. These men,
with the assistance of the whole oommittee, worked assiduously
to lay out the plan. By Tuesday, December l3, the system had
been worked out. Thousands of mimeographed leaflets were dis-
tributed throughout the Negro community with a list of the forty-
eight dispatch and the forty-two pick-up stations. Most of the
dispatch stations were located at the Negro churches. These
churches coo#perated by opening their doors early each morning
so that the waiting passengers could be seated, and many of them
provided heat on cold mornings. Each of the private cars was
assigned to one of the dispatch and one of the pick-up stations.
the number of cars assigned to each station determhed by the
nurnber of persons using it. By far the most heavily used station
was a Negro-owned parking lot looated in the downtown section
of Montgomery. It was a combination pick-up and dispatch poiat.
In a few days this system was working astonishingly well. The
white opposition was so impressed at this miracle of quick or-
ganization that they had to admit in a White Citizens Council
meeting that the pool moved with "military precision." The MIA
had worked out in a few nights a transportation problem that tlie
bus company had grappled with for many years.
Despite this success, so profoundly had the spirit of the protest
beoome a part of the people's lives that sometimes they even pre-
ferred to walk when a ride was available. The act of walking, for
78
many, had become of symbolic importance. Once a pool driver
stopped beside an elderly woman who was trudging along with
obvious difficulty.
"Jump in, grandmother," he said. 'You don't need to walk."
She waved him on. "I'm not walking for myself," she explained.
"I'm walking for my children and my grandchildren." And slie
continued toward home on foot.
While the largest number of drivers were ministers, their ranks
were augmented by housewives, teachers, businessmen, and un-
skilled laborers. At least three white men from the air bases drove
in the pool during their off-duty hours. One of the most faithful
drivers was Mrs. A. W. West, who had early shown her enthusiasm
for the protest idea by helping to call the civic leaders to the
first organizing meeting. Every morning she drove her large green
Cadillac to lier assigned dispatch station, and for several hours
in the morning and again in the afternoon one could see this dis-
tinguished and handsome gay-haired chauffeur driving people
to work and liome again.
Another loyal driver was Jo Ann Robinson. Attractive, fair-
skinned, and still youthful, Jo Ann came by her goodness naturally,
She did not need to leam lier nonviolence from any book. Ap-
parently indefatigable, she, perhaps more than any other person,
was active on every level of the protest. She took part in both
the executive board and the strategy committee meetings. When
the MIA newsletter was inaugurated a few months after the
protest began, she became its editor. She was sure to be present
whenever negotiations were in progress. And although she car-
ried a full teaching load at Alabama State, she still found time to
drive both morning and afternoon.
The ranks of our drivers were further swelled from an unfore
seen source. Many white housewives, whatever their commitment
to segregation, liad no intention of being without tlieir maids.
79
And so every day they drove to the Negro sections to pick up
their servants and returned them at night. Certainly, if selfishness
was a part of the motive, in many cases affection for a faithful
servant also played its part. There was some humor in the tacit
understandings----and sometimes mutually accepted misunder-
standings---between these white employers and their Negro ser-
vants. One old domestic, an influential matriarch to many young
relatives in Montgomery, was asked by her wealthy employer,
Isn't this bus boycott terrible?"
The old lady responded: "Yes, ma'am, it sure is. And I just
told all my young'uns that this kind of thing is white folks'
business and we just stay off the buses till they get this whole
thing settled."
As time moved on the pool continued to grow and expand. Rev.
B. J. Simms, college professor and pastor of a Baptist church
in Tuskegee, took over the chairmanship of the committee, add-
ing his own creative ideas to the good work of his predecessor,
Rufus Lewis. Soon the transportation office had grown to a staff
of six. More than twenty-five people were employed as all-day
drivers, working six days a week. In most of the stations, dis-
patchers were employed to keep things running smoothly and
divide the passengers on the basis of the direction in which they
were going. A chief dispatcher----Rev. J. H. Cherry----stationed at
the downtown parking lot proved to be of inestimable value.
Richard Harris, a Negro pharmacist, was also a great asset to the
transportation system. From the office of his dmgstore he dis-
patched cars by telephone from early morning till late evening.
Visitors were always astonished to see this young energetic busi-
nessman standing with a telephone at his ear dispatching cars and
filling a prescription simultaneously.
Finally, a fleet of more than fifteen new station wagons was
added. Each of these I956 cars was registered as the property of
STRIDE TOWARD FREEDOM
a different church, and the name of the sponsoring church was
emblazoned on the front and side of eacli vehicle. As these "rolling
churches" carried their spirited loads of passengers along to work,
an occasional sound of hymn-singing came from their windows.
Pedestrians who could find no room in the crowded vebicles
waved as their own "church" passed by, and waiked on with new
lieart.
Altogether the operation of the motor pool represented organ-
ization and coo#rdination at their best. Reporters and visitors from
all over the country looked upon the system as a unique accom-
plishment. But the job took money. For a while the MIA had
been able to carry on through local contributions. Week after
week, wealthy or poor, the Negroes of Montgomery gave what
they could, even though sometimes there was only a dime or a
quarter to put into the collection box. But as the pool grew and
other expenses mounted, it was evident that we needed additional
funds to carry on. The cost of running the MIA had increased to
$5000 a month.
Fortunately the liberal coverage of the press had carried the
word of our struggle across the world. Although we never made
a public appeal for funds, contributions began to pour in from as
far away as Tokyo. MIA leaders were invited to cities all over the
country to appear in fund-raising meetings. Every day brought
visitors bearing gifts, and every mail brought checks. Sometimes
the gift was as large as $5000, sometimes only a single dollar bill,
but altogether they added up to nearly $250,000.
The largest response came from church groups---particularly,
though by no means only, Negro churches. Several ministerial
associations contributed generously. It would be safe to say that
churches in ahnost every city in the United States sent help.
Labor, civic, and social groups were our stanch supporters, and
81
in many communities new organizations were founded just to
support the protest. Almost every branch of the NAACP re-
sponded generously to a letter from Roy Wilkins, the executive
secretary, urging them to give moral and financial support to the
movement; and this was only one of the many ways in which the
NAACP was to lend its strength in the days ahead.
Contributions came from many individuals, too, both white and
Negro, here and abroad. Often these were accompanied by let-
ters that raised our spirits and helped to break the sense of
isolation that surrounded us in our own community. From Penn-
sylvania came a check for a hundred dollars, along with a note
in the spidery handwriting of an elderly gentlewoman: "Your
work . . . is outstanding and unprecedented in the history of our
country. Indeed, it is epoch-making and it should have a far-
reachhg effect. . . . "Not by might, nor by power, but by my
spirit, saith the Lord'----this might well be the motto of the Mont-
gomery Improvement Association." A former federal judge wrote:
"You have shown that decency and courage will eventually pre-
vail. . . . The immediate issue has not been won as yet but such
faith and determination is bound to be triumphant and the per-
secutors must themselvcs by this time come to realize that they are
fighting a cruel but losing effort. The entire nation salutcs you
and prays for your early relief and victory."
From Singapore came the assurance that "what you are doing
is a real inspiration to us here in the part of the world where the
struggle between democracy and communism is raging." The crew
of a ship at sea cabled: "We offer a prayer in sympathy in the
fight for justice." And a Swiss woman whose "friends and husband
do not understand" saved her own money to send us one of our
largest individual contributions. "Since I have no possibility,"
she wrote, "to help you in an effcacious manner (this is such a
bad feeling, believe me) and I buraingly would like to do just
STRIDE TOWARD FREEDOM
something, I send you these 500 dollars. . . . You would make
me a very great pleasure, if you accepted, because what else
could I do?"
Truly the Montgomery movement had spoken to a responsive
world. But while these letters brought us much-needed encourage-
ment, they were also the source of persistent frustration for me.
The MIA lacked proper office facilities and staff, and due to the
shortage of secretarial help most of the early letters had to go
unanswered. Even financial contributions were often unacknowl-
edged. The more I thought of my inability to cope with these
matters, the more disturbed I became.
My frustration was augmented by the fact that for several weeks
after the protest began, people were calling me at every hour of
the day and night. The phone would start ringing as early as five
o'clock in the morning and seldom stopped before midnight. Some-
-times it was an ex-bus rider asking me to arrange to get her to
work and back home at a certain hour. Sometimes it was a driver
complaining about uncooperative passengers or a passenger com-
plaining about a temperamental driver. Sometimes a driver's
car had broken down. Sometimes it was a maid who had been
threatened with firing by her employer if she continued to stay
offi the buses, and sometimes a person who simply wanted to
know where the nearest pick-up station was located. From time
to time someone called to say that a certain driver was charging
his passengers, and needed to be stopped before his acts jeopar-
dized the legal status of the whole system.
We came to see the necessity of having a well-staffed office to
face such problems as these. At first we attempted to run it with
volunteer secretarial help. But this was not sufficient. So we
hired a full-time secretary to do the regular work of the associa-
tion, and set up a transportation office with a secretary to work
THE MOVEMENR GATHERS MOMENTUM
directly in that area. As time went on the correspondence be-
came so heavy and the transportation work so detailed that it
was necessary to employ an office staff of ten persons. With the
growth of the office staff and other administrative matters, the
board finally supplied me with an executive assistant, Rev. R. J.
Glasco. All of these steps---the hiring of office secretaries, setting
up a transportation office, and the hiring of an executive assistant
---served to lighten an almost unbearable load, and helped me to
regain my bearings.
But the job of getting the movement going was not yet finished.
There was still the task of finding permanent office space to house
the MIA. This problem proved to be unexpectedly difficult, and
we were forced to move no less than four times before we found
a relatively permanent location.
The first office was in the Alabama Negro Baptist Center. Here
we had access to two large rooms and also an assembly room for
board meetings. Both location and facilities met our needs. As
soon as we were settled there, however, the white officials of the
Montgomery Baptist Association---the organization which sup-
plied the largest amount of money for the operation of the center
---called the trustees of the center into a conference and suggested
that "for the good of the center" and "the good of the community"
the MIA headquarters should be moved. Adthough it was never
explicitly stated, we could discern an implicit threat to withdraw
financial assistance if the request were not complied with im-
mediately.
Seeing that we were almost out of doors, Rufus Lewis offered
the MIA the use of his club---the Citizens Club. He set at our
disposal a large room, which was usually used for banquets, and
a small room for the transportation committee. But after we had
been in the Citiz- ens Club for a few weeks Mr. Lewis got word
from reliable sources that if the MIA remained there his license
8$ sfflE 7owdW ~DoM
wouId be revoked on the grounds that the club was being used
as an oBce building. In this emergency the First Baptist Church
offered its limited office space as a temporary abode.
Finally, we discovered that the new building of the Bricldayers
Union had available space which would serve our purposes weli.
Here the white conununity could not force us out, since most of
the members and all of the officers of the union that owned the
building were Negroes. Witli this consideration in mind we
decided to rent space there.
By then the office staff was exhausted. They had moved back
and forth all over the city. In this continuous moving process some
important letters had almost certainly been lost and significant
records misplaced. But at least we now had an office with aa air
of permanence. For the first time we had enough space to work
with a modicum of peace and security.
The biggest job in getting any movement off the ground is to
keep together the people who form it. This task requires more
than a conmon aim: it demands a philosophy that wins and holds
the people's allegiance; and it depends upon open channels of
communication between the people and their leaders. A of these
elements were present in Montgomery.
From the beginning a basic philosophy guided tlie movement.
This guiding principle lias since been referred to variously as
nonviolent resistance, noncooperation, and passive resistance. But
in the first days of the protest none of these expressions was
mentioned; the phrase most often heard was "Christian love." It
was the Sermon on the Mount, rather than a doctrine of passive
resistance, that initially inspired the Negoes of Montgomery to
dignified social action. It was Jesus of Nazareth that stirred the
Negroes to protest with the creative weapon of love.
As the days unfolded, liowever, the inspiration of Mahatma
THE MOVEMMR GATHES MOMENUM
Gandhi began to exert its influence. I had come to see early ~at
the Christian doctrine of love operating througli the Gandhian
method of nonviolence was one of the most potent weapons avaiI-
able to the Negro in his struggle for freedom. About a week after
the protest started, a white woman who understood and sympa-
thized with the Negroes' efforts wrote a letter to the editor of
the Montgomery Advefrtiser comparing the bus protest with the
Gandhian movement in India. Miss Juliette Morgan, sensitive
and frail, did not long survive the rejection and oondernnation of
the white community, but long before she died in the summer of
.l957 the name of Mahatma Gandhi was weli-known in Mont-
gomery. People wlio had never heard of the litle brown saint of
India were now saying his name with an air of familiarity. Non-
violent resistance had emerged as the technique of the movement
while love stood as the regulating ideal. In other words, Christ
furnshed the spirit and motivation, while Gandhi furnshed the
method.
This philosophy was disseminated mainly through the regular
mass meetings which were held in the various Negro churches of
the city. For tlie first several months be meetings occurred twice
a week---on Mondays and Thursdays---but in the fall of l956 the
number was reduced to one a week, a schedule that continues to
this day. At the beginning of the protest these twice-a-week
get-togethers were indispensable Channels of conmumication,
since Montgomery had neither a Nego-owned radio station nor
a widely read Negro newspaper.
The meetings rotated from church to church. The speakers
represented the various denominations, thus removing any
grounds for sectariaa jealousy. One of the glories of the Mont-
gomery movement was that Baptists, Methodists, Lutherans,
Presbyterians, Episcopalians, and others all came together with
a willingness to transcend denominational lines, Althougli no
86
Catholic priests were actively involved in the protest, many of
their parishioners took part. All joined hands in the bond of
Christian love. Thus the mass meetings accomplished on Monday
and Thursday nights what the Christian Church had failed to
acoomplish on Sunday mornings.
The mass meetings also cut across class lines. The vast majority
present were working people; yet there was always an appreciable
number of professionals in the audience. Physicians, teachers, and
lawyers sat or stood beside domestic workers and unskilled
laborers. The Ph.D's and the no "D's" were bound together in
a common venture. The so-called "big Negroes" who owned cars
and had never ridden the buses came to know the maids and the
laborers who rode the buses every day. Men and women who had
been separated from each other by false standards of class were
now singing and praying together in a common struggle for free-
dom and human dignity.
The meetings started at seven, but people came hours ahead
of time to get a seat. It was not uncommon to find the churches
oompletely filled by five in the aftemoon. Some read papers and
books while they waited; others joined in group singing. Usually
the hymns preceding the meeting were unaccompanied lined
tunes of low pitch and long meter. One could not help but be
moved by these traditional songs, which brought to mind the
long history of the Negro's suffering.
By the time the meeting started, virtually every space was taken,
and hundreds often overflowed into the streets. Many late-comers
leamed to bring their own folding stools, and many others stayed
away because they knew that it would be impossible to find a
space. At first we tried to deal with this problem by having as
many as five simultaneous meetings in different parts of the city
each with the same theme and pattern. For several weeks I made
it a practice to appear at all five meetings, but this was a strenu-
ous undertaking. Moreover, the people began to insist that they
wated to be together; so we soon went back to the one big
meeting.
The evenings followed a simple pattern: songs, prayer, Scripture
reading, opening remarks by the president, collection, reports
from various committees, and a "pep talk." The latter was the
main address of the evening, usually given by a different minister
at each meeting. The "pep tailk" acquired its rather undignified
title during the early days of the protest, when the primary pur-
pose was to give the people new "pep" and enthusiasm for the
struggle ahead. Night after night the group was admonished to
love rather than hate, and urged to be prepared to suffer violence
if necessary but never to inflict it. Every "pep" speaker was asked
to make nonviolence a central part of his theme.
Inevitably, a speaker would occasionally get out of hand. One
minister, after lashing out against the whites in distinctly un-
theological terms, ended by referring to the extremists of the
white community as "dirty crackers." After the meeting he was
politely but firndy informed that his insulting phrases were out
of place. But such instances of offensive language were sur-
prisingly few.
ln my weekly remarks as president, I stressed that the use of
violence in our struggle would be both impractical and immoral,
To meet hate with retaliatory hate would do nothing but intensify
the existence of evil in the universe. Hate begets hate; violence
begets violence; toughness begets a greater toughness. We must
meet the forces of hate with the power of love; we must meet
physical force witli soul force. Our aim must never be to defeat
or humiliate the white man, but to win his friendship and under-
standing.
From the beginning the people responded to this philosophy
with amazing ardor. To be sure, there were some who were slow
88
to concur. Occasionally members of the executive board would
say to me in private that we needed a more militant approach.
They looked upon nonviolence as weak and compr . h hit
people that the Negroes meant business and were not afraid. A
member of my church came to me one day and solemnly sug-
gested that it would be to our advantage to 'kill off' eight or
ten white people. "This is the only language these white folks
will understand" he said. "If we fail to do this they will think
we're afraid. We must show them we're not afraid any longer."
Besides, he thought, if a few white persons were killed the federal
government would inevitably intervene and this, he was certain,
would benefit us.
Still others felt that they could be nonviolent only if they were
not attacked personally. They would say: "If nobody bothers me,
I will bother nobody. If nobody hits me, I will hit nobody. But
if I am hit, I will hit back." They thus drew a moral line between
aggressive and retaliatory violence. But in spite of these honest
disagreements, the vast majority were willing to try the experi-
ment.
The very spirit of the meetings revealed their nature. The songs,
the prayers, the Scripture readings, and the speeches were by and
large nonviolent in tone. A favorite Scriptural passage was, "And
now abideth faith, hope, love, these tliree; but the greatest of
these is love." Another was the famous dialogue on forgiveness
between Jesus and Peter: "Then came peter to him, and said,
Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him?
till seven times? Jesus saith unto him, I say not unto thee, Until
seven times: but, Until seventy times seven." For the mass-meet-
ing audiences, these Scriptural admonitions were not abstractions
that came to them from a distance across the centuries; they had
a personal and immediate meaning for them today.
Throughout, there was a surprising lack of bitterness, even
when speakers referred to the latest white insult or act of ter-
rorism. And when, later on, the MIA was to be faced with its ordy
serious intemaI crisis, the people showed that they could handle
- sension among themselves with equal restraint, refraining not
only from physical violence but also from violence of spirit.
In a real sense, Montgomery's Negroes showed themselves
willing to grapple with a new approach to the crisis in race rela-
tions. It is probably true that most of them did not believe in
nonviolence as a philosophy of life, but because of their confidence
in their leaders and because nonviolence was presented to them
as a simple expression of Christianity in action,they were willing
to use it as a technique. Admittedly, nonviolence in the truest
sense is not a strategy that one uses simply because it is expedient
at the moment; nonviolence is ultimately a way of life that men
live by because of the sheer morality of its claim. But even
granting this, the willingness to use nonviolence as a technique is
a step forward. For he who goes this far is more likely to adopt
nonviolence later as a way of life.
PLlgrimage to Nonulolence
OFTEN the question has arisen conceming my
own intellectual pilgrimage to nonviolence. In order to get at
this question it is necessary to go back to my early teens in At-
lanta. I had grown up abhorring not only segregation but also
the oppressive and barbarous acts that grew out of it. I had passed
spots where Negroes had been savagely lynched, and had watched
the Ku Klux Klan on its rides at night. I had seen police brutality
with my own eyes, and watched Negroes receive the most tragic
injustice in the courts. All of these things had done something
to my growing personality. I had come perilously close to re-
senting all white people.
I had also learned that the inseparable twin of racial injustice
was economic injustice. Although I came from a home of eco-
nomic security and relative comfort, I could never get out of my
mind the economic insecurity of many of my playmates and the
tragic poverty of those living around me. During my late teens
I worked two summers, against my father's wishes----he never
wanted my brother and me to work around white people because
of the oppressive conditions---in a plant that hired both Negroes
and whites. Here I saw economic injustice firsthand, and realized
that the poor white was exploited just as much as the Negro.
Through these early experiences I grew up deeply conscious of
the varieties of injustice in our society,
So when I went to Atlanta's Morehouse College as a freshman
in 1944 my concern for racial and economic justice was already
substantial. During my student days at Morehouse I read Tho-
reau's Essay on Civil Disobedience for the first time. Fascinated
by the idea of refusing to cooperate with an evil system, I was
so deeply moved that I reread the work several times. This was
my first intellectual contact with the theory of nonviolent re-
sistance.
Not until I entered Crozer Theological Seminary in 1948, how-
ever, did I begin a sorious intellectual quest for a method to
eliminate social evil. Although my major interest was in the fields
of theology and philosophy, I spent a great deal of time reading
the works of the great social philosophers. I came early to Walter
Rauschenbusch's Christianity and the Social Crisis, which left an
indelible imprint on my thinking by giving me a theological basis
for the social concern which had already grown up in me as a
result of my early experiences. Of course there were points at
which I differed with Rauschenbusch. I felt that he had fallen
victim to the nineteenth-century "cult of inevitable progress"
which led him to a superficial optimism concerning man's nature.
Moreover, he came porilously close to identifying the Kingdom of
God with a particular social and economic system----a tendency
which should never befall the Church. But in spite of these short-
comings Rauschenbusch had done a great service for the Christian
Churchs by insisting that the gospel deals with the whole man,
not only his soul but his body; not only his spiritual well-being
but his material well-being. It has been my conviction ever since
reading Rauschenbusch that any religion which professes to be
concerned about the souls of men and is not concerned about the
social and economic conditions that scar the soul, is a spiritually
moribund religion only waiting for the day to be buried. It well
has been said: "A religion that ends with the individual, ends."
After reading Rauschenbusch, I turned to a serious study of the
social and ethical theories of the great philosophers, from Plato
and Aristotle down to Rousseau, Hobbes, Bentham, Mill, and
Locke. All of these masters stimulated my thinking----such as it
was----and, while finding things to question in each of them, I
nevertheless learned a great deal from their study.
During the Christmas holidays of 1949 I decided to spend my
spare time reading Karl Marx to try to understand the appeal of
comununism for many people. For the first time I carefully scrutin-
ized Das Kapital and The Communist Manifesto. I also read some
interpretive works on the thinking of Marx and Lenin. In reading
such Communist writings I drew certain conclusions that have
remained with me as convictions to this day. First I rejected
their materialistic interpretation of history. Communism,
avowedly secularistic and materialistic, has no place for God.
This I could never accept, for as a Christian I believe that there
is a creative personal power in this universe who is the ground and
essence of all reality---a power that cannot be explained in ma-
terialistic terms. History is ultimately guided by spirit, not matter.
Second, I strongly disagreed with communism's ethical relativism.
Since for the Communist there is no divine government, no ab-
solute moral order, there are no fixed, immutable principles;
consequently almost anything----force, violence, murder, lying----
is a justifiable means to the "millennial" end. This type of relativ-
ism was abhorrent to me. Constructive ends can never give
absolute moral justification to destructive means, because in the
final analysis the end is pree#xistent in the mean. Third, I opposed
communism's political totalitarianism. In communism the indi-
vidual ends up in subjection to the state. True, the Marxist would
argue that the state is an "interim" reality which is to be eliminated
when the classless society emerges; but the state is the end while
it lasts, and man only a means to that end. And if any man's
so-called rights or liberties stand in the way of that end, they
are simply swept aside. His liberties of expression, his freedom to
vote, his freedom to listen to what news he likes or to choose his
books are all restricted. Man becomes hardly more, in communism
than a depersonalized cog in the turning wheel of the state.
This dcprecaton of individual freedom was objectionable to
me. I am convinced now, as I was then, that man is an end
because he is a child of God. Man is not made for the state;
the state is made for man. To deprive man of freedom is to
relegate him to the status of a thing, rather than elevate him to
the status of a person. Man must never be treated as a means to
the end of the state, but always as an end with himself.
Yet, in spite of the fact that my response to communism was
and is negative, and I considered it basically evil, there were
points at which I found it challenging. The late Archbishop of
Canterbury, William Temple, referred to communism as a Chris-
tion heresy. By this he meant that communism had laid hold of
certain trutbs which are essential parts of the Christian view of
things, but that it had bound up with them concepts and practices
which no Christian could ever accept or profess. Communism
challenged the late Archbishop and it should challenge every
Christian----as it challenged me---to a growing concern about
social justice. With all of its false assumptions and evil methods,
communism grew as a protest against the hardships of the under-
privileged. Communism in theory emphasized a classless society,
and a concern for social justice, though the world knows from sad
experience that in practice it created new classes and a new
lexicon of injustice. The Christian ought always to be challenged
by any protest against unfair treatment of the poor, for Chris-
tianity is itself such a protest, nowhere expressed more eloquently
than in Jesus' words: "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because
he hath anointed me to preach the gospel to the poor; he hath
sent me to heal the brokenhearted, to preach deliverance to the
captives, and recovering of sight to the blind, to set at liberty
them that are bruised, to preach the acceptable year of the Lord."
I also sought systematic answers to Marx's critique of modern
bourgeois culture. He presented capitalism as essentially a strug-
gle between thc owners of the productive resources and the
workers, whom Marx regarded as the real producers. Marx inter-
preted economic forces as the dialectical process by which society
moved from feudalism through capitalism to socialism, with the
primary mechanism of this historical movement being the struggle
between economic classes whose interests were irreconcilable.
Obviously this theory left out of account the numerous and sig-
nificant complexities----political, economic, moral, religious, and
psychological----which played a vital role in shaping the constel-
lation of institutions and ideas known today as Western civiliza-
tion. Moreover, it was dated in the sense that the capitalism Marx
wrote about bore only a partial resemblance to the capitalism we
know in this country today.
But in spite of the shortcomings of his analysis, Marx had
raised some basic questions. I was deeply concerned from my
early teen days about the gulf between superfluous wealth and
abject poverty, and my reading of Marx made me ever more
conscious of this gulf. Although modern American capitalism
had greatly reduced the gap through social reforms, there was
still need for a better distribution of wealth. Moreover, Marx had
revealed the danger of the profit motive as the sole basis of an
economic system: capitalism is always in danger of inspiring men
to be more concerned about making a living than making a life.
We are prone to judge success by the index of our salaries or the
size of our automobiles, rather than by the quality of our service
and relationship to humanity---thus capitalism can lead to a
ractical materialism that is as pernicious as the materialism
caught by communism.
In short, I read Marx as I read all of the influential historical
thinkers---from a dialectical point of view, combining a partial
ness and a partial no. In so far as Marx posited a metaphysical
materialism, an ethical relativism, and a strangulating totalitarian-
ism, I responded with an unambiguous "no"; but in so far as he
pointed to weaknesses of traditional capitalism, contributed to
the growth of a definite self-consciousness in the masses, and
challenged the social conscience of the Christian churches, I
responded with a definite "yes."
My reading of Marx also convinced me that truth is found
neither in Marxism nor in traditional capitalism. Each represents
a partial truth. Historically capitalism failed to see the truth in
collective enterprise and Marxism failed to see the truth in indi-
vidual enterprise. Nineteenth-century capitalism failed to see that
life is social and Marxism failed and still fails to see that life is
individual and personal. The Kingdom of God is neither the
thesis of individual enterprise nor the antithesis of collective
enterprise, but a synthesis which reconciles the truths of both.
During my stay at Crozer, I was also exposed for tbe first time
the pacifist position in a lecture by Dr. A. J. Muste. I was
deeply moved by Dr. Muste's talk, but far from convinced of the
practicability of his position. Like most of the students of Crozer,
I felt that while war could never be a positive or absolute good,
could serve as a negative good in the sense of preventing the
read and growth of an evil force. War, horrible as it is, might
preferable to surrender to a totalitarian system---Nazi, Fascist,
Communist.
During this period I had about despaired of the power of love
in solving social problems. Perhaps my faith in love was tem-
porarily shaken by the pbilosophy of Nietzsche. I had been read-
ing parts of The Genealogy of Morals and the whole of The Will
to Power. Nietzsche's glorification of power----in his theory all life
expressed the will to power---was an outgrowth of his contempt
for ordinary morals. He attacked the whole of the Hebraic-Chris-
tian morality---with its virtues of piety and humility, its other-
worldliess and its attitude toward suffering----as the glorification
of weakness, as making virtues out of necessity and impotence.
He looked to the development of a superman who would surpass
man as man surpassed the ape.
Then one Sunday afternoon I traveled to Philadelphia to hear
a sermon by Dr. Mordecai Johnson, president of Howard Uni-
versity. He was there to preach for the Fellowship House of Pbila-
delpbia. Dr. Johnson had just returned from a trip to India, and,
to my great interest, he spoke of the life and teachings of
Mahatma Gandhi. His message was so profound and electrifying
that I left the meeting and bought a half-dozen books on Gandhi's
life and works.
Like most people, I had heard of Gandhi, but I had never
studied him seriously. As I read I became deeply fascinated by
his campaigns of nonviolent resistance. I was particularly moved
by the Salt March to the Sea and his numerous fasts. The whole
concept of "Satyagraha" (Satya is truth which equals love, and
agraha is force; "Satyagraha," therefore, means truth-force or love
force) was profoundly significant to me. As I delved deeper into
the philosophy of Gandhi my skepticism concerning the power
of love gradually diminished, and I came to see for the first time
its potency in the area of social reform. Prior to reading Gandhi,
I had about concluded that the ethics of Jcsus were only effective
individual relationship. The "tum the other check" philosophy
and the "love your enemies" philosophy were only valid, I felt,
when individuals were in conflict with other individuals; when
racial groups and nations were in conflict a more realistic ap-
proach seemed necessary. But after reading Gandhi, I saw how
utterly mistaken I was.
Gandhi was probably the first person in history to lift the love
ethic of Jesus above mere interaction between individuals to a
powerful and effective social force on a large scale. Love for
Gandhi was a potent instrument for social and collective trans-
formation. It was in this Gandhian emphasis on love and non-
violence that I discovered the method for social reform that I
had been seeking for so many months. The intellectual and moral
satisfaction that I failed to gain from the utilitarianism of Bentham
and Mill, the revolutionary metbods of Marx and Lenin, the social-
contracts theory of Hobbes, the "back to nature" optimism of
Rousseau, and the superman philosophy of Nietzsche, I found
in be nonviolent resistance philosophy of Gandhi. I came to feel
that this was tbe only morally and practically sound method open
to oppressed people in their struggle for freedom.
But my intellectual odyssey to nonviolence did not end here.
During my last year in theological school, I began to read the
works of Reihhold Niebuhr. The prophetic and realistic elements
in Niebubr's passionate style and profound thought were appeal-
ing to me, and I became so enamored of his social ethics that I
almost fell into the trap of accepting uncritically everything he
wrote.
About this time I read Niebuhr's critique of the pacifist posi-
tion. Niebuhr had himself once been a member of the pacifist
ranks. For several years, he had bcen national chairman of the
Fellowship of Rcconciliation. His break with pacifism came in
the early thirties, and the first full statement of his criticism of
pacifism was in Moral Man and Immoral Society. Here he argued
that there was no intrinsic moral difference between violent and
nonviolent resistance. The social consequences of the two methods
were different, he contended, but the differences were in degree
ratber than kind. Later Niebuhr bcgan emphasizing the irrespon-
sibility of relying on nonviolent resistance when there was no
ground for believing that it would be successful in preventing the
spread of totalitarian tyranny. It could only be successful, he
argued, if the groups against whom the resistance was taking place
had some dcgree of moral conscience, as was the case in Gandhi's
struggle against the British. Niebuhr's ultimate rejection of pac-
ifism was based primarily on the doctrine of man. He argued that
pacifism failed to do justice to the reformation doctrine of justifi-
cation by faith, substituting for it a scetarian perfectionism which
believes "that divine grace actually lifts men out of the sinful
contradictions of history and establishes him above the sins of the
world."
At first, Niebuhr's critique of pacifism left me in a state of
confusion. As I continued to read, however, I came to see more
and more the shortcomings of his position. For instance, many of
his statements revealed that he interpreted pacifism as a sort
of passive nonresistance to evil expressing nai#ve trust in the power
of love. But this was a serious distortion. My study of Gandhi
convinced me that true pacifism is not nonresistance to evil, but
nonviolent resistance to evil. Between the two positions, there
is a world of difference. Gandhi resisted evil with as much vigor
and power as the violent resister, but he resisted with love instead
of hate. True pacifism is not unrealistic submission to evil power,
as Nicbuhr contends. It is rathcr a courageous confrontation of
evil by the power of love, in the faith that it is better to be the
recipient of violence than the inflicter of it, since the latter only
multiplies the existence of violence and bitterness in the universe,
while the former may develop a sense of shame in the opponent,
and thereby bring about a transformation and change of heart.
In spite of the fact that I found many things to be desired in
Niebuhr's philosophy, there were several points at which he con-
structively influenced my thinking. Niebuhr's great contribution
to contemporary theology is that he has refuted the false optimism
characteristic of a great segment of Protestant liberalism, without
falling into the anti-rationalism of the continental theologian
Karl Barth, or the semi-fundamentalism of other dialectical theol-
ogians. Moreover, Niebubr has extraordinary insight into human
nature, especially the behavior of nations and social groups. Ho
is keenly aware of the complexity of human motives and of the
relation between morality and power. His theology is a persistent
reminder of the reality of sin on every level of man's existence.
These elements in Niebuhr's thinking helped me to recognize the
illusions of a superficial optimism concerning human nature and
the dangers of a false idealism. While I still believed in man's
potential for good, Niebubr made me realize his potential for
evil as well. Moreover, Niebuhr helped me to recognize the com-
plexity of man's social involvement and the glaring reality of
collective evil.
Many pacifists, I felt, failed to see this. All too many had an
unwarranted optimism concerning man and leaned unconsciously
toward self-righteousness. It was my revolt against these attitudes
under the infiuence of Niebuhr that accounts for the fact that in
spite of my strong leaning toward pacifism, I never joined a
pacifist organization. After reading Niebuhr, I tried to arrive at a
realistic pacifism. In other words, I came to see the pacifist posi-
tion not as sinless but as the lesser evil in the circumstances. I
felt then, and I feel now, that the pacifist would have a greater
appeal if he did not claim to be free from the moral dilemmas
that the Christian nonpacifist confronts.
The next stage of my intellectual pilgrimage to no
came during my doctoral studies at Boston University. Here I had
the opportunity to talk to many exponents of nonviolence, both
students and vistors to the campus. Boston University School of
Theology, under the influence of Dean Walter Muelder and Pro-
professor Allen Knight Chalmers, had a deep sympathy for pacifism.
Both Dean Muelder and Dr. Chalmers had a passion for social
justice that stemmed, not from a superficial optimism, but from
a deep faith in the possibilities of human beings when they
allowed themselves to become co-workers with God. It was at
Boston University that I came to see that Niebuhr had over-
emphasized the corruption of human nature. His pessimism com-
cerning human nature was not balanced by an optimism
concerning divine nature. He was so involved in diagnosing man's
sickness of sin that he overlooked the cure of grace.
I studied philosophy and theology at Boston University under
Edgar S. Brightman and L. Harold DeWolf. Both men greatly
stimulated my thinking. It was mainly under these teachers that
I studied personalistic philosophy---the theory that the clue to
the meaning of ultimate reality is found in personality. This per-
sonal idealism remains today my basic philosophical position.
Personalism's insistence that only personality----finite and infinite----
is ultimately real strengthened me in two convictions: it gave me
metaphysical and philosophical grounding for the idea of a per-
sonal God, and it gave me a metaphysical basis for the dignity
and worth of all human personality.
Just before Dr. Brightman's death, I began studying the philos-
ophy of Hegel with him. Although the course was mainly a study
of Hegel"s monumental work, Phenomenology of Mind, I spent
my spare time reading his Philosophy of History and Philosophy
of Right. There were points in Hegel"s philosophy that I strongly
disagreed with. For instance, his absolute idealism was rationally
unsound to me because it tended to swallow up the many in the
one. But there were other aspects of his thinking that I found
stimulating. His contention that "truth is the whole" led me to
a philosopbical method of rational coherence. His analysis of the
dialectical process, in spite of its shortcomings, helped me to
see that growth comes through struggle.
In 1954 I ended my formal training with all of these relatively
divergent intellectual forces converging into a positive social
philosophy. One of the main tenets of this philosophy was the
conviction that nonviolent resistance was one of the most potent
eapons available to oppressed people in their quest for social
justice. At this time, however, I had merely an intellectual under-
standing and appreciation of the position, with no firm deter-
mination to organize it in a socially effective situation.
When I went to Montgomery as a pastor, I had not the slightest
idea that I would later become involved in a crisis in which non-
violent resistance would be applicable. I neither started the
protest nor suggested it. I simply responded to the call of the
people for a spokesman. When the protest began, my mind, con-
sciously or unconsciously, was driven back to the Sermon on the
Mount, with its sublime teacbings on love, and the Gandhian
method of nonviolent resistance. As the days unfolded, I came
to see the power of nonviolence more and more. Living through
the actual experience of the protest, nonviolence became more
than a method to which I gave intellectual assent; it became a
commitment to a way of life. Many of the things that I had not
cleared up intcllectually concerning nonviolence were now solved
in the sphere of practical action.
Since the philosophy of nonviolence played such a positive role
the Montgomery Movement, it may be wise to turn to a brief
discussion of some basic aspects of this philosophy.
First, it must be emphasized that nonviolent resistance is not
a method for cowards; it does resist. If one uses this method be-
cause he is afraid or merely because he lacks the instruments of
violence, he is not truly nonviolent. This is why Gandhi often
said that if cowardice is the only alternative to violence, it is
better to fight. He made this statement conscious of the fact that
there is always another alternative: no individual or group need
submit to any wrong, nor need they use violence to right the
wrong; there is the way of nonviolence resistance. This is ul-
timately the way of the strong man. It is not a method of stagnant
passivity. The phrase "passive resistance" often gives the false
impression that this is a sort of "do-nothing method" in which the
resister quietly and passively accepts evil. But nothing is further
from the truth. For while the nonviolent resister is passive in the
sense that he is not physically aggressive toward his opponent,
his mind and emotions are always active, constantly seeking to
persuade his opponent that he is wrong. The method is passive
physically, but strongly active spiritually. It is not passive non-
resistance to evil, it is active nonviolent resistance to evil.
A second basic fact that characterizes nonviolence is that it
does not seek to defeat or humiliate the opponent, but to win his
friendship and understanding. The nonviolent resister must often
express his protest through noncooperation or boycotts, but he
realizes that these are not ends themselves; they are merely
means to awaken a sense of moral shame in the opponent. The
end is redemption and reconciliation. The aftermath of nonvio-
lence is the creation of the beloved community, while the after-
math of violence is tragic bitterness.
A third characteristic of this method is that the attack is directed
against forces of evil rather than against persons who happen
to be doing the evil. It is evil that the nonviolent resister seeks to
defeat, not the persons victimized by evil. If he is opposing racial
injustice, the nonviolent resister has the vision to see that the
basic tension is not between races. As I like to say to the people
in Montgomey "The tension in this city is not between white
people and Negro people. The tension is, at bottom, between
justice and injustice, between the forces of light and the forces
of darkness. And if there is a victory, it will be a victory not
merely for fifty thousand Negroes, but a victory for justice and the
forces of light. We are out to defeat injustice and not white
persons who may be unjust."
A fourth point that characterizes nonviolent resistance is a
willingness to accept suffering without retaliation, to accept blows
from the opponent without striking back. "Rivers of blood may
have to flow before we gain our freedom, but it must be our
blood," Gandbi said to his countrymen. The nonviolent resister
is willing to accept violence if necessary, but never to inflict it.
He does not seek to dodge jail. If going to jail is necessary, he
enters it "as a bridegroom enters the bride's chamber."
One may well ask: "What is the nonviolent resister's justification
for this ordeal to which he invites men, for this mass political
application of the ancient doctrine of turning the other cheek?"
The answer is found in the realization that unearned suffering is
redemptive. Suffering, the nonviolent resister realizes, has tre-
mendous educational and transforming possibilities. "Things of
fundamental importance to people are not secured by reason
alone, but have to be purchased with their suffering," said Gandhi.
He continues: "Suffering is infinitely more powerful than the law
of the jungle for converting the opponent and opening his ears
which are otherwise shut to the voice of reason."
A fifth point concerning nonviolent resistance is that it avoids
not only external physical violence but also internal violence of
spirit. The nonviolent resister not only refuses to shoot his op-
ponent but he also refuses to hate him. At the center of non-
violence stands the principle of love. The nonviolent resister
would contend that in the struggle for human dignity, the op-
pressed people of the world must not succumb to the tcmptation
of bccoming bittcr or indulging in hate campaigns. To retaliate
in kind would do nothing but intensify the existence of hate in
the universe. Along the way of life, someone must have sense
enough and morality enough to cut off the chain of hate. This
can only be done by projecting the ethic of love to the center
of our lives.
In speaking of love at this point, we are not referring to some
sentimental or affectionate emotion. It would be nonsense to
urge men to love their oppressors in an affectionate sense. Love
in this connection means understanding, rcdemptive good will.
Here the Greck language comes to our aid. There are three words
for love in the Grcek Ncw Testament. First, thcre is eros. In
Platonic philosophy eros meant the yearning of the soul for the
realm of the divine. It has come now to mean a sort of aestbetic
or romantic love. Second, there is philia which means intimate
affection betwccn pcrsonal friends. Philia denotes a sort of re-
ciprocal love; the person lovcs because he is loved. When we
speak of loving those who oppose us, we refer to neither eros nor
philia; we speak of a love which is expressed in the Greek word
agape. Agape means understanding, rcdeeming good will for all
men. It is an ovcrfiowing love which is purely spontaneous, un-
motivated, groundless, and creative. It is not set in motion by
any quality or function of its object. It is the love of God oper-
ating in the human heart.
Agape is disinterested love. It is a love in which the individual
seeks not his own good, but the good of his neighbor (I Cor.
10:24). Agape docs not begin by discriminating between worthy
and unworthy people, or any qualitics people possess. It begins
by loving others for their sakes. It is an entirely "neighbor-re-
PILCMMACE TI NONVIOLENCE
garding concern for others," which discovers the neighbor in
every man it meets. Therefore, agape makes no distinction be-
tween friend and enemy; it is directed toward both. If one lovcs
an individual merely on account of his friendlincss, he loves him
or the sake of the bencfits to be gained from the friendship,
rather tban for the friend's own sake. Conscquently, the best way
o assure oneself that Love is disinterested is to have love for
the enemy-neighbor from whom you can cxpect no good in re-
rn, but only hostility and persecution.
Another basic point about agape is that it springs from the
eed of the other person---his need for belonging to the best in
the buman family. The Samaritan who helped the Jew on the
ericbo Road was "good" because he responded to the human need
that he was presented with. God's love is eternal and fails not
ecause man needs his love. St. Paul assures us that the loving act
of redemption was done "while we were yet sinners"---tbat is, at
he point of our greatcst need for love. Since the white man"s
personality is greatly distorted by segregation, and his soul is
reatly scarred, he needs the love of the Ncgro. The Negro must
ive the white man, because the white man needs his love to
emove his tensions, insccuritics, and fears.
Agape is not a wcak, passive love. It is love in action. Agape
s love seeking to preserve and create community. It is insistece
community evcn when one seeks to break it. Agape is a will-
ngness to sacrifice in the interest of mutuality. Agape is a willing-
ess to go to any length to rcstore community. It doesn't stop
t the first mile, but it goes the second mile to restore community.
is a willingness to forgive, not seven times, but seventy times
even to restore community. The cross is the etcrnal expression
the length to which God will go in order to rcstore broken
ommunity. The resurrection is a symbol of God's triumph over all
forces that seek to block community. The Holy Spirit is the
I06
continuing community creating reality that moves through history,
He who works against conumunity is working against the whole
of creation. Therefore, if I respond to hate with a reciprocal hate
I do nothing but intensify the cleavage in broken community. I
can only close the gap in broken community by meeting hate with
love. If I meet hate with hate, I become depersonalized, because
creation is so designed that my personality can only be fulfilled
in the context of community. Booker T. Wasbington was right:
"Let no man pull you so low as to make you hate him." When he
pulls you that low he brings you to the point of working agaiast
community; he drags you to the point of defying creation, and
thereby becoming depersonalized.
In the final analysis, agape means a recognition of the fact that
all life is interrelated. All humanity is involved in a single process,
and all men are brothers. To the degree that I harm my brother,
no matter what he is doing to me, to that extent I am harming
myself. For example, white men oftcn refuse fcderal aid to edu-
cation in order to avoid giving the Negro his rights; but because
all men are brothcrs they cannot dcny Ncgro children without
harming thcir own. They end, all efforts to the contrary, by hurt-
ing themselves. Why is this? Because men are brothers. If you
harm me, you harm yoursclf.
Love, agape, is thc only cement that can hold tbis broken com-
munity togcthcr. When I am commanded to love, I am com-
manded to rcstore community, to resist injustice, and to meet the
needs of my brothers.
A sixth basic fact about nonviolent resistance is that it is based
on the conviction that the universe is on the side of justicc. Con-
sequently, the bcliever in nonviolence has deep faith in the
future. This faith is anothcr rcason why the nonviolent resister
can accept suffcring without retaliation. For he knows that in
this struggle for justice he has cosmic companionship. It is true
107
that there are devout believers in nonviolence who find it difficult
to believe in a personal God. But even these persons believe in
the existence of some creative force that works for universal
wholeness. Whether we call it an unconscious process, an im-
personal Brahman, or a Personal Being of matchless power and
infini-te love, there is a creative force in this universe that works to
bring the disconnected aspects of reality into a harmonious whole.
V- I I
Methods of the Opposl"tlon
lN SPITE of the fact that the bus protest had
been an immediate success, the city fathers---three in number,
including the mayor----and the bus officials felt that it would fizzle
out in a few days. Thcy were certain that the first rainy day
would find the Negroes back on the buscs. Guided by this ex-
pectation, tbey refused to make any move toward the Negro
community to dctcrminc what conditions needed to be met in
ordcr to rectify the situation. But the first rainy day came and
passed and thc buscs remaincd cmpty.
In the meantime, the city fathers and the bus officials had ex-
pressed their first will. ingness to negotiate. Late Wedncsday after-
noon, Dcccmber 7, Rcv. Robcrt Hughes, executive dircctor of the
Adabama Council on Human Relations, called to say that he and
two other members of the council---Rev. Thomas P. Thrasher,
white rector of one of the leading Episcopal churchcs of the city,
and Dr. H. Councill Trenholm, president of Alabama State Col-
lege---had succecded in gctting the city fathers to conscnt to a
mecting with the Ncgro leaders and the bus officials the next
moming at clevcn o'clock.
At a special session of the MIA executive board a negotiating
committee of twelve was appointed* and I was chosen to serve
as thcir spokcsman. It was agreed that we would prcsent to the
" See Appendix.
108
METODS OF THE OPPOSITION
meeting the same three proposals that had been adopted on the
preceding Monday night: briefly, (I) a guarantee of courteous
treatment; (2) passengers to be seated on a first-come first-served
basis, the Negroes seating from the back; and (3) employment
of Negro bus operators on predominantly Negro routes. The aim
of these proposals was frankly no more than a temporary allevia-
-on of the problem that we confronted. We never felt that the
first-come first-served seating arrangement would provide a final
solution, since this would eventually have to depend on a change
in the law. We were sure, however, that the Rosa Parks case,
which was now in the courts, provided the test that would
ultimately bring about the defeat of bus segregation itself.
We arrived at the city hall about fifteen minutes before the
hour set for the meeting. There we were directed to the Com-
- sioners' Chamber, a room of moderate size, with the commis-
sioners' table at one end and chairs arranged in front of it. We
at down near the front, and soon Thrasher, Hughes, and Tren-
holm came in and joined us. Two or three reporters were on hand
nd television cameras emphasized the importance of the occa-
sion. Promptly at eleven the tbree commissioners---Mayor W. A.
ayle, Commissioner Clyde Sellers, and Commissioner Frank A.
Paks----filed in and sat at the table facing us. They were joined
y J. E. Bagley and Jack Crenshaw, representing the bus com-
paay, who took seats near one end of the table. Thus the ies
ppeared to be clearly drawn before the meeting began.
The mayor called the meeting to order, and invited Mr.
asher to make the opening statement. Thrasher----a man deeply
dedicated to the ideal of Cbristian brotherhood---came to the
ont of the room and briefly presented the reasons why the
Conncil on Human Relations had requested the meeting. He went
n to express his faith in tbe ability of both sides to be reasonable
and unemotional in all of the deliberations.
IIO
The mayor then turned to the Negro delegation and demanded:
"Who is the spokesman?" When all eyes turned toward me, the
mayor said: "All right, come forward and make your statement.,,
In the glare of the television lights, I walkcd slowly toward the
front of the room and took a seat at the opposite end of the tabIe
from Bagley and Crenshaw.
I opencd by stating briefiy why we found it necessary to "boy-
cott" the buscs. I made it clear that the arrest of Mrs. Parks
was not the cause of the protest, but merely the precipitatmg
factor. "Our action," I said, "is the culmination of a series of in-
justices and indignities that have existed over the years." I went
on to cite many instances of discourtesy on thc part of the bus
drivcrs, and numerous occasions when Negro passengers had had
to stand over empty seats. I emphasizcd that the Negroes had
shown a great deal of patience, and had attempted to negoiate
around the conference table on several occasions before to no
avail.
After these background remarks I set forth the tbree requests
and proceeded to explain each proposal in detail. I made it clear,
for instance, that our request for a first-come, first-served seating
arrangement, with Negroes loading from the back and whites from
the front, was not something totally new for the South; other
Southern citics---such as Nashville, Atlanta, and even Mobile,
Alabama----followcd tbis pattern, and each of them adhered as
rigorously to a pattern of segregation as did Montgomery. As
far as the rcquest for a guarantee of courtesy from the drivers
was concerned, "this is the least that any business can grant to its
patrons," I said. And finally I pointcd out that since the Negroes
poured so much money into the pocketbook of the bus company,
it was only fair for some of it to be returned to them in the form
of jobs as operators on predominately Negro routes. "The bus
company admits," I reminded them, "that seventy-five per cent
of its patrons are colored; and it seems to me that it would be
good business sense for the company to seek employees from the
ranks of its largest patronage." I closed my remarks by assuring
the commisioners that we planned to conduct the protest on the
highest level of dignity and restraint, and I avowed that our aim
was not to put the bus company out of business, but to achieve
justice for ourselves as well as for the white man.
As soon as I finished the mayor opened the meeting to general
discussion. Several members of the Negro delegation further
laborated on the three proposals. Then the commissioners and
the attorney for the bus company began raising questions. They
hallenged the legality of the seating arrangement that we were
proposing. They contended that the Negroes were demanding
omething that would violate the law. We answered by reiterating
our previous argument that a first-oome first-served seating
angement could exist entirely within- the segregation law, as it
did in many Southern cities.
It soon became clear that Crenshaw, the attorney for the bus
company, was our most stubborn opponent. Doggedly he sought
o convince the group that there was no way to grant the sug-
gested seating proposal without violating the city ordinance. The
ore Crenshaw talked, the more he won the city fathers to his
position. Mayor Gayle and Commissioner Sellers became more
nd more intransigent. Eventually I saw that the meeting was
getting nowhere, and suggested that we bring it to a close. There-
pon the mayor asked a few members of the Negro delegation to
stay over with the officials of the bus company, in an attempt to
me to some settlement.
As soon as the others had left we assembled around the con-
erence table with Bagley, Crenshaw, and the two associate
commissioners----Sellers and Parks. In the smaller group, with the
ress no longer recording every word, it seemed possible that
STRIDE TOWARD FREEDOM
some progress could at last be made. Soon after we had restated
our position on seating, I heard Commissioner Parks say in a
quiet voice,
"I don"t see why we can't arrange to accept this seating prc
posal. We can work it within our segregation laws."
My hopes began to rise. But Parks had hardly closed his mouth
before Crenshaw rejoincd,
"But, Frank. I don't sec how we can do it within the law. If it
were legal I would be tbe first to go along with it; but it just isn't
legal. The only way that it can be done is to change your segre-
gation laws."
This put a quick end to my optimism. Lacking the resoIution
to stand firm on his conviction, Parks was rcadily dissuaded.
Finally Crenshaw revealcd the basis of his propostion:
"If we granted the Negroes thesc demands," he asscrted, "they
would go about boasting of a victory that they had won over the
whitc people; and this we will not stand for."
Now, at lcast, Crenshaw's motives were out in the open. We
tried to convince bim that the Ncgroes had no such intention.
We assured bim that if the proposals were grantcd we would
make it our primary business to rcstrain our people from pro-
claiming their victory. But none of thcse assurances movcd him.
Sccing thc futility of continuing, I finally askcd him to state
specifically what tbe bus company would be willing to offer the
Negroes. His answer was brief: "We will ccrtainly be willing to
guarantee courtesy. But we cannot change the seating arrange-
ment bccause such a change would violate the law. And as far as
bus drivers are concerncd, we have no intention now or in the
forcseeable futurc of hiring "niggras.' "
Four hours of dcliberation had come to an end without settlee
ment.
I left the meeting despondent, but I soon saw that I was the
II3
victim of an unwarranted pessimism because I had started out
with an unwarranted optim- ism. I had gone to the meeting with
a great illusion. Feeling tbat our demands were moderate, I had
assumcd that they would be granted with little question; I had be-
lieved that the privileged would give up their privileges on
request. This experience, howcver, taught me a lesson. I came
to see that no one gives up his privileges without strong resistance.
r saw further that the underlying purpose of segregation was to
oppress and exploit the segregated, not simply to keep them apart.
Even when we asked for justice within the segregation laws, the
--powers that be" were not willing to grant it. Justice and equality,
I saw, would never come whilc segrcgation remained, because the
basic purpose of segregation was to perpctuate injustice and
inequality.
Shortly after this first negotiating conference, I called a meeting
of the executive board of the MIA to rcport the results. The mem-
bers were disappointcd, but agreed that we should stand firm on
our tbree proposals. By this time someone had discovered that the
Montgomery City Lines wcre owncd by a company with head-
qusrters in Chicago; this company----National City Lines, Inc.---
operated buses in more than thirty-five cities. It was agreed that
we should wire the president of the National City Lines stating
our grievances, and urging him to come immediately, or send a
representative, to Montgomery to negotiate further. Two days
later the president replied that one of the company vice-presi-
dents would be down in two or tbree days.
This favorable response gave us new hope, and we waited
patiently for the representative fiom Chicago. After several days
had passed and I had heard nothing, I began to wonder whcther
the company had backed out. In this state of uncertainty I re-
ceived a call from one of my white friends on the morning of
STRIDE TOWARD FREEDOM
December I5, saying that he had heard from reliable sources
that a Mr. C. K. Totten was ia town from the National City
Lines, and wondering whether I had talked to him. When I
answered with obvious disappointment, my friend offered to
check further. Sure enough, in about two hours he called me back
to say that Totten was definitely in Montgomery and had been
around for two or three days. It seemed strange to me that the bus
official had been in town this long without trying to speak to any-
one in the MIA, but I continued to wait for his call. The wait was
in vain. I never heard from Mr. Totten.
In the meantime, the mayor sent word that he was calling a
citiz- ens committee to meet with the bus officials and Negro
leaders on the morning of December I7. Over a week had passed
since the first conference and the protest had still shown no signs
of faltering.
The executive board of the MIA once more met to discuss our
position. Again we agreed to stand firm on the three proposals.
Tbere was, however, this slight modification of the third point:
considering the possibility that there were no imminent vacancies
and taking into account the existence of certain priorities due to
union regulations, it was agrecd that we would not demand the
immediate hiring of Negro bus drivers, but would settle for the
willingness of the bus company to take applications from Negroes
and hire some as soon as vacancies occurred.
Only a few people had assembled when we entered the con-
ference room on Saturday morning, and these seemed excep-
tionally cordial. One of the first who came forward to greet us
was Rev. Henry E. Russell, minister of the Trinity Presbyterian"
Church of Montgomcry and brother of Senator Richard Russell of
Georgia. I remember the heartiness of his smile and the warmth
115
of his handclasp. Gradually, others came and they, too, appeared
iendly. We began to hope that sometbing better might come
of this second meeting.
Just before the meeting opened I noticed an unfamiliar man
entering the room with Bagley and Crenshaw. He was intro
duced as C. K. Totten of Chicago. He greeted each of us warmly,
but said nothing of why he had not been in touch with our group.
also noticed two Negro citi-zens who were not on the committee
appointed to represent the Negro community. I soon discovered
at they were there on special invitation from the mayor. This
made me rather suspicious of what was going on.
Finally, the mayor came in, followed by the two associate com-
missioners. By this time all were present: the tbree commissioners;
our representatives from the bus company; the committee repre-
senting the Negro conununity; the two Nego men invited by the
ayor; and the mayor's citizens committee, among them the Revs.
Henry Parker, then minister of First Baptist Church, E. Stanley
razier, then minister of St. James Methodist Church, and Henry
Russell.
After summarizing the situation, the mayor called upon me to
explain the Negoes' proposals. When I had finished he called
on a representative from the bus company, and C. K. Totten rose
lo his feet.
As Totten stood up before the group I waited anxiously to hear
what he would say. Because he came from outside, there was
always a possibility that he would see the problem in a different
light from bis associates. Slowly and deliberately he spoke of each
of our proposals. As he took them up one by one no doubt re-
mained: he was taking the same position that the city commission
and Crenshaw had held in the first meeting. If Totten cobld have
nuraculously acquired a Southern accent, and spoken without
STRIDE TOWARD FREEDOM
being seen, I would have sworn that he was Jack Crenshaw. I
knew thcn that he had been "brainwashed" by the city commis-
sion and the bus officials.
As Totten continued, my indignation grew. I reflected bitterly
that he had not evcn given the Ncgroes the courtcsy of a hearing,
in spite of the fact that we were the ones who had invited him
to Montgomery. This was a difficult momcnt. Should I challenge
his biased and one-sided prescntation or let it pass? The question
turned over and over in my mind. When he had finished, things
were quiet for a moment. Thcn unable to restrain myseif any
longcr I jumped to my feet and gave voice to my rcsentmcnt: "Mr.
Tottcn has not been fair in bis assertions. He has made a state-
mcnt that is completely biased. In spitc of the fact that he was
asked to come to Montgomery by the MIA, he has not done the
Negro community the simple courtesy of hearing their grievanccs.
The lcast that all of us can do in our deliberations is to be hone;t
and fair." A chorus of amcns could be heard from the Negro
dclegation. Neither the mayor nor C. K. Totten replied, but the
latter shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
The meeting proceeded with statements from several of the
citizens who had been invitcd by the mayor. I remember espe-
cially the words of Dr. Frazier----one of the most outspoken segre-
gationists in the Methodist Church. Adthough I had heard his
name and read his segregationist statcments, I had never been
in his prcsence. Now I saw a tall, distinguishcd-looking man, the
quintessence of dignity. He was, I soon found, articulate and elo-
qucnt besides. Hc talked persuasivcly about the frailties and
wcakncsses of human naturc. He made it clear that he felt the
Ncgroes wcre wrong in boycotting the buses; and the even greater
wrong, he contended, lay in the fact that the protest was being
lcd by ministers of the gospcl. The job of the minister, he avcrred,
is to lead the souls of men to God, not to bring about confusioa
METODS OF THE OPPOSITION
by getting tangled up in transitory social problems. He moved
on to a brief discussion of the Cbristmas story. In evocative
terms he talked of "God's unspeakable gift." He ended by saying
that as we moved into the Christmas season, our minds and hearts
should be turned toward the Babe of Bcthlehem; and he urged
the Negro ministers to lcave the mecting determincd to bring this
boycott to a close and lead their pcople instead "to a glorious
experience of the Christian faith."
Again I felt the need of answering. "We too know the Jesus
that the minister just referred to," I said. "We have had an ex-
perience with him, and we believe firmly in tbe rcvelation of God
in Jesus Cbrist. I can see no conflict between our devotion to Jcsus
Christ and our present action. In fact I see a ncccssary relation-
ship. If one is truly devoted to the religion of Jesus he will seek
to rid the earth of social evils. The gospcl is social as well as
personal. We are only doing in a minor way what Gandhi did in
India; and certainly no one referred to him as an unrepentant
sinner; he is considered by many a saint.
'We have been talking a great deal this morning about cus-
toms," I concluded. "It has been affirmcd that any change ia
present conditions would mean going against the "cherished cus-
toms' of our community. But if the customs are wrong we have
every reason in the world to change them. The decision which
we must make now is whether we will give our allegiance to out-
moded and unjust customs or to the ethical demands of the uni-
verse. As Christians we owe our ultimate allegiance to God and
His will, rather than to man and his folkways."
After a few more people had spoken, the mayor announced
that he would appoint a small group from the citizens committee
to meet with representatives from the MIA and the bus company.
These groups were to work out some settlement and bring it back
to him in the form of a recommendation. At first the mayor tried
lI8
to stack the committee by appointing eight white people from the
citizens committee, the two Negro men whom he had invited
personally, and only three people from the MIA. But Jo Ann
Robinson immediately took issue, insisting that the only equitable
way to handle the problem was to appoint as many Negroes as
whites. Thereupon the mayor reluctantly raised the number of
Negroes to eight. He appointed Rev. Henry Parker chairman.
After the larger group had left the room, and Parker had called
the new committee to order, Frazier asked permission to read
a suggested solution to the seating problem. Its substance was
that signs be placed on the buses clearly stating the section for
each race to occupy. No more than ten spaces would be reserved
for either race. In the event that whites or Negroes completely
filled the seats in their section, the vacant seats beyond their
prescribed area could be temporarily occupied so long as mem-
bers of the opposite race did not board the bus. The members of
the Negro group instantly rejected tbis idea, finding the idea of
racial signs repugnant, and believing that acceptance would mean
a step backward rather than forward.
Several of the white committeemen then suggested that we
return to the buses, and come back after the Christmas holidays to
work out a settlement. They contended that the white community
would listen more sympathetically to our requests if we first
called off the protest. Our response was again negative. We felt
that all of our efforts would have been in vain if we called off the
protest simply with the promise that something might be done
about conditions later. By now considerable time had passed, and
the chairman suggested that we adjoum and reassemble on Mon-
day morning at ten.
At the close of the meeting I had my first opportunity to talk
face to face with Totten. Almost sheepisbly he admitted that the
plan we were offering was the one followed by the Mobile City
II9
lines----another company owned by the National City Lines, Inc.
"And as far as I am concerned," he said, "it would work very
well in Montgomery. But the city commission seems to feel that
it will not be acceptable." I was tempted to ask why he hadn"t
had the courage to say this in the general meeting when the com-
missioners were present, but I restrained myself, and the conversa-
tion ended on a friendly note.
As I drove home my mind went back to Frazier and his elo-
quence. How firmly he believed in the position he was taking.
He would probably never change now; time-worn traditions had
become too crystallized in bis soul. The "isness" of segregation
had for him become one with the "oughtness" of the moral law.
Yet even though I totally disagreed with bis point of view, and
knew that history and religion had proven him wrong, I admtred
his sincerity and zeal. Why is it, I asked myseif, that the whites
who believe in integration are so often less eloquent, less positive,
in their testimony than the segregationists? It is still one of the
tragedies of human history that the "children of darkness" are
frequently more determined and zealous than the "children of
light."
Sunday, December 18, rolled away. At ten o'clock Monday
morning we reassembled to continue our deliberations. Every-
one was on hand and Parker was again presiding. Just after the
meeting was called to order, I noticed a man who had not been
present on Saturday and who, as far as I could remember, had
not been appointed to tbe eight-man citizens committee by the
Mayor. Someone next to me whispered, "That is Luther Ingalls---
secretary of the Montgomery White Citizens Council."
As soon as the discussion period opened Ingalls stood up to
make a statement. I immediately jumped to the floor and chaI-
langed his right to speak since he was not a member of the com-
I20
mittce. "Furthermore," I continucd, "we will ncver solve tbis
problcm so long as there are persons on the committce whose
public pronouncements are anti-Negro."
At this Dr. Parker replied angrily: "He has just as much right
to be on this committee as you do. You have a definite point of
view and you are on it."
Thereupon thc other whitc members of the committee began to
lash out against me. They contendcd that I was the chief stumb-
ling block to a real solution of the problem. A Mrs. Hipp said
vehemently that I had insulted hcr by implying that she, along
with other white mcmbers of the committee, had come to the
meeting with a closed mind. I tried to make it clear that my state-
ment applied only to those people whose public pronouncements
were anti-Negro, and not to the committec as a whole, but to no
avail. They continucd to look at me as though I were the cause
of tbe stalemate.
For a moment it appeared tbat I was alone. Nobody came to my
rescue, until suddenly Ralph Abematby was on tbe floor in my
defense. He insisted that I spoke for the whole Negro delega-
tion. He pointed out that since I was tbc spokesman for the
group I naturally had to do most of the talking, but this did not
mean that I did not have the support of the rest of thc committee.
As he continued, one could see obvious disappointment on the
faces of the wbite committee members. By trying to convince the
Negrocs that I was the main obstacle to a solution they had hoped
to divide us among oursclvcs. But Ralph's statement left no doubt.
From this moment on the white group saw the futility of attempt-
ing to negotiate us into a compromise. A few more questions
were raised and a few more suggestions were made; whereupon
Parker brought the meeting to a close, promising to call another
one later. But the othcr mceting was never called.
That Monday I went home with a heavy heart. I was weighted
down by a terrible sense of guilt, remembering that on two or
three occasions I had allowed myself to become angry and ia-
dignant. I had spoken hastily and resentfully. Yct I knew that this
was no way to solve a problem. "You must not harbor anger,"
I admonished myself. 'You must be willing to suffer the anger of
the opponent, and yet not return anger. You must not bccome
bitter. No matter how emotional your opponents are, you must be
calm."
In this mood I went to the telephone and called Parker. He was
obviously surprised to hear my voice. I told him that I was sorry
about the misunderstanding that had come up in the meeting, and
wanted to apologize if I was in any way responsible. He responded
by seeking to justify the position he had taken. This led him into
a discussion of the race problem in general and the bus situation in
particular. He was certain that the Ncgroes had no basic justifica-
tion for boycotting the buses, "since many white persons are
treated just as discourteously as Negroes." As far as the general
problem was conccrned, he felt that Ncgroes all over were push-
ing things too fast, and this, he contended, could lead to nothing
but trouble. I thanked him for talking to me, and the conversa-
tion endcd.
One further attempt was made to reopen negotiations, thanks
to the good offices of another group of white citizens. The Men
of Montgomery was an organization composed of the most in-
fluential businessmen of the city. They had alrcady begun to see
the effects of thc protest on trade, and realized that a prolonged
confiict could be disastrous. Moreover, their leaders were men of
good will who abhorred the incrcasing tension they saw around
them. Tbis is not to imply that these men were stanch integra-
tionists; far from it. Some of them bclievcd firmly in segregation,
and even those who did not would probably have agreed with
Parker that the Negroes were "pushing things too fast." But at
least they were open-minded enough to listen to another point
of view and discuss the problem of race intelligently. Twice, a half
a dozen of the Men of Montgomery met with a similar number
from the MIA in an eamest effort to settle the protest, and I have
no doubt that we would have come to a solution had it not been
for the recalcitrance of the city commission. As it was, our joint
effort petered out with no results.
After the opposition had failed to negotiate us into a com-
promise, it turned to subtler means for blocking the protest;
namely, to conquer by dividing. False rumors were spread con-
cerning the leaders of the movement. Negro workers were told
by their white employers that their leaders were only concerned
with making money out of the movemcnt. Others were told
that the Negro leaders rode big cars while they walked. During
this period the rumor was spread that I had purchased a brand
new Cadillac for myself and a Buick station wagon for my wife.
Of course none of this was true.
Not only was there a conscious attempt to raise questions about
the integrity of the Negro leaders, and thereby cause their fol-
Iowers to lose faith in them; thcre was also an attempt to divide
the leaders among themselves. Prominent wbite citiz- ens went to
many of the older Negro ministers and said: "If there has to be a
protest, you should be the leaders. It is a shame for you, who have
been in the community for so many years, to have your own
people overlook you and choose these young upstarts to lead
them." Certain members of the white community tried to con-
vince several of the other protest leaders that the problem could
be solved if I were out of the picture. "If one of you," they
would say, "took over the leadership, things would change over-
night."
I almost broke down under the continual battering of this argu-
I23
ment. I began to think that there might be some truth in it, and I
also feared that some were being influenced by this argument.
After two or three troubled days and nights of little sleep, I called
a meeting of the executive board and offered my resignation. I told
them that I would be the last person to want to stand in the way
of a solution to the problem which plagued our community, and
that maybe a more mature person could bring about a speedier
conclusion. I suggested the names of two men who had worked
closely with me and whose competence no one could question.
I further assured the board that I would be as active in the back-
ground as I had been in the position of spokesman. But I had
barely finished talking before board members began to urge me
from every side to forget the idea of resignation. With a unani-
mous vote of confidence, they made it clear that they were well
pIeased with the way I was handling tbings, and that they would
follow my leadership to the end.
Afterward, as I drove up to the parsonage, more at peace than
I had been in some time, I could hear Coretta's high, tme soprano
through the living room window. In the back bedroom "Yoki," now
more than a month old, was wide awake and busy discovering her
fingers. I picked her up and walked to the front room, bouncing
her in time to Coretta's song.
Such moments together had become rare. We could never plan
them, for I seldom knew from one hour to the next when I would
be home. Many times Coretta saw her good meals grow dry in the
oven when a sudden emergency kept me away. Yet she never
complained, and she was always there when I needed her. "Yoki"
and Beethoven, she said, kept her company when she was alone.
CaIm and unruffled, Coretta moved quietly about the business of
keeping the household going. When I needed to talk things out,
she was ready to listen, or to offer suggestions when I asked for
them. Her fortitude was my strength. Afraid for me at times,
she never allowed her fears to worry me or impede my work in
the protest. And she seemed to have no fear for hersclf. Several
times, in the months that followed, I sent her and 'Yoki" to
Atlanta to stay with my parents, or to Marion to stay with hers.
But she never stayed long. 'When I am away from this," she told
a reporter, "I feel depressed and helpless." And so time and again
she was back ahead of schedule.
The height of the attempt to conquer by dividing came on Sun-
day, January 22, when the city commissioners shocked the Negro
community by announcing in the local newspaper that they had
met with a group of prominent Negro ministers and workcd out
a setllement. The terms of the so-called "settlement" were: ( I)
a guarantee of courtesy; (2) a white reserved section at the front
of the bus, and a Negro rescrved section at the rear, with first-
come, first-served obtaining for the unreserved, middle section;
(3) special, all-Negro buses during the rush hours. Actually, ex-
cept for the first provision, this "settlement" was nothing but a
restatement of conditions that had existed prior to the protest.
At some points it was a backward step. Nevertheless, many people
were convinced the boycott was over.
It was soon clear tbat this announcement was a calculated de-
sign to get the Negroes back on the buses Sunday morning. The
city commission felt certain that once a sizable numbcr of Negroes
began riding the buses, the boycott would end.
We were able to stave off the effects of this announcement by
a set of interesting circumstances. Although the Montgomery Ad-
vefrtiser had apparcntly agreed to hold the story until Sunday
morning, the Associated Press sent it out on Saturday evening.
Carl T. Rowan, Negro editorial writer of the Mianeapolis Tribune,
caught the story as it came over the wires, and was amazed to
learn that the Negroes had settled for such a half loaf." Mr.
boycott, and had established a close relationship with the MIA
leaders. Around eight o'clock on Saturday evening, he called me
long distance to verify the story. When he mentioned the meet-
ing and settlement I was astonished, and when he spoke of tbree
promincnt Negro ministers present at the meeting I was even
more puzzlcd. I told him that I knew nothing about the matter,
and I began to wonder whether any of my associates had be-
trayed me and made an agreement in my absence. "But this can't
be true," I said, "because I was in a strategy meeting this morning,
and all of the "promincnt ministers' were there."
Rowan agreed to call Commissioner Sellers and get more de-
tailed information. In about twenty minutes he phoned back to say
that Sellers had confirmed the story but refused to give the names
of the "prominent Negro ministers." Rowan had been able, how-
ever, to get their dcnominations from the commissioner. This clue
was all I needed.
I asked several of my associates to come to my house immedi-
ately, and in lcss than thirty minutes they were all there. I told
them the story, and we determined to get at the root of it before
midnight. First we necded to find out if a group of Negro minis-
ters had actually met with the city commission. Remembering the
denominations that Rowan had mcntioned, we started to track the
identities down by a process of elimination. After about an hour
of calling here and there we were able to identify the "three
prominent Negro ministers." They were neither prominent nor
were they members of the MIA.
It was now about eleven o'clock on Saturday night. Something
had to be done to let the people know that the article they would
read the next morning was false. I asked one group to call all the
Negro ministers of the city and urge them to announce in church
Sunday morning that the protest was still on. Another group
joined me on a tour of the Negro night clubs and taverns to in-
form those present of the false settlcment. For the first time I had
a chance to see the inside of most of Montgomery's night spots. At
one o'clock Sunday morning we were still making the announce-
ment in clubs. As a result of our fast maneuvering, the word got
around so well that the next day the buses were empty as usual.
I soon had a chance to talk to each of the "three prominent
Negro ministers" personally. To a man they insisted that they had
not agreed on any settlement. They asserted that they had been
'hoodwinked" into the conference on the basis of a telephone
invitation to join in a discussion of a new type of insurance for
the city. All three publicly repudiated the commission's an-
nouncement.
With the failure of the attempted hoax, the city fathers lost
face. Not only had they been outmaneuvered, but their veracity
had been challenged. They were now desperate. Their answer
was to embark on a "get-tough" policy. In obvious indignation,
the mayor went on television and denounced the boycott. He
threatened that the commission was going to "stop pussy-footing
around with the boycott." The vast majority of white Mont-
gomerians, he declared, did not care if a Negro ever rode the
buses again, and he called upon the white employers to stop
driving Negro employees to and from work. During this period
all three city comunissioners let it be known that they had joined
the White Citizens Council.
The "get-tough" policy turned out to be a series of arrests for
minor and often imaginary traffic violations. People who had
never received a ticket were booked, and on several occasions
taken to jail. Negro drivers in the car pool were stopped through-
out the city and questioned about their licenses, their insurance,
their place of work. Tbe policemen made careful notes, ap-
parently in the hope of buildin- g up subsequent cases. Some ex.
bus riders, waiting to be picked up, were told that there was a
law against hitcbhikin- g; others were told that they would be ar-
rested for vagrancy if they were found "milling around white
neighborhoods."
Faced with these difficulties, the volunteer car pool began to
weaken. Some drivers became afraid that their licenses would be
revoked or their insurance canceled; others felt that they could
no longer adhere to nonviolence under such circumstances. Many
of the drivers quietly dropped out of the pool. It became more
and more difficult to catch a ride. Complaints began to rise.
From early morning to late at night my telephone rang and my
doorbell was seldom silent. I began to have doubts about the
ability of the Negro community to continue the struggle.
In an attempt to keep things together the ministers made special
appeals at mass meetings, urging the people to stand fast. We
assured the drivcrs in the car pool that we would stick with them
through their dilficulties. "We must remain togethcr," we kept
repeating, "for better or for worse, until this problem is solved."
I did not suspect that I myself was soon to face arrest as a
result of the "get-tough" opcration. One aftemoon in the middle
of January, after several hours of work at my church office, I
started driving home with a friend, Robert Williams, and the
church secrctary, Mrs. Lilie Thomas. Before leaving the down-
town district I decided to make a quick trip to the parking lot to
pick up a few people going in my direction. As we entercd the
lot, I noticed four or five policemen questioning the drivers. I
picked up tbree passengcrs and drove to the edge of the lot, where
I was stopped by one of these officers. While he was asking to see
my license and qucstioning me concerning the ownership of the
car, I heard a policeman across the street say, "That's that damn
king fellow."
Leaving the lot, I noticed two motorcycle policemen behind
me. One was still following threc blocks latcr. When I told Bob
Williams that we were being trailed, he said, "Be sure that you
follow every traffic regulation." Slowly and meticulously I drove
toward home, with the motorcycle behind me. Finally, as I
stopped to let the three passengers out, the policeman pulled up
and said: "Get out, King; you are under arrest for speeding thirty
miles an hour in a twenty-five mile zone." Without a question I
got out of the car, telling Bob Williams and Mrs. Thomas to drivc
on and notify my wifc. Soon a patrol car came, two policemen got
out and searched me from top to bottom, put me in the car, and
drove off.
As we drove off, presumably to the city jail, a feeling of panic
began to come over me. I had always had the impression that
the jail was in the downtown scction of Montgomery. Yet after
riding for a while I noticed that wc were going in a different direc-
tion. The more we rode the farther we were from the ccnter of
town. In a few minutes we tumed into a dark and dingy street that
I had never seen and headed undcr a desolate old bridge. By
this time I was convinced that these men were carrying me to
somc faraway spot to dump me off. "But this couldn't be," I said
to myself. "These men are officers of the law." Then I began to
wonder whether thcy were driving me out to some waiting mob,
planning to use tbe excuse later on that tbey had been over-
powered. I found myself trembling within and without. Silently, I
asked God to give me the strength to endure whatever came.
By this time we were passing undcr the bridge. I was sure now
that I was going to mect my fateful hour on the other side. But
as I looked up I noticed a glaring light in the distance, and soon I
saw the words "Montgomery City Jail." I was so relieved tbat
it was some time before I realized the irony of my position: going
to jail at that moment secmed hke going to somc safe haven!
giving the jailer tbe desired infomation, I was led to a dingy
and odorous cell. As the big iron door swung open the jailer said
to me: "Adl right, gct on in there with all the others." For the
moment strange gusts of emotion swept through me like cold
winds on an open prairie. For the first time in my life I had been
thrown behind bars.
As I entcred the crowded cell, I recognized two acquaintances,
one a teacher, who had also been arrested on prctexts connected
with the protest. In the democracy of the jail they were packed
together with vagrants and drunks and serious lawbrcakers. One
cellmate was in on a charge of assault and battcry; another stood
accused of collecting funds undcr false pretenscs. But the de-
mocracy did not go so far as to break the rules of segrcgation.
Here whitcs and Negroes languishcd in separate enclosures.
When I began to look around I was so appalled at the con-
ditions I saw that I soon forgot my own prcdicament. I saw men
lying on hard wood slats, and others resting on cots with torn-up
mattresses. The toilet was in one corner of the cell without a
semblance of an enclosure. I said to myself that no mattcr what
these mcn had done, tbey shouldn't be treated like this.
They all gathered around to find out why I was there, and
showed some surprise that the city had gone so far as to arrest
me. Soon one man after another began talking to me about his
reason for being in jail and asking if I could help him get out.
After the third person had asked my help, I tumed to the group
and said: "Fellows, before I can assist in getting any of you out,
I've got to get my ownself out." At this they laughed.
Shortly after, the jailer came to get me. As I left the cell, won-
dering where he was going to take me, one of the men called
after me: "Don't forget us when you get out." I assured them
that I would not forget. The jailer led me down a long corridor
into a little room in the front of the jail. I thought for a moment
that I was going to be bonded out, but I soon discovered my
mistake. Curtly the jailer ordcred me to be seated, and began
rubbing my fingers on an ink pad. I was about to be fingerprinted
like a criminal.
By this time the news of my arrest had spread over Mont-
gomcry, and a number of pcople had hcaded for the city jail. The
first to arrive was my good friend Ralph Abernathy. He im-
mediately sought to sign my bond, but the officials told bim that
he had to bring a certified statement from the court asserting that
he owned a sufficient amount of property to sign a bond. Ralph
pointed out that since it was almost six-thirty at night, the court-
house was already closed.
Indifferently, the official retorted: "Well, you will just have to
wait till tomorrow morning."
Ralph then asked if he could see me.
The jailer replied: "No, you can't see him until ten o'clock tc
morrow."
"Well, is it possible," said Abermathy, "to pay a cash bondr
The jailer reluctantly answered yes. Ralph rushed to his church
office a few blocks away to call someone who could produce the
cash.
Meanwhile a number of people had assembled in front of the
jail. Deacons and trustees of my church were coming from every
side. Soon the crowd had become so large that the jailer began
to panic. Rushing into the fingerprinting room he said: "King, you
can go now," and before I could half get my coat on, he was
ushering me out, released on my own bond. He returned my
possessions and informed me that my trial would be held on
Monday morning at eight-tbirty.
As I walked out the front door and noticed the host of friends
and well-wishers, I regained the courage that I had temporarily
lost. I knew that I did not stand alone. After a brief statement
to the crowd, I was driven home by one of my deacons. My wife
greeted me with a kiss as I walked in the door. Inside, many
members of my church and other friends were waiting anxiously
to hear the outcome. Their words of encouragement gave me fur-
ther assurance that I was not alone.
From that night on my commitment to the struggle for freedom
was stronger than ever before. Before retiring I talked with
Coretta, and, as usual, she gave me the reassurance that can only
come from one who is as close to you as your own heartbeat.
Yes, the night of injustice was dark: the "get-tough" policy was
taking its toll. But in the darkness I could see a radiant star of
unity.
VIII
The Violence of Desperate Men
AFTER the "get-tough" policy failed to stop the
movement the diehards became desperate, and we waited to
see what their next move would be. Almost immediately after
the protest started we had begun to receive threatening telephone
calls and letters. Sporadic in the bcginning, they increased as
time went on. By the middle of January, they had risen to thirty
and forty a day.
Postcards, often signed "KKK," said simply "get out of town or
else." Many misspelled and cmdcly written letters presented
religious half-truths to prove that "God do not intend the White
People and the Negro to go to gather if he did we would be the
same." Others enclosed mimeographed and printed materials
combining anti-Semitic and anti-Negro sentiments. One of these
contained a handwritten postscript: "You niggers are getting your
self in a bad place. The Bible is strong for segregation as of the
jews concerning other races. It is even for segregation between
the 12 tribes of Isareal. We need and will have a Hitler to get
our country straightened out." Many of the letters were unprint-
able catalogues of blasphemy and obscenity.
Meanwhile the telephone rang all day and most of the night.
Often Coretta was alone in the house when thc calls came, but
the insulting voices did not spare her. Many timcs the person on
the other end simply waited until we answered and then hung up.
A large percentage of the calls had sexual themes. One woman,
whose voice I soon came to recognize, telephoned day after day
to hurl her sexual accusations at the Negro. Whenever I tried to
answer, as I frequently did in an effort to explain our case calmly,
the caller would cut me off. Occasionally, we would leave the
telephone off the hook, but we could not do this for long because
we never knew when an important call would come in.
When these incidents started, I took them in stride, fceling that
they were the work of a few hotbeads who would soon be dis-
couraged when they discovered that we would not fight back. But
as the weeks passed, I began to see that many of the threats were
in earnest. Soon I felt myself faltering and growing in fear. One
day, a white friend told me that he had heard from reliable
sources that plans were being made to take my life. For the first
time I realized that sometbing could happen to me.
One night at a mass meeting, I found myself saying: "If one
day you find me sprawled out dead, I do not want you to re-
taliate with a single act of violence. I urge you to continue pro-
testing with the same dignity and discipline you have shown so
far." A strange silence came over the audience.
Afterward, to the anxious group that gathered around, I tried
to make light of the incident by saying that my words had not
grown from any specific cause, but were just a general statement
of principle that should guide our actions in the event of any
fatality. But Ralph Abernathy was not satisfied. As he drove me
home that night, he said:
"Something is wrong. You are disturbed about something."
I tried to evade the issue by repeating what I had just told the
group at the church. But he persisted.
"Martin," he said, "you were not talking about some general
principle. You had something specific in mind."
Unable to evade any longer, I admitted the truth. For the first
time I told him about the threats that were harassing my family.
I told him about the conversation with my white friend. I told
him about the fears that were creeping up on my soul. Ralph tried
to reassure me, but I was still afraid.
The threats continued. Almost every day someone warned me
that he had overheard white men making plans to get rid of
me. Almost every night I went to bed faced with the uncertainty
of the next moment. In the morning I would look at Coretta and
"Yoki" and say to myself: "They can be taken away from me at
any moment; I can be taken away from them at any moment."
For once I did not even share my thoughts with Coretta.
One night toward the end of January I settled into bed late,
after a strenuous day. Coretta had already fallen asleep and just
as I was about to doze off the telephone rang. An angry voice
said, "Listen, nigger, we've taken all we want from you; before
next week you'll be sorry you ever came to Montgomery." I hung
up, but I couldn't sleep. It seemed that all of my fears had come
down on me at once. I had reached the saturation point.
I got out of bed and began to walk the floor. Finally I went
to the kitchen and heated a pot of coffee. I was ready to give up.
With my cup of coffee sitting untouched before me I tried to
think of a way to move out of the picture without appearing a
coward. In this state of exhaustion, when my courage had all but
gone, I decided to take my problem to God. With my head in my
hands, I bowed over the kitchen table and prayed aloud. The
words I spoke to God that midnight are still vivid in my memory.
"I am here taking a stand for what I believe is right. But now I
am afraid. The pcople are looking to me for leadership, and if I
stand before them without strength and courage, they too will
falter. I am at the end of my powers. I have nothing left. I've
come to the point where I can't face it alone."
At that moment I experienced the presence of the Divine as I
had never experienced Him before. It seemed as though I could
hear the quiet assurance of an inner voice saying: "Stand up for
righteousness, stand up for truth; and God will be at your side
forever." Almost at once my fears began to go. My uncertainty
disappeared. I was ready to face anything.
Three nights later, on January 30, I left home a little before
seven to attend our Monday evening mass meeting at the First
Baptist Church. A member of my congregation, Mrs. Mary Lucy
Williams, had come to the parsonage to keep my wife company
in my absence. After putting the baby to bed, Coretta and Mrs.
Williams went to the living room to look at television. About
nine-thirty they heard a noise in front that sounded as though
someone had thrown a brick. In a matter of seconds an explosion
rocked the house. A bomb had gone off on the porch.
The sound was heard many blocks away, and word of the
bombing reached the mass meeting almost instantly. Toward the
close of the meeting, as I stood on the platform helping to take
the collection, I noticed an usher rushing to give Ralph Aber-
nathy a message. Abemathy turned and ran downstairs, soon to
reappear with a worried look on his face. Several others rushed
in and out of the church. People looked at me and then away; one
or two seemed about to approach me and then changed their
minds. An usher called me to the side of the platform, presumably
to give me a message, but before I could get there S. S. Seay had
sent him away. By now I was convinced that whatever had hap-
pened affected me. I called Ralph Abernathy, S. S. Seay, and
E. N. French and asked them to tell me what was wrong. Ralph
looked at Seay and French and then turned to me and said
hesitantly :
"Your house has been bombed."
I asked if my wife and baby were all right.
They said, "We are checking on that now."
Strangely enough, I accepted the word of the bombing calmly.
My religious experience a few nights beforc had given me the
strength to face it. I interrupted the collection and asked all
present to give me their undivided attention. After telling them
why I had to leave, I urged each person to go straight home after
the meeting and adhere strictly to our philosophy of nonviolence,
I admonishcd them not to become panicky and lose their heads.
"Let us keep moving," I urged them, "with the faith that what
we are doing is right, and with the even greater faith that God is
with us in the struggle."
I was immediatcly driven home. As we neared the scene l
noticed hundreds of people with angry faces in front of the housc.
The policemen were trying, in their usual rough manner, to clear
the streets, but they were ignored by the crowd. One Negro was
saying to a policeman, who was attempting to push him aside: "l
ain't gonna move nowhere. That's the trouble now; you white
folks is always pushin' us around. Now you got your 38 and l
got mine; so let's battle it out." As I walked toward the front
porch I realizcd that many people were armed. Nonviolent re-
sistance was on the verge of being transformed into violence.
I rushed into the house to see if Coretta and "Yoki" were safe.
When I walked into the bedroom and saw my wife and daughter
uninjured, I drew my first full breath in many minutes. I learned
that fortunately whcn Coretta and Mrs. Williams had heard the
sound of something falling on the front porch, they had jumped
up and run to the back of the house. If instead they had gone to
tlse porch to investigate, the outcome might have been fatal.
Coretta was neither bitter nor panicky. She had accepted the
whole thing with unbelievable composure. As I noticed her calm-
ness I became even more calm myself.
Mayor Gayle, Commissioner Sellers, and several white re-
porters had reached the house before I did and were standing in
the dining room. After reassuring myself about my family's
safety, I went to speak to them. Both Gayle and Sellers expressed
their regret that "this unfortunate incident has taken place in our
city." One of the trustees of my church, who is employed in the
publlc school system of Montgomcry, was standing beside me
when the mayor and the commissioner spoke. Although in a
vulnerable position, he turned to the mayor and said: "You may
express your regrets, but you must face the fact that your public
statements created the atmosphere for this bombing. This is the
end result of your "get-tough' policy." Neither Mayor Gayle nor
Commissioner Sellers could reply.
By this time the crowd outside was getting out of hand. The
policemen had failed to disperse them, and tbrongs of additional
people were arriving every minute. The white reporters inside the
house wanted to leave to get their stories on the wires, but they
were afraid to face the angry crowd. The mayor and police com-
missioner, though they might not have admitted it, were very
pale.
In this atmosphere I walked out to the porch and asked the
crowd to come to order. In less than a moment there was com-
plete silence. Quietly I told them that I was all right and that my
wife and baby were all right. "Now let's not become panicky," I
continued. "If you have weapons, take them home; if you do
not have them, please do not seek to get them. We cannot solve
this problem through retaliatory violence. We must meet violence
with nonviolence. Remember the words of Jesus: "He who lives
by the sword will perish by the sword." I then urged them to
leave peacefully. "We must love our white brothers," I said, "no
matter what they do to us. We must make them know that we
love them. Jesus still cries out in words that echo across the
centuries: "Love your enemies; bless them that curse you; pray
for them that despitefully use you.' This is what we must live
by. We must meet hate with love. Remember," I ended, "if I am
stopped, this movement will not stop, because God is with the
movement. Go home with this glowing faith and this radiant assur-
ance."
As I finished speaking there were shouts of "Amen" and
"God bless you." I could hear voices saying: "We are with you
all the way, Reverend." I looked out over that vast throng of
people and noticed tears on many faces.
After I finished, the police commisioner began to address the
crowd. Immediately there were boos. Police officers tried to get
the attention of the Negroes by saying, "Be quiet----the commis-
sioner is speaking." To this the crowd responded with evea
louder boos. I came back to the edge of the porch and raised my
hand for silence. "Remember what I just said. Let us hear the
commissioner." In the ensuing lull, the commissioner spoke and
offered a reward to the person or persons who could report the
offendcrs. Then the crowd began to disperse.
Thngs remained tense the whole of that night. The Negroes
had had enough. They were ready to meet violence with violence.
One policeman later told me that if a Negro had fallen over a
brick that night a race riot would probably have broken out
because the Negro would have been convinced that a white
person had pushed him. This could well have been the darkest
night in Montgomery's history. But something happened to avert
it: The spirit of God was in our hearts; and a night that seemed
destined to cnd in unleashed chaos came to a close in a majestic
group dcmonstration of nonviolence.
After our many friends left the house late that evening, Coretta,
Yoki," and I were driven to the home of one of our church
members to spend the night. I could not get to sleep. While I
lay in that quiet front bedroom, with a distant street lamp throw-
ing a reassuring glow through the curtained window, I began to
think of the viciousness of people who would bomb my home. I
could feel the anger rising when I realized that my wife and
baby could have been killed. I thought about the city com-
missioners and all the statements that they had made about me
and the Negro generally. I was once more on the verge of cor-
roding hatred. And once more I caught myself and said: "You
must not allow yourself to become bitter."
I tried to put myself in the place of the three commissioners.
I said to myself these men are not bad men. They are misguided.
They have fine reputations in the community. In their dealings
with wbite people they are respectable and gentlemanly. They
probably think they are right in their methods of dealing with
Negroes. They say the tbings they say about us and treat us as
they do because they have been taught these tbings. From the
cradle to the grave, it is instilled in them that the Negro is in-
ferior. Their parents probably taught them that; the schools they
attended taught them that; the books they read, even their
churches and ministers, often taught them that; and above all the
very concept of segregation teaches them that. The whole cultural
tradition under which they have grown----a tradition blighted with
more than 250 years of slavery and more than 90 years of segrega-
tion----teaches them that Negroes do not deserve certaia things.
So these men are mcrely the children of their culture. When they
seek to preserve segregation they are seeking to preserve only
what their local folkways have taught them was right.
Midnight had long since passcd. Coretta and the baby were
sound asleep. It was time for me too to get some rest. At about
two-thirty I turned over in bed and fell into a dazed slumber. But
the night was not yet over. Some time later Coretta and I were
awakened by a slow, steady knocking at the front door. We
looked at each other wordlessly in the dim light, and listened as
the knocking began again. Through the window we could see
the dark outline of a figure on the front porch. Our hosts were
sound aslecp in the back of the house, and we lay in the front,
frozen into inaction. Eventually the sounds stopped and we saw a
shadowy figure move across the porch and start down the steps
to the street. I pulled myself out of bed, peercd through the
curtains, and recognized the stocky, reassuring back of Coretta's
father.
Obie Scott had heard the news of the bombing over the radio in
Marion, and had driven to Montgomery to take Coretta and
"Yoki" home with him, "until this thing cools off." We talked to-
gether for some time, but although Coretta listened respectfully
to her father's persuasions, she would not leave. "I"m sorry, Dad,"
she said, "but I belong here with Martin." And so Obie Scott
drove back to Marion alone.
Just two nights later, a stick of dynamite was thrown on the
lawn of E. D. Nixon. Fortunately, again no one was hurt. Once
more a large crowd of Negroes assembled, but they did not lose
control. And so nonviolence had won its first and its second tests.
After the bombings, many of the officers of my church and
other trusted friends urged me to hire a bodyguard and armed
watchmen for my house. I tried to tell tbcm that I had no fears
now, and consequently needed no protection. But they were
insistent, so I agreed to consider the question. I also went down
to the sheriff's office and applied for a license to carry a gun in
the car; but this was refused.
Meanwhile I reconsidered. How could I serve as one of the
leaders of a nonviolent movement and at the same time use
weapons of violence for my personal protection? Coretta and l
talked the matter over for several days and finally agreed that
arms were no solution. We decided then to get rid of the one
weapon we owned. We tried to satisfy our friends by having
floodlights mounted around the house, and hiring unarmed
watchmen around the clock. I also promised that I would not
travel around the city alone.
This was a comparatively easy promise to keep, thanks to our
friend, Bob Williams, professor of music at Alabama State Col-
lege and a former collegemate of mine at Morehouse. When I
came to Montgomery, I had found him here, and from the
moment the protest started he was seldom far from my side or
Coretta's. He did most of my driving around Montgomery and
accompanied me on several out-of-town trips. Whenever Coretta
and "Yoki" went to Atlanta or Marion, he was always there to
drive them down and to bring them back. Almost imperceptibly
he had become my voluntary "bodyguard," though he carried no
arms and could never have been as fierce as the name implied.
In this crisis the officers and members of my church were always
nearby to lend their encouragement and active support. As I
gradually lost my role as husband and father, having to be away
from home for hours and sometimes days at a time, the women
of the church came into the house to keep Coretta company.
Often they volunteered to cook the meals and clean, or help with
the baby. Many of the men took turns as watchmen, or drove me
around when Bob Williams was not available. Nor did my con-
gregation ever complain when the multiplicity of my new re-
sponsibilities caused me to lag in my pastoral duties. For months
my day-to-day contact with my parishioners had abnost ceascd.
I had become no more than a Sunday preacher. But my church
willingly shared me with the community, and threw their own
considerable resources of time and money into the struggle.
Our local white friends, too, came forward with their support.
Often they called Coretta to say an encouraging word, and when
the house was bombed several of them, known and unknown to
us, came by to express their regret. Occasionally the mail would
bring a letter from a wbite Montgomcrian saying, "Carry on, we
are with you a hundred per cent." Frequently these were simply
signed "a white friend."
Interestingly enough, for some time after the bombings the
threatening telephone calls slowed up. But this was only a lull;
several months later they had begun again in full force. In order
to sleep at night, it finally became necessary to apply for an un-
listed number. This number was passed out to all the members of
the church, the members of the MIA, and other friends across the
country. And although it had sometimes been suggested that our
own group was responsible for the threats, we never received
another hostile call. Of course, the letters still came, but my
secretaries were discreet enough to keep as many of them as pos-
sible from my attention.
When the opposition discovered that violence could not block
the protest, they resorted to mass arrests. As early as January 9,
a Montgomery attorney had called the attention of the press to
an old state law against boycotts. He referred to Title 14, Section
54, which provides that when two or more persons enter into a
conspiracy to prevent the operation of a lawful business, without
just cause or legal excuse, they shall be guilty of a misdemeanor.
On February 13 the Montgomery County Grand Jury was called
to determine whether Negroes who were boycotting the buses
were violating this law. After about a week of deliberations, the
jury, composed of seventeen whites and one Negro, found the
boycott illegal and indicted more than one hundred persons. My
name, of course, was on the list.
At the time of the indictments I was at Fisk University in Nash-
ville, giving a series of lectures. During this period I was talking
to Montgomery on the phone at least three times a day in order to
keep abreast of developments. Thus I heard of the indictments
first in a telephone call from Ralph Abernathy, late Tuesday night,
February 21. He said that the arrests were scheduled to begin the
following morning. Knowing that he would be one of the first to
be arrested I assured him that I would be with him and the others
in my prayers. As usual he was unperturbed. I told him that I
would cut my trip short in Nashville and come to Montgomery
the next day.
I booked an early morning flight. All night long I thought of
the people in Montgomery. Would these mass arrests so frighten
them that they would urge us to call off the protest? I knew how
hard-pressed they had been. For more than thirteen weeks they
had walked, and sacrificed, and worn down their cars. They had
been harassed and intimidated on every hand. And now they
faced arrest on top of all this. Would they become battle-weary,
I wondered. Would they give up in despair? Would this be the
end of our movement?
I arose early Wednesday morning and notified the officials of
Fisk that I had to leave ahead of time because of the situation
in Montgomery. I flew to Atlanta to pick up my wife and daughter,
whom I had left at my parents' home while I was in Nashville.
My wife, my mother and father met me at the airport. I had
told them about the indictments over the phone, and they had
gotten additional information from a radio broadcast. Coretta
showed her usual composure; but my parents' faces wore signs of
deep perturbation.
My father, so unafraid for himself, had fallen into a constant
state of terror for me and my family. Since the protest began he
had beaten a path between Atlanta and Montgomery to be at our
side. Many times he had sat in on our board meetings and never
shown any doubt about the justice of our actions. Yet this stern
and courageous man had reached the point where he could
scarcely mention the protest without tears. My mother too had
suffered. After the bombing she had had to take to bed under
doctor's orders, and she was often ill later. Their expressions----
even the way they walked, I realized as they came toward me at
the airport---had begun to show the strain.
As we drove to their house, my father said that he thought it
would be unwise for me to return to Montgomery now. "Al-
though many others have been indicted," hc said, "their main
concern is to get you. They might even put you in jail without a
bond." He went on to tell me that the law enforcement agencies
in Montgomery had been trying to find something on my record in
Atlanta which would make it possible to deport me from Ala-
bama. They had gone to the Atlanta police department, and were
disappointed when Chief Jenkins informed them that I did not
have even a minor police record. "All of this shows," my father
concluded, "that they are out to get you."
I listencd to him attentively, and yet I knew that I could not
follow his suggestion and stay in Atlanta. I was profoundly con-
cerned about my parents. I was worried about their worry. I knew
that if I continued the struggle I would be plagued by thc pain
that I was inflicting on them. But if I eased out now I would be
plagued by my own conscience, reminding me that I lacked the
moral courage to stand by a cause to the end. No one can under-
stand my conflict who has not lookcd into the eyes of those he
loves, knowing that he has no alternative but to take a dangerous
stand that leaves them tormented.
My father told me that he had asked several trusted friends
to come to the house in the early afternoon to discuss the whole
issue. Feeling that this exchange of ideas might help to relieve
his worries, I readily agreed to stay over and talk to them. Among
those who came were A. T. Walden, a distinguished attorney;
C. R. Yates and T. M. Alexander, both prominent businessmen;
C. A. Scott, editor of Atlanta Daily World; Bishop Sherman L.
Green of A. M. E. Church; Benjamin E. Mays, president of
Morehouse College; and Rufus E. Clement, prcsident of Atlanta
University. Coretta and my mother joined us.
My father explained to the group that because of his respect
for their judgment he was calling on them for advice on whether
I should return to Montgomery. He gave them a brief history of
the attempts that had bcen made to get me out of Montgomery.
He admitted that the fear of what might happen to me had
caused him and my mother many restless nights. Hc concluded by
saying that he had talked to a liberal white attorney a few hours
earlier, who had confirmed his feeling that I should not go back at
this time.
There were murmurs of agreement in the room, and I listened
as sympathetically and objectively as I could while two of the
men gave their reasons for concurring. These were my elders,
leaders among my people. Their words commanded respect. But
soon I could not restrain myself any longer. "I must go back to
Montgomery," I protested. "My friends and associates are being
arrested. It would be the height of cowardice for me to stay
away. I would rather be in jail ten years than desert my people
now. I have begun the struggle, and I can't turn back. I have
reached the point of no return." In the moment of silence that
followed I heard my father break into tears. I looked at Dr. Mays,
one of the great influences in my life. Perhaps he heard my un-
spoken plea. At any rate, he was soon defending my position
strongly. Then others joined him in supporting me. They assured
my father that things were not so bad as they seemed. Mr.
Walden put through two calls on the spot to Thurgood Marshall,
general counsel of the NAACP, and Arthur Shores, NAACP
counsel in Adabama, both of whom assured him that I would have
the best legal protection. In the face of all of these persuasions,
my father began to be reconciled to my return to Montgomery.
After everybody had gone, Coretta and I went upstairs to our
room and had a long talk. She, too, I was glad to find, had no
doubt that I must go back immediately. With my own feelings
reinforced by the opinions of others I trusted, and with my
father's misgivings at rest, I felt better and more prepared to face
the experience ahead.
Characteristically, my father, having withdrawn his objections
to our return to Montgomery, decidcd to go along with us, un-
concerned with any possible danger or unpleasantness to him-
self. He secured a driver and at six o'clock Thursday morning
we were on the highway headed for Montgomery, arriving about
nine. Before we could get out of the car, several television
cameras were trained on us. The reporters had somehow dis-
covered the time of our arrival. A fcw minutes later Ralph Aber-
nathy, released on bail after his arrest tbe previous day, came to
the house. With Ralph and my father, I set out for the county
jail, several of my church members following after.
At the jail, an almost holiday atmosphere prevailed. On the
way Ralph Abemathy told me how people had rusbed down to
get arrested the day before. No one, it seems, had been frightened.
No one had tried to evade arrest. Many Negroes had gone volun-
tarily to the sheriff's office to see if their names were on the list,
and were even disappointed when tbey were not. A once fear-
ridden people had been transformed. Those wbo had previously
trembled before the law were now proud to be arrested for the
cause of freedom. With this feeling of solidarity around me, I
walked with firm steps toward the rear of the jail. After I had
received a numbcr and had been photographed and fingerprinted,
one of my church members paid my bond and I left for home.
The trial was set for March 19. Friends from all over the
country came to Montgomery to be with us during the proceed-
ings. Ministers from as far north as New York were present.
Negro Congressman Charles C. Diggs (D-Mich.) was on hand.
Scores of reporters representing publications in the United States,
India, France, and England were there to cover the trial. More
than five hundred Negroes stood in the halls and the streets
surrounding the small courthouse. Several of them wore crosses
on their lapels reading, "Father, forgive them."
Judge Eugene Carter brought the court to order, and after the
necessary preliminaries the state called me up as the first de-
fendant. For four days I sat in court listening to arguments and
waiting for a verdict. William F. Thetford, solicitor for the state,
was attempting to prove that I had disobeyed a law by organizing
an illegal boycott. The defense attomeys----Arthur Shores, Peter
Hall, Ozell Billingsley, Fred Gray, Charles Langford, and Robert
Carter----presented arguments to show that the prosecution's evi-
dence was insufficient to prove that I had violated Alabama's
anti-boycott law. Even if the state had proved such action, they
asserted, no evidence was produced to show that the Negroes did
not have just cause or legal excuse.
In all, twenty-eight witnesses were brought to the stand by the
defense. I listened with a mixture of sadness and awe as these
simple people---most of them unlettered---sat on the witness stand
without fear and told their stories. They looked the solicitor and
the judge in the eye with a courage and dignity to which there
was no answer.
Perhaps the most touching testimony was that of Mrs. Stella
Brooks. Her husband had climbed on a bus. After paying his fare
he was ordered by the driver to get off and reboard by the back
door. He looked through the crowded bus and seeing that there
was no room in back he said that he would get off and walk if the
driver would return his dime. The driver refused; an argument
ensued; and the driver called the police. The policeman arrived,
abusing Brooks, who still refused to leave the bus unless his dime
was returned. The policeman shot him. It happened so suddenly
that everybody was dazed. Brooks died of his wounds.
Mrs. Martha Walker testified about the day when she was lead-
ing her blind husband from the bus. She had stepped down and
as her husband was following the driver slammed the door and
began to drive off. Walker's leg was caught. Although Mrs.
Walker called out, the driver failed to stop, and her husband
was dragged some distance before he could free himself. She
reported the incident, but the bus company did nothing about it.
The stories continued. Mrs. Sadie Brooks testified that she heard
a Negro passenger threatened because he did not have the cor-
rect change. "The driver whipped out a pistol and drove the man
off the bus." Mrs. Della Perkins described being called an "ugly
black ape" by a driver.
I will always remember my delight when Mrs. Georgia Gilmore
----an urdettered woman of unusual intelligence---told how an oper-
ator demanded that she get off the bus after paying her fare and
board it again by the back door, and then drove away before
she could get there. She turned to Judge Carter and said: "When
they count the money, they do not know Negro money from
white money."
On Thursday afternoon, March 22, both sides rested. All eyes
were tumed toward Judge Carter, as with barely a pause he
rendered bis verdict: "I declare the defendant guilty of violating
the state's anti-boycott law." The penalty was a fine of $500 and
court costs, or 356 days at hard labor in the County of Mont-
gomery. Then Judge Carter announced that he was giving a
minimum penalty because of what I had done to prevent violence.
In the cases of the other Negroes charged with the same viola-
tion---the number had now boiled down to 89---Judge Carter
entered a continuance until a final appeal was complete in my
case.
In a few minutes several friends had come up to sign my bond,
and the lawyers had notified the judge that the case would be
appealed. Many people stood around the courtroom in tears.
Others walked out with their heads bowed. I came to the end of
my trial with a feeling of sympathy for Judge Carter in his
dilemma. To convict me he had to face the condemnation of
the nation and world opinion; to acquit me he had to face the
condemnation of the local community and those voters who kept
him in office. Throughout the proceedings he had treated me
with great courtesy, and he had rendered a verdict which he
probably thought was the best way out. After the trial he left
town for a "welcomed rest."
I left the courtroom with my wife at my side and a host of friends
following. In front of the courthouse hundreds of Negroes and
whites, including television cameramen and photographers, were
waiting. As I waved my hand, they shouted: "God bless you," and
began to sing, "We ain't gonna ride the buses no more."
Ordinarily, a person leaving a courtroom with a conviction
behind him would wear a somber face. But I left with a smile. I
knew that I was a convicted criminal, but I was proud of my
crime. It was the crime of joining my people in a nonviolent
protest against injustice. It was the crime of seeking to instill
within my people a sense of dignity and self-respect. It was the
crime of desiring for my people the unalienable rights of life,
liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. It was above all the crime
of seeking to convince my people that noncooperation with evil
is just as much a moral duty as is cooperation with good.
So ended another effort to halt the protest. Instead of stopping
the movement, the opposition's tactics had only served to give it
greater momentum, and to draw us closer togethcr. What the
opposition failed to see was that our mutual sufferings had
wrapped us all in a single garment of destiny. What happened
to one happened to all.
On that cloudy afternoon in March, Judge Carter had con-
victed more than Martin Luther King, Jr., Case No. 7399; he had
convicted every Negro in Montgomery. It is no wonder that the
movement couldn't be stopped. It was too large to be stopped.
Its links were too well bound together in a powerfully effective
chain. There is amazing power in unity. Where there is true unity,
every effort to disunite ordy serves to strengthen the unity This is
what the opposition failed to see.
The members of the opposition had also revealed that they did
not know the Negroes with whom they were dealing. They
thought they were dealing with a group who could be cajoled
or forced to do whatever the white man wanted them to do. They
were not aware that they were dealing with Negroes who had
been freed from fear. And so every move they made proved to
be a mistake. It could not be otherwise, because their methods
were geared to the "old Negro," and they were dealing with a
"new Negro."
IX
Desegregation at Last
From the beginning of the bus protest most
of the Negro leaders lived with the hope that a settlement would
soon be worked out. Our demands were limited, moderate enough
to permit adjustment within the segregation laws. Even the most
conservative white person could go along with them, we rea-
soned. But as the days and months unfolded we discovered that
our optimism was misplaced. The intransigence of the city com-
mission, the crudeness of the "get-tough" policy, and the vicious-
ness of the recent bombings convinced us all that an attack must
be made upon bus segregation itself. Accordingly a suit was filed
in the United States Federal District Court, asking for an end
of bus segregation on the grounds that it was contrary to the
Fourteenth Amendment. The court was also asked to stop the city
commissioners from violating the civil rights of Negro motorists
and pedestrians.
The hearing was set for May 11, 1956, before a three-judge
federal court panel. It was a great relief to be in a federal court.
Here the atmosphere of justice prevailed. No one can under-
stand the feeling that comes to a Southern Negro on entering
a federal court unless he sees with his own eyes and feels with
his own soul the tragic sabotage of justice in the city and state
courts of the South. The Negro goes into these courts knowing
that the cards are stacked against him. Here he is virtually certain
to face a prejudiced jury or a biased judge, and is openly robbed
with little hope of redrcss. But the Southern Negro goes into the
federal court with the feeling that he has an honest chance of jus-
tice before the law.
Our suit was filed by the same attomeys who had acted for the
defense before Judge Carter in the boycott case. This time they
presented persuasive arguments against the constitutionality of
segregation itself. Robert Cartcr of the legal staff of the NAACP
argued against the validity of the old Plessy Doctrine. This
doctrine, first promulgated by the United States Suprcme Court
in 1596, had given legal validity to the Southern institution of
separate-but-equal facilities for Negroes and whites. In the area
of education, the Supreme Court had already reversed this posi-
tion in its historic decision of May 1954; but the Plessy Doctrine
still remaincd as the rationale of segregation in otber areas. This
injustice and inconsistency in the segregation laws was the object
of Bob Carter's brilliant attack. Meanwhile tbe city attorneys,
throughout their argument, dwelt on a single theme: if bus
segregation ended, Montgomery would become a battleground of
violence and bloodshed.
After listening to these arguments for several hours, Judge
Rives addressed the city attorneys. "Is it fair," he asked, "to
command one man to surrender his constitutional rights, if they
are his constitutional rights, in order to prevent another man from
committing a crime?" At this I touched Ralph Abernathy, who
was sitting on one side of me, and Vernon Johns (he was on a
brief visit to Montgomery at this time), on the other side, and
whispered: "It looks as though we might get a favorable verdict."
The judges deliberated for about three weeks. On June 4, 1956,
they declared in a two-to-one decision, Judge Lynn of Birming-
ham dissenting, that the city bus segregation laws of Alabama
were unconstitutional. The city attorneys immediately announced
that they would appeal the case to the United States Supreme
court.
The battle was not yet won. We would have to walk and
sacrifice for several more months, while the city appealed the
case. But at least we could walk with new hope. Now it was only
a matter of time.
Or so we thought. But almost on the heels of the court's de-
cision, disaster threatened the movement from a new quarter.
On June 11, Rev. U. J. Fields made a statement to the press
claiming that he was resigning as recording secretary of the MIA.
In his announcement the youthful, goateed pastor of the Bell
Street Baptist Church, who had been an officer of the Association
from the beginning, accused the members of "misusing money
sent from all over the nation," and appropriating it "for their own
purposes." Many of the leaders, he claimed, had taken on an air
of "bigness" and had become "too egotistical and interested in
perpetuating themsclves." The Association, he said, no longer
represented what he had stood for, and he was severing his rela-
tions with a movement in which "the many are exploited by the
few."
I was out of the city when Fields released bis statement. Coretta
and I had driven to Califomia with Ralph and Juanita Abernathy
to attend some conferences, and to enjoy our first vacation to-
gether away from the daily tensions of the protest. Rev. R. J.
Glasco, then administrative assistant at the MIA office, telephoned
the news. Earlier in the evening Fields had come to the mass
meeting indignant because the executive board had failed to re-
elect him to office. When he brought the matter before the audi-
ence, he was further enraged by their almost unanimous approval
of the board's action. He had left the meeting immediately to
anounce his "resignation" and prepare his attack on the MIA,
Although the news did not come entirely as a surprise, I realized
the seriousness of the possible repercussions. While I was certain
that there was no truth in Fields's charges, I knew that some
people would believe them, and that many others would be left in
a state of confusion. A charge of misappropriation of funds could
cause a curtailment of contributions, thus hampering the car
pool. Moreover, the white opposition would welcome this break as
an opportunity to investigate our books with the ultimate aim of
freezing our funds. I was also womied about how the Negroes of
Montgomery might express their resentment against Fields.
My vacation had ended before it had well begun. I canceled
the remainder of my engagements, promising to rejoin Coretta and
the Abernathys later, and flew back to Montgomery. There I
found, as I had expected, that emotions were running high. No one
would speak in Fields's support, and so obviously distorted were
his charges that even the local white press reported them with
little enthusiasm. The Negroes were describing him as either a
"fool" or a "black Judas." "I jest wish I could get my hands on
him," said one indignant maid. The group of his own congregation
had met and voted him out. (He was subsequently reinstated.)
Everywhere in the Negro community sentiment mounted against
him.
Fortunately by this time Fields had privately confessed to
several people that he deeply regretted what he had done. Early
on the morning of June 18 my telephone rang. Fields had learned
that I was back in town, and wanted to see me. He arrived with
a sober face, and went immediately to the point.
"I want you to know that I was not referring to you in my
accusations. I have always had the greatest respect for your
integrity and I still do. But there are some members of the MIA
board that I don't care for at all. We never could get along.
I interrupted him. "You mean that your statements about the
egotism of the leaders grew out of a personal conflict between
you and one or two men on the board?"
"Yes," he admitted, "I guess that is true."
I asked him about the charge of misappropriation of funds,
saying that if any such thing existed I wanted to know about it.
With chagrin Fields answered:
"I confess that I don't know a single instance of misappropria-
tion. All of those things I made up in a moment of anger. I felt
that I had been mistreated by the board, and this was my way of
retaliating."
By now it was clear that Fields was more to be pitied than
scorned. I asked if he would be willing to make the same state-
ments in the mass meeting that night. With some apprehension, he
agreed.
People started assembling in front of the Beulah Baptist Church
at three that afternoon. By five the church was filled. In the
sweltering evening there was an unaccustomed atmosphere of
bitterness. When Fields joined me on the rostrum at seven, the
crowd muttered angrily, and I heard one voice call out, "Look
at that devil sitting right next to Reverend King."
I had a double task ahead: one was to convince the people
that there had been no misappropriation of funds and that the
internal structure of the MIA was still stable; the other was to
persuade them to forgive Fields for his errors and to give him a
hearing. I plunged immediately into the first issue.
"l guess," I said, "that I know as much about the MIA as any-
one in Montgomery, and I can truthfully say that I do not know
of a single instance of misappropriation of funds. The finance
committee of our Association is composed of honest men and
women---persons whose integrity has been established over the
years and whose character is above reproach. I have implicit faith
in the finance committee and the ministers who have spoken at
fund-raising meetings all over the country."
I denied the accusation of "bigness." "It is true," I said, "that
some of the leaders have received national and international
publicity, but only the shallow-minded are excited over publicity.
Publicity is evanescent; it is here today and gone tomorrow,
Today Autherine Lucy is showered with publicity; tomorrow it
is Gus Courts. Today it is Emmet Till, tomorrow it is Martin
Luther King. Then in another tomorrow it will be somebody else.
Whoever falls in love with publicity is not fit to have it and will
end up in misery.
"The honors and privileges," I continued, "that often come
as a result of leadership constitute only one side of the picture.
The greater the privilcges, the greater the responsibilities and
sacrifices."
So far the audience had listened sympathetically. But when I
began to speak about Fields, they moved restlessly in their seats
and I could hear a low murmur of disapproval. I expressed frank
regret at Fields's statement. "Certainly it has created many un-
necessary problems for us."
"You said it, Reverend," someone shouted.
"But," I continued, "we must meet this situation with the same
dignity and discipline with which we have met so many diffi-
cult situations in the past. Let us never forget that we have com-
mitted ourselves to a way of nonviolence, and nonviolence means
avoiding not only extemal physical violence but also internal
violence of spirit. You not only refuse to shoot a man, but you
refuse to hate him. Now in the spirit of our nonviolent move-
ment I call upon you to forgive the Reverend Fields." I could
see a few heads shaking in refusal, but I did not stop speaking.
"We are all aware of the weaknesses of human nature. We have
all made mistakes along the way of life, and we have all had
moments when our emotions overpowered us. Now some of us are
here this evening to stone one of our brothers because he has made
mistake." I paused a moment, and then spoke the words of
Christ: "Let him who is without sin cast the first stone." With
this a deep hush came across the audience.
In conclusion I recited the parable of the prodigal son. "Will
we be like the unforgiving elder brother, or will we, in the spirit
of Christ, follow the example of the loving and forgiving father?"
As Fields rose to speak, instead of the boos and catcalls he had
expected he was met with respectful silence. He began to pray.
"Lord, help us to live in such a way from day to day, that even
when we kneel to pray, our prayers will be for others. . . ." A
great amen came from the audience. Then he asked forgiveness for
his mistake, and assured the group that he had no evidence that
money bad bcen misused or misplaced by the MIA. By the time
he had finished the group was deeply moved. He left the plat-
form to solid applause.
So nonviolence triumphed again, and a situation that many had
predicted would be the end of the MIA left it more united than
ever in the spirit of tolerance.
The summer days gave way to the shorter cooler days of an
Alabama autumn. The Supreme Court decision on our appeal was
still pcnding. Meanwhile we were facing continued attempts to
block the car pool. Insurance agents decided, almost overnight,
to refuse to insure our station wagons, contending that the risk
was too high. The liability insurance on our station wagons was
canceled no less than four times within four months. (We had
no trouble with the collision insurance because it was with a
Negro company.)
Finally the company that held our liability insurance notified us
that all the policies would be canceled as of September 15. A
Northern friend who had read of our trouble wrote suggesting
that we contact Lloyds of London. A few days later I talked to
T. M. Alexander, an insurance broker in Atlanta, who approved
of the idea and agreed to make the contact for us. In a few days
he was able to tell us that Lloyds of London would take the insur-
ance. From that moment on our insurance problems were solved.
But we were in for even greater difficulties. The city decided to
take legal action against the car pool itself. On October 30, 1956,
Mayor Gayle introduced a resolution instructing the city's legal
department "to file such proceedings as it may deem proper to
stop the operation of car pool or transportation systems growing
out of the bus boycott." We tried to block this maneuver by filing
a request in the federal court for an order restraining the city
from interfering with the pool. But U. S. District Judge Frank M.
Johnson refused to grant the request. Soon several of us received
subpoenas; the city had filcd the petition. The hearing was set for
Tuesday, November 13.
The night before the hearing I had to go before the mass meet-
ing to warn the people that the car pool would probably be
enjoined. I knew that they had willingly suffered for nearly
twelve montbs, but how could they function at all with the car
pool destroyed? Could we ask them to walk back and forth every
day to their jobs? And if not, would we tben be forced to admit
that the protest had failed in the end? For the first time in our
long struggle together, I almost shrank from appearing before
them.
The evening came, and I mustered up enough courage to tell
them the truth. I tried, however, to end on a note of hope. "This
may well be," I said, "the darkest hour just before dawn. We have
moved all of these months with the daring faith that God was
with us in our struggle. The many experiences of days gone by
have vindicated that faith in a most unexpected manner. We
must go out with the same faith, the same conviction. We must
believe that a way will be made out of no way." But in spite of
these words, I could feel the cold breeze of pessimism passing
through the audience. It was a dark night---darker than a thousand
midnights. It was a night in which the light of hope was about to
fade away and the lamp of faith about to flicker. We went home
with nothing before us but a cloud of uncertainty.
Tuesday morning found us in court, once again before Judge
Carter. The city's petition was directed against the MIA and
several churches and individuals. It asked the court to grant the
city compensation for damages growing out of the car pool opera-
tion. The city contended that it had lost more than $15,000 as a
result of the reduction in bus travel (the city receives 2 per cent
of the bus company revenues ) . It further alleged that the car pool
was a "public nuisance" and a "private enterprise" operating
without license fee or franchise. As the arguments unfolded the
issue boiled down to this: Was the car pool a "private enterprise"
operating without a franchise? Or was it a voluntary "share-a-
ride" plan provided as a service by Negro churches without a
profit?
As chief defendant I sat at the front table with the prosecuting
and defense attomeys. Around twelve o'clock---during a brief
recess---I noticed unusual commotion in the courtroom. Both
Commissioner Sellers and Mayor Gayle were called to a back
room, followed by two of the city attomeys. Several reporters
moved excitedly in and out of the room.
I turned to Fred Gray and Peter Hall and said: "Something is
wrong."
Before I could fully get these words out, Rex Thomas---a re-
porter for Associated Press----came up to me with a paper in his
hand.
"Here is the decision that you have been waiting for. Read this
release."
Quickly, with a mixture of anxiety and hope, I read these
words: "The United States Supreme Court today affirmed a deci-
sion of a special thrce-judge U. S. District Court in declaring
Alabama's state and local laws requiring segregation on buses
unconstitutional. The Supreme Court acted without listening to
any argument; it simply said "the motion to affirm is granted and
the Judgment is affirmcd."
At this moment my heart began to throb with an inexpressible
joy. The darkcst hour of our struggle had indeed proved to be the
first hour of victory. At once I told the news to the attomeys at
the table. Then I rushed to the back of the room to tell my wife,
Ralph Abernathy, and E. D. Nixon. Soon the word had spread
to the whole courtroom. The faces of the Negroes showed that
they had heard. "God Almighty has spoken from Washington,
D.C.," said one joyful bystandcr.
After a few minutes Judge Carter called the court to order
again, and we settled down to the case at hand for the remainder
of the day. About five o'clock both sides rested, and thc judge's
decision came in a matter of minutes: As we had all expected, the
city was granted a temporary injunction to halt the motor pool.
But the decision was an anticlimax. Tuesday, November 13, 1956,
will always remain an important and ironic date in the history of
the Montgomery bus protest. On that day two historic decisions
were rendered---one to do away with the pool; the other to re-
move the underlying conditions that made it necessary.
I mshed home and notified the press that I was calling the
Negro citizens together on Wednesday night, November 14, to
decide whether to call off the protest. In order to accommodate
as many people as possiblc, two simultaneous meetings were
scheduled, one on each side of town, with the speakers traveling
from one meeting to the other. In the meantime, the executive
board decided, on the advice of counsel, to recommend that the
official protest be ended immediately, but that the return to
the buses be delayed until the mandatory order arrived from the
Supreme Court in Washington. It was expected in a few days.
The eight thousand men and women who crowded in and
around the two churches were in high spirits. At the first mceting
it was clear that the news of the decision had spread fast, and
the opening hymn had a special note of joy. Reading the Scripture
that night was Bob Graetz, who had chosen Paul's famous letter
to the Corinthians: "Though I have all faith, so that I could re-
move mountains, and have not love, I am nothing. . . . Love suf-
fereth long, and is kind. . . ."
When the slender blond minister came to the words: "When I
was a child, I spoke as a child, I undcrstood as a child, I thought
as a child: but when I became a man, I put away childish things,"
the congregation burst into applause. Soon they were shouting
and cheering and waving their handkerchiefs, as if to say that they
knew they had come of age, had won new dignity. When Bob
Graetz concluded: "And now abideth faith, hope, love, but the
greatest of these is love," there was another spontaneous out-
burst. Only a people who had struggled to love in the midst of
bitter conflict could have reacted in this fashion. I knew then that
nonviolence, for all its difficulties, had won its way into our
hearts.
Later Ralph Abernathy spoke. He told how a white newspaper-
man had reproached him for this outburst on the part of the con-
gregation.
"Isn't it a little peculiar," the journalist had asked, "for people
to interrupt thc Scripture in that way?"
"Yes it is," Abernathy quoted himself in reply. "Just as it is
peculiar for people to walk in the snow and rain when there are
empty buses available; just as it is peculiar for people to pray
for those who persecute them; just as it is peculiar for the South-
ern Negro to stand up and look a white man in the face as an
equal." At this his audience laughed and shouted and applauded.
Each of the meetings accepted the recommendations of the
executive board to call off the protest but refrain from riding the:
buses until the mandate reached Alabama.
That night the Ku Klux Klan rode. The radio had announced
their plan to demonstrate throughout the Negro community, and
threats of violence and new bombings were in the air. My mail
was warnimg that "if you allow the niggers to go back on the;
buses and sit in the front seats we're going to burn down fifty
houses in one night, including yours." Another letter cursed the;
Supreme Court and threatened "that damn Hugo Black": "When
he comes back to Alabama we're going to hang you and him from
the same tree."
Ordinarily, threats of Klan action were a signal to the Negroes
to go into their houses, close the doors, pull the shadcs, or turn off
the lights. Fearing death, they played dead. But this time they
had prepared a surprise. When the Klan arrived----according to
the newspapers "about forty carloads of robed and hooded mem-
bers"----porch lights were on and doors open. As the Klan drove by,
the Negroes behaved as though they were watching a circus
parade. Concealing the effort it cost them, many walked about as
usual; some simply watched from their steps; a fcw waved
at the passimg cars. After a few blocks, the Klan, nonplused,
turned off into a sidestreet and disappeared into the night.
Soon we discovered that it was going to take the mandate more
than four or five days to reach Montgomery. A reporter in contact
with the clerk of the Court in Washington revealed that it would
be closer to a month. This created a serious problern since the;
car pool was still enjoined. To meet this crisis we suggested that
each area and street work out a coo#perative "share-a-ride" plan
With S. S. Seay as skillful coo#rdinator, the plan succecded. The
buses remained ernpty.
Meanwhile we went to work to prepare the people for integrated
buses. In mass meeting after mass meeting we stressed non-
violence. The prevailing theme was that "we must not take this as
a victory over the white man, but as a victory for justice and
democracy." We hammered away at the point that "we must not
go back on the buses and push people around unnecessarily boast-
ing of our rights. We must simply sit where there is a vacant seat."
In several meetings we ran teaching sessions to school the peo-
ple in nonviolent techniques. We lined up chairs in front of the
altar to resemble a bus, with a driver's seat out front. From the
audience we selected a dozen or so "actors" and assigned each
one a role in a hypothetical situation. One man was driver and
the others were white and Negro passengers. Both groups con-
tained some hostile and some courteous characters. As the audi-
ence watched, the actors played out a scene of insult or violence.
At the end of each scene the actors returned to the audience and
another group took their place; and at the end of each session a
general discussion followed.
Sometimes the person playing a white man put so much zeal
into his performance that he had to be gently reproved from the
sidelines. Often a Negro forgot his nonviolent role and strnck
back with vigor; whenever this happened we worked to rechawel
his words and deeds in a nonviolent direction.
As the day for the mandate drew near, several MIA leaders
went into the schools and urged the high school and college stu-
dents to adhere to the way of nonviolence. We also distributed
throughout the city a mirneographed list of "Suggestions for
Integrating Buses." In preparing this text we had the assistance of
the Rev. Glenn Smiley, a Southern-born white minister of the
Fellowship of Reconciliation who was in Montgomery at the time,
This is a historic week because segregation on buses has now bee
declared unconstitutional. Within a few days the Supreme Court
Mandate will reach Montgomery and you will be re-boarding <1integrate>1
buses. This places upon us all a tremendous responsibility of maintain-
ing, in face of what could be some unpleasantness, a calm and lovin
dignity befitting good citizens and members of our race- If there is
violence in word or deed it must not be our people who commit it.
For your help and convenience the following suggestions are madr-
Will you read, study and memorize them so that our non-violent deter
mination may not be endangered. First, some general suggestions :
1. Not all white people are opposed to integrated buses. Accept good-
will on the part of many.
2. The whole bus is now for the use of <1all>1 people. Take a vacant seat
3. Pray for guidance and commit yourse!f to complete non-violence in
word and action as you enter the bus.
4. Demonstrate the calm dignity of our Montgomery people in your
actions.
5. In all things observe ordinary rules of courtesy and good behavior-
6. Remember that this is not a victory for Negroes alone, but for al
Montgomery and the South. Do not boastl Do not bragl
7. Be quiet but friendly; proud, but not arrogant; joyous, but no
boisterous.
8. Be loving enough to absorb evil and understanding enough to
an enemy into a friend.
Now for some specific suggestions:
1. The bus driver is in charge of the bus and has been instructed to
obey the law. Assume that he will coo#perate in helping you occupy
any vacant seat.
2. Do not deliberately sit by a white person, unless there is no othe
seat.
3. In sitting down by a person, white or colored, say "May I" or
"Pardon me" as you sit. This is a common courtesy.
4. If cursed, do not curse back. If pushed, do not push back- If struck,
do not strike back, but evidence love and goodwill at all timer.
. In case of an incident, talk as little as possible, and always in a
quiet tone. Do not get up from your seat! Report all serious inci-
dents to the bus driver.
6. For the first few days try to get on the bus with a friend in whose
non-violence you have confidence. You can uphold one another by
a glance or a prayer.
7. If another person is being molested, do not arise to go to his de-
fense, but pray for the oppressor and use moral and spiritual force
to carry on the struggle for justice.
8. According to your own ability and personality, do not be afraid to
experiment with new and creative techniques for achieving recon-
ciliation and social change.
9. If you feel you cannot take it, walk for another week or two. We
have confidence in our people. GOD BLESS YOU ALL.
In spite of all of our efforts to prepare the Negroes for integrated
buses, not a single white group would take the responsibility of
preparing the white community. We tried to get the white minist-
erial alliance to make a simple statement calling for courtesy and
Christian brotherhood, but in spite of the favorable response of a
few ministers, Robert Graetz reported that the majority "dared
not get involved in such a controversial issue." This was a deep
disappointment. Although the white ministers as a group had been
appallingly silent throughout the protest, I had still maintained
the hope that they would take a stand once the decision was
rendered. Yes, there were always a few; but they were far too
rare.
The only white group that came near to making a positive
statement was the Men of Montgomery, the businessmen who
had already shown their good will in their earlier efforts to settle
the protest. About ten days before the mandate came to Mont-
gomery, a committee of the Men of Montgomery met with a
group from the MIA and worked out a statement, calhng for
courtesy and nonviolence, to be issued jointly. When the state-
ment was presented to the full mcmbership of the Men of Mont-
gomery, however, two or three members objected to it and, since
unanimous approval was required, the release of the statement
was blocked. Thus passed the one opportunity of the white com-
munity to take a positive stand for law and order.
Soon the reactionaries had taken over. A White Citizens Coun-
cil leader threatened: "Any attcmpt to enforce this decision will
lead to riot and bloodshed." One group suggested the establish-
ment of a fleet of station wagons for a white pick-up service----an
interesting proposal from those who had just succeeded in out-
lawing the Negro fleet! On December I8, the City Commissioners
issued the following statement:
This decision in the bus case has had a tremendous impact on the
customs of our people here in Montgomery. It is not an easy thing to
live under a law recognized as constitutional for these many years
and then have it suddenly overturned on the basis of psychology. - . .
The City Commission, and we know our people are with us in this
determination, will not yield one inch, but will do all in its power
to oppose the integration of the Negro race with the white race in
Montgomery, and will forever stand like a rock against social equality,
inter-marriage, and mixing of the races under God's creation and plan.
On December 20, the bus integration ordcr finally reached
Montgomery. A mass meeting was immediately scheduled for
that evening, to give the people final instructions before rcturning
to the buses the following day. I called Mr. Bagley, manager of
the bus company, and asked him to be sure to have service re-
stored on all of the major lines. With evident relief, he agreed.
To the overflow crowd at the St. John A.M.E. Church I read the
following message that I had carefully prepared in the afternoon:
For more than twelve months now, we, the Negro citizens of Mont-
gomery, have been engaged in a nonviolent protest against injustices
and indignities experienced on city buses. We came to see that, in the
long ruin, it is more honorable to walk in dignity than ride in humilia-
tion. So in a quiet dignified manner, we decided to substitute tired feet
for tired souls, and walk the streets of Montgomery until the sagging
walls of injustice had been crushed. . . .
These twelve months have not been easy. Our feet have often been
tired. We have struggled against tremendous odds to maintain alterna-
tive transportation. We can remember days when unfavorable court de-
cisions came upon us like tidal waves, leaving us treading the waters
of despair. But amid all of this we have kept going with the faith that
as we struggle, God stmggles with us, and that the arc of the moral
universe, although long, is bending toward justice. We have lived under
the agony and darkness of Good Friday with the conviction that one
day the heightened glow of Easter would emerge on the horizon. We
have seen tmth crucified and goodness buried, but we have kept
going with the conviction that truth crushed to earth will rise again,
Now our faith seems to be vindicated. This moming the long awaited
mandate from the United States Supreme Court concerning bus segre-
gation came to Montgomery. This mandate expresses in terms that are
crystal clear that segregation in public transportation is both legally
and sociologically invalid- In the light of this mandate and the
wanimous vote rendered by the Montgomery Improvement Associa-
tion about a month ago, the year-old protest against city buses is
officially called off, and the Negro citizens of Montgomery are urged to
retum to the buses tomorrow moming on a nonsegregated basis.
I cannot close without giving just a word of caution. Our experience
and growth during this past year of nonviolent protest has been such
that we cannot be satisfied with a court "victory" over our white
brothers. We must respond to the decision with an understanding of
those who have oppressed us and with an appreciation of the new
adjustments that the court order poses for them. We must be able to
face up honestly to our own shortcomings. We must act in such a way
as to make possible a coming together of white people and colored
people on the basis of a real harmony of interests and understanding.
We seek an integration based on mutual respect.
This is the time that we must evince calm dignity and wise restraint-
Emotions must not run wild. Violence must not come from any of us,
for if we become victirnized with violent intents, we will have walked
in vain, and our twelve months of glorious dignity will be transformed
into an eve of gloomy catastrophe. As we go back to the buses let us
be loving enough to turn an enemy into a friend. We must now move
from protest to reconciliation. It is my firm conviction that God is
working in Montgomery. Let all men of goodwill, both Negro and
white, continue to work with Him. With this dedication we will be;
able to emerge from the bleak and desolate midnight of man's inhuman-
ity to man to the bright and glittering daybreak of freedom and justice .
The audience stood and cheered loudly. This was the moment
toward which they had pressed for more than a year. The return
to the buses, on an integrated basis, was a new beginning. But
it was a conclusion, too, the end of an effort that had drawn
Montgomery's Negroes together as never before. To many of those
present the joy was not unmixed. Some perhaps feared what
might happen when they began to ride the buses again the next
day. Others had found a spiritual strength in sacrifice to a cause;
now the sacrifice was no longer necessary. Like many consumma-
tions, this one left a slight aftertaste of sadness.
At the close of the meeting I asked the ministers to stay over
for a few minutes to urge them to ride the buses during the rush
hours for the first few days. It was our feeling that their presence
would give the Negro citizens courage and made them less likely
to retaliate in case of insults. The ministers readily agreed. Ac-
cordingly, two were assigned to each bus line in the city, to ride
mainly during the morning and afternoon rnsh. They were given
suggestions as to how to handle situations of violence and urged
to keep an accurate record of all incidents.
I had decided that after many months of struggling with my
people for the goal of justice I should not sit back and watch, but
should lead them back to the buses myself. I asked Ralph Aber-
nathy, E. D. Nixon, and Glenn Smiley to join me in riding on the
first integrated bus. They reached my house around 5:45 on
Friday morning. Television cameras, photographers, and news
reporters were hovering outside the door. At 5:55 we walked
toward the bus stop, the cameras shooting, the reporters bom-
barding us with questions. Soon the bus appeared; the door
opened, and I stepped on. The bus driver greeted me with a cor-
dial smile. As I put my fare in the box he said:
"I believe you are Reverend King, aren't your
I answered: "Yes I am."
"We are glad to have you this morning," he said,
I thanked him and took my seat, smiling now too. Abernathy,
Nixon, and Smiley followed, with several reporters and television
men behind them. Glenn Smiley sat next to me. So I rode the first
integrated bus in Montgomery with a white minister, and a native
Southerner, as my seatmate.
Downtown we transferred to one of the buses that serviced the
white residential section. As the white people boarded, many
took seats as if nothing were going on. Others looked amazed to
see Negroes sitting in front, and some appeared peeved to know
Vat they either had to sit behind Negroes or stand. One elderly
man stood up by the conductor, despite the fact that there were
several vacant seats in the rear. When someone suggested to him
that he sit in back, he responded: "I would rather die and go to
hell than sit behind a nigger." A white woman unknowingly took
a seat by a Negro. When she noticed her neighbor, she jumped
up and said in a tone of obvious anger: "What are these niggers
gonna do next?"
But despite such signs of hostility there were no major incidents
on the first day. Many of the whites responded to the new systern
calmly. Several deliberately and with friendly smiles took seats
beside Negroes. Trne, one Negro woman was slapped by a white
man as she alighted, but she refused to retaliate. Later she said:
"I could have broken that little fellow's neck all by myself, but
left the mass meeting last night determined to do what Reverend
King asked." The MomgomeS Advffi~er reported at the end
the first day: "The calm but cautious acceptance of this sig-
nificant change in Montgomery's way of life carne without siny
major disturbance."
But the reactionaries were not in retreat. Many of thern had
predicted violence, and such predictions are always a conscious
or unconscious invitation to action. When people, especially
public office, talk about bloodshed as a concomitant of integra-
tion, they stir and arouse the hoodlums to acts of destruction, and
often work under cover to bring them about. In Montgomery
several public officials had predicted violence, and violence there
had to be if they were to save face.
By December 28 the first few days of peaceful compliance had
given way to a reign of terror. City buses were fired on throughout
the city, especially in poorly lighted sections. A teenage girl was
beaten by four or five white men as she alighted from a bus. A
pregnant Negro woman was shot in the leg.- Fearfully, many
Negroes and whites refused to ride the buses. The city commis-
sion responded by suspending the night runs on city hmes. No bus
could begin a run after five o'clock, which meant that once again
returning workers were without transportation. This was exactly
what the violent elements wanted.
During this period a new effort was made to divi-de the
Negroes. Handbills were distributed urging Negroes to rebel
against me in particular and their leaders in general. These leaf-
lets purported to come frorn "fed-up" Negroes, but virtually every-
one knew that they were the work of white extremists. Referring
to me as Luther, one leaflet said: 'We get shot at while he rides.
He is getting us in more trouble every day. Wake up. Run him
out of town." Another one stated: 'We been doing OK in Mont-
gomery before outside preachers were bornl Ask Reverend King's
papa & Mamma if they like his doings----ask him if they going to
help in Atlanta. Better quit him before it is too late"
The KKK was in its element. One day it descended upon
Montgomery in full regalia. But it seemed to have lost its spell.
A college student who saw the Klansmen swarming the streets in
their white costumes with red insignia went cheerfully on about
her business, thinking that they were collecting for the United
Fund. And one cold night a small Negro boy was seen warming
his hands at a burning cross.
On January 9, Ralph Abernathy and I went to Atlanta to
prepare for a meeting of Negro leaders that I had called for the
following day. In the middle of the night we were awakened by a
telephone call from Ralph's wife, Juanita. I knew that only some
new disaster would make her rouse us at two in the morning.
When Ralph came back, his sober face told part of the story. "My
home has been bombed," he said, "and three or four other explo-
sions have been heard in the city, but Juanita doesn't know where
yet." I asked about Juanita and their daughter. "Thank God, they
are safe." Before we could talk any more, the telephone rang a
second time. It was Juanita again, saying that the First Baptist
Church had been hit. I looked at Ralph as he sat down beside
me, stunned. Both his home and his church bombed in one night,
and I knew no words to comfort him. There in the early morning
hours we prayed to God together, asking for the power of
endurance, the strength to carry on.
Between three and seven we received no less than fifteen calls.
We finally learned that besides Ralph's home and church, Bob
Graetz's home and three other Baptist churches----Bell Street,
Hutchinson Street, and Mt. Olive----had all been hit. Worrying
that this time the people might be goaded into striking back,I
called a few ministers in Montgomery and urged them to do what
they could to keep control. In the meantirne, Ralph and I arranged
to fly back, leaving the meeting of Southern leaders to begin
without us.
Frorn the Montgomery airport we drove directly to Ralph's
house. The street was roped off, and hundreds of people stood
staring at the rnins. The front porch had been almost completely
destroyed, and things inside the house were scattered from top
to bottom. Juanita, though shocked and pale, was fairly composed,
The rest of the morning was spent in a grim tour of the other
bombings. The Bell Street and Mt. Olive Baptist churches had
been almost completely destroyed. The other two churches were
less severely damaged, but nevertheless faced great losses. The
total damage to the four churches was estirnated at $70,000. Bob
Graetz's home had been a bomb target the previous summer, but
had escaped serious damage. This time he was not so fortunate.
The front of his house lay in ruins, and shattered glass throughout
the interior showed the violence of the explosion. Assembled at
each of the bombed sites was a large group of angry people;
but with a restraint that I never ceased to wonder at, they held
themselves under control,
The next morning, three important white agencies issued state-
ments condemning the bombings. Grover Hall, the editor of the
Montgomery Advertiser, wrote a strong editorial entitled "Is it
safe to live in Montgornery?" in which he insisted that the issue
had gone beyond the question of segregation versus integration-
As I read Hall's strong statement I could not help admiring this
brilliant but complex man who claimed to be a supporter of
segregation but could not stomach the excesses performed in its
name. Several white ministers denounced the bombing as un-
christian and uncivilized, and all through the day their statement
was repeated over television by the distingnished minister of the
First Presbyterian Church, Rev. Merle Patterson. The Men of
Montgomery, too, made known their unalterable opposition to the
bombings. For the first tirne since the protest began, these influ-
ential whites were on public record on the side of law and order.
Their stands gave us new confidence in the basic decency of the
vast majority of whites in the community. Despite their corn-
mitment to segregation, it was clear that they were still law-
abiding, and would never sanction the use of violence to preserve
the systern.
That afternoon, I returned to Atlanta to make at least an ap-
pearance at the meeting of Negro leaders. There I found an
enthusiastic group of ahnost a hundred men from all over the
South, committed to the idea of a Southern movement to imple-
ment the Supreme Court's decision against bus segregation
through nonviolent means. Before adjourning they voted to forrn
a permanent organization, the Southern Christian Leadership
Conference, and elected rne president, a position I still hold,
When I returned to Montgomery over the weekend I found the
Negro community in low spirits. After the bombings the city
commission had ordered all buses off the streets; and it now ap-
peared that the city fathers would use this reign of violence as an
excuse to cancel the bus company's franchise. As a result, many
were coming to feel that all our gains had been lost; and I rnyself
started to fear that we were in for another long struggle to get
bus service renewed. I was also beginning to wonder whether the
vimlent leaflets that were bombarding the Negro comrnunity
might be having their effect. Discouraged, and still revolted by
the bombings, for some strange reason I began to feel a personal
sense of guilt for everything that was happening.
In this mood I went to the mass meeting on Monday night.
There for the first time, I broke down in public, I had invited the
audience to join me in prayer, and had begnn by asking God's
gnidance and direction in all our activities, Then, in the grip of
an emotion I could not control, I said, "Lord I hope no one will
have to die as a result of our strnggle for freedom in Montgomery.
Certainly I don't want to die. But if anyone has to die, let it be
me." The audience was in an uproar. Shouts and cries of "no, no"
came from all sides. So intense was the reaction, that I could
not go on with my prayer. Two of my fellow ministers came to
the pulpit and suggested that I take a seat. For a few minutes I
stood with their arms around me, unable to move. Finally, with
the help of my friends, I sat down. It was this scene that caused
the press to rcport mistakenly that I had collapsed.
Unexpectedly, this episode brought me great relief Many
people came up to me after the meeting and many called the fol-
lowing day to assure me that we were all together until the end.
For the next few days, the city was fairly quiet. Bus service wag
soon resumed, though still on a daytime schedule only,
Then another wave of terror hit. Early in the morning of
January 28, the people's Service Station and Cab Stand was
bombed, and another bomb fell at the home of Allen Robertson,
a sixty-year-old Negro hospital worker. It was never discovered
why these two victims had been singled out for attack. The same
morning an unexploded bomb, crndely assembled from twelve
sticks of dynamite, was found still smoldering on my porch.
I was staying with friends on the other side of town, and
Coretta and "Yoki" were in Atlanta. So once more I heard the
news first on the telephone. On my way home, I visited the other
scenes of disaster nearby, and found to my relief that no one had
been hurt. I noticed a police car driving away from the area with
two Negroes on the rear seat. These men, I learned were under
arrest because they had challenged the police to their faces with
having done nothing to catch the bombers. Both were later con-
victed of trying to "incite to riot." But there was no riot that day,
although the crowds that had gathered around the damaged
buildings were once again ready for violence. They were just wait-
ing for a signal. Fortunately, the signal never came.
At home I addressed the crowd from my porch, where the mark
of the bomb was clear. "We must not return violence under any
condition. I know this is difficult advice to follow, especially since
we have been the victims of no less than ten bombings. But this
is the way of Christ; it is the way of the cross. We must somehow
believe that unearned suffering is redemptive." Then, since it was
Sunday morning, I urged the people to go home and get ready for
church. Gradually they dispersed.
With these bombings the community came to see that Mont-
gomery was fast being plunged into anarchy. Finally, the city
began to investigate in earnest. Rewards of $4000 were offered for
information leading to the arrest and conviction of the bombers.
On January 3I, the Negro community was surprised to hear that
seven white men had been arrested in connection with the bomb-
ings. Detective J. D. Shows was given credit for apprehending
them.
All of the men were released on bonds ranging from $250 to
$13,000, and the city court passed the charges to the Montgomery
County Grand Jury without testimony. The Grand Jury indicted
five of the men and dropped charges against the other two.
The trial of the first two defendants, Raymond D. York and
Sonny Kyle Livingston, came up in the Montgomery County
Court, the same court where I had been tried in the anti-boycott
case a year before, and with the same solicitor, William F. Thet-
ford, in charge of the prosecution. With the Emmet Till case in
Mississippi still fresh in our memories, the Negroes held little
hope of conviction.
Several of us were subpoenaed as witnesses. On the opening
day, we found the courtroom jammed with spectators, most of
them white. In fact there was scarcely roorn for the Negroes. One
could tell from the dress and manner of the whites that most of
them were poor and uneducated, the kind that would find security
in the Ku Klux Wan. As we entered they looked at us with un-
disguised hate.
The defense attorneys spent two days attempting to prove the
innocence of their clients, arguing that the bombings had been
carried out by the MIA in order to inspire new outside donations
for their dwindling treasury. At the end of the second day I was
called to the witness stand by the defense. For more than an hour
I was questioned on things which had no relevance to the bomb-
ing case. The lawyers lifted statements of mine out of context to
give the impression that I was a perpetrator of hate and violence,
At many points they invented derogatory statements concerning
white people, and attributed them to me.
On the other hand Mr. Thetford fought as diligently for a con-
viction as he had fought for mine a year earlier. He had an excel-
lent case. The men had signed confessions. But in spite of all the
evidence, the jury returned a verdict of not guilty. With their
friends crowding around them, Raymond D. York and Sonny Kyle
Livingston walked grinning out of the courtroom.
Justice had once more miscarried. But the dichards had made
their last stand. The disturbances ceased abrnptly. Desegregation
on the buses proceeded smoothly. In a few weeks transportation
was back to normal, and people of both races rode together where
ever they pleased. The skies did not fall when integrated buses
finally traveled the streets of Montgomery.
How are things in Montgomery today?" I am
often asked. Everywhere I go people who have followed the re-
ports of the bus protest in the newspapers or heard speakers tell
about it wonder what the situation is now that bus desegregation
has becorne a legal fact. They want to know whether the new
pattern has been accepted by white as well as Negro residents of
Montgomery, and whether there have been any other lasting
effects of the great excitement that for over a year made the
city front-page news throughout the nation and in many parts
of the world.
At first, when this question was put to rne, it was difficult to
give a ready answer. Many things have to be considered in an
appraisal of this sort, and not all of the effects are perceptible at
once. But as the months passed after December 21, 1956, when
bus segregation came to its official end, the answer became
increasingly clear. "Better," I could say; "things are much better
in Montgomery today."
On the buses Negroes, and white people too, now have the
right to take any unoccupied seat anywhere. The younger Negroes
---especially high school and college students----and the rnore
educated and professional people exercise this new right freely,
NOTE: The author is grateful to Professor Lawrence Reddick of Alabama
State College for his help in the preparation of this chapter.
On the other hand, many of the elderly Negroes and those who
work in domestic service still tend to take a rear seat, partly from
timidity, partly from habit born of custom. On the bus lines that
serve predominantly white ncighborhoods, Negroes generally
retire to the rear. On lines that serve predominantly Negro neigh-
borhoods, the whites seem to seat themselves close to the driver----
or stand. Yet it is not unusual to see white people sitting behind
Negro passengers. Seldom do Negro and white passengers share;
a double seat; there appears to be a mutual disinclination to do
so. And yet a few such cases, too, have been noticed.
Considering the thousands who use the public transportation
system daily, there have been surprisingly few conflicts on the
buses. But there have been some. Harsh words have been ex-
changed between Negro and white passengers scrambling for
seats. In one case a white man strnck a Negro woman with a
wrench. She and her two female companions, forgetting non-
violence for the moment, overpowered him and struck him several
sharp blows. The case went to court and the judge, fair-minded
on this occasion, fined the man for disorderly conduct and did
not even reprimand the women.
In another episode, a white woman claimed that a Negro man
had attempted to take the seat beside her in order to get familiar
with her. He was fined for disorderly conduct, although it ap-
peared to be a case of her word against his. This was an isolated
instance, however. More such situations had been expected, and
some of us had feared that diehard opponents of desegregation
might "plant" white women on buses so that they could make
such complaints and stir up trouble. Happily, our fears were
misplaced.
Long before the final court order came through, the Mont-
gomery City Lines had given up their policy of racial segregation
and had begun to school their employees in proper behavior with
all customers. The company removed from the buses all signs indi-
cating segregation. The drivers, who were perhaps the chief
irritants that "caused" the year-long protest, are no longer discour-
teous. Some of them are actively polite, saying "good morning"
to their regular riders. Although the bus company had indicated
at the end of the protest that they would be willing to accept
applications from Negro drivers, the agreement has not to this
day been put to the test.
We believe that our campaign of instruction and publicity
before the first day of our return to the buses was an important
factor in the comparative peace that followed. Our training ses-
sions and mimeographed instrnctions had been successful in
driving home the alogan, "If pushed, don't push back; if cursed,
don't curse back." This time a soft answer did turn away wrath.
Moreover, our effort to convince white bus riders and the white
public in general that we did not intend to boast of our victory
or to take over the buses apparently got across. The white people,
knowimg our attitude, had no reason to prepare for aggression or
to assume a stiff posture of defense.
Race relations are better too in the city at large. After the sharp
but brief flareup of bombings and shootings right after bus
desegregation, the violence of the extremists came to an abrnpt
end. After the acquittal of the first two confessed bombers, the
remainder were set free in an amnesty that also canceled the cases
against the Negroes arrested under the anti-boycott law, with the
provision that I pay the $500 fine lodged against me im court.
I was reluctant to pay the fine, since such a step might appear to
simply acceptance for the unjust equation of our actions with the
brute violence of the bombers. Unfortunately, however, delay
in transcribing the testimony in my case had caused it to be
thrown out of court, which meant that any further legal action
would have to be based on technicalities rather than on the merits
of the issues. So I accepted the necessary compromise and paid.
Today the Negro citizen in Montgomery is respected in a way
that he never was before. In the calm aftermath of the crisis many
local white people are ready to say what they feIt they could n't
afford to admit while the strnggle was going on: "We've got to
hand it to those Negroes. They had principles and they stuck to
them and they stuck together. They organized and planned well."
Others simply say, "We didn't think they had it in thern." Again I
believe that much of this residue of good will has come about
because of our insistence on nonviolence. There are no white
homes in Montgomery that have lost or injured ones as a result of
racial clashes over the buses. Casualties of war keep alive postwar
bitterness; fortunately Montgornery's whites have no such casual-
ties.
In the downtown stores today the business of the Negro cus-
tomer is appreciated and he is treated courteoualy in most places.
It is no longer unusual to hear the Negro addressed as Mr. or Mrs.
Even the Montgomery Advertiser now makes it a policy to use
courtesy titles in references to Negroes in its pages.
The local labor movement has become sornewhat more inte-
grated than it was before the protest. Many union meetings are
desegregated. And although there are also other factors at work,
the improved general atmosphere rnay account in part for the
election of eight Negroes to the joint AFL-CIO Executive Board
for Southern Alabama,
Despite this picture of general improvement, it would be faIs
to imply that the majority of white people in Montgomery have
ceased to oppose integration. The opposite is closer to the trnth
This city shares most of the fears of the state and the region, and
there are still white citizens who react to the issue with all the
raw emotions of patriots in a lost cause. Thus no move has yet
been made to integrate the public schools in accordance with the
now four-year-old directive of the United States Supreme Court.
This is the big barrier currently erected. Here the segregationists
seem determined to make an all-out stand. The rebels yell in
Southern accents, "They shall not pass."
The two elernents that are still most responsible for active
segregationist sentiment are the newspapers and the politicians,
Day in and day out the press is filled with stories of racial conflict,
local and national. Any such disturbance in the North is played
up here. Likewise the editorial pages constantly hammer at the
Negro question. Readers are never permitted to forget that there
is a war against "Yankees and race mixing."
The Alabama State Legislature, like rnost bodies of this sort in
the Deep South, has passed many laws to delay or circumvent
integration. Their effort to split up adjacent Macon County illus-
trates the extremes to which they are ready to go. In that county
Negroes outnumber whites seven to one. If all eligibles were
permitted to register and vote, the Negoes would inevitably share
in some of the public offices. Moreover, Macon County contains
the town where Booker T. Washington's famous Tuskegee Insti-
tute is located; there, thanks to Professor Charles Gomillion and
the Tuskegee Civic Association, an energetic campaign for Negro
registration and voting has been conducted. The State Legialature
reacted first by redrawing the boundaries of Tuskegee so that
almost all registered Negroes were outside the city limits; where-
upon the Negroes instituted a boycott against the downtown
stores that had supported or given tacit consent to the gerry-
mander. Next the governing body offered a referendum asking the
voters of the state to authorize it, after due investigation, to split
up Macon County itself, attaching slices to neighboring units, so
that in every county of the area the white population would ex-
ceed the Negro. The voters assented, and the fate of Macon
County now hangs in the balance of the investigating committee.
Such agitation right next door to Montgomery has had its effect
here. In turn, the success of the Montgomery bus protest has
helped inspire the disfranchised Negroes of Macon County to
pursue their campaign vigoroualy but without violence.
The state strnck another blow at the Negro cause when it suc-
ceeded in persuading the Circuit Court to issue a temporary in-
junction against the NAACP in Alabama. This injunction, which
became effective in June 1956---at the same time that several
NAACP lawyers were successfully fighting our case against bus
segregation in federal court----is still in effect.
The city commissioners of Montgomery have also passed several
anti-Negro measures. New city ordinances make it a crime for
Negroes and whites to play together or participate jointly in any
sport or game, even checkers, or to use the same parks or play-
grounds. A few years ago Montgomery had one or two Negroes
on the city's baseball team, the Montgomery Rebels; this would
no longer be possible. In the meantime, however, the complaint
at the box office of "poor local support" has caused the franchise
of the Montgomery Rebels to be sold to Knoxville. Under the
new ordimances, a Negro man was arrested recently for merely
walking through a "white" park; and a Negro family on a visit to
the city was arrested when the father stopped to let his children
look at the caged animals in the "white" zoo.
But the local courts are no longer so certain of their role. They
remember too well what happencd to their rulings on bus segrega-
tion when the United States Supreme Court reviewed them. They
fear that the high court could also knock out other forrns of
segregation in public facilities if such cases should make their way
to Washington. Accordingly, the local court dismissed the case
of the Negro who had walked through the park, when he
apologized for his "error." Moreover, the charge entered against
other violators of segregation law is now merely "disorderly con-
duct," thus avoiding the possibility of a test case for appeal to
the highest court of the land,
Politicians still get their loudest cheers from white audiences
when they pledge an all-out fight against integration, but the
listeners seem to be less inclined to pay for these comforting
words. The Ku Klux Klan is virtually impotent and openly de-
nounced on all sides, although to some extent opposition to the
Klan is simply a convenient screen, since the White Citizens
Councils have taken over most of the KKK's major objectives,
Yet even the Councils appear to be slipping in Montgomery. Con-
tributions have steadily declined since bus integration became a
reality. That such organizations could not prevent this from hap- -
pening was evidence to many of the dues-paying members that
they could best use their own dollars otherwise.
Meanwhile, what of Montgomery's Negro community? Here
too the experience of the protest has had its lasting and beneficial
effects. Although the intense solidarity of the protest year has
inevitably attenuated, there is still a feeling of closeness among
the various classes and ages and religious denominations that was
never present before. The increased self-respect of even the least
sophisticated Negroes in Montgomery is evident in the way they
dress and walk, in new standards of cleanliness and of general
deportment. As one Negro janitor told a reporter from the North:
'We got our heads up now, and we won't ever bow down again
----no, sir----except before God!"
There has been a decline in heavy drinking. Statistics on crime
and divorce indicate that both are on the wane. A nurse who
owns a Negro hospital in Montgomery says that since the protest
she has been able to go to church on Sunday mornings, some-
thing she had not been able to do for years. This means that
Saturday nights are less belligerent than they used to be. There is
a contagious spirit of friendliness and warrnth; even the children
seern to display a new sense of belonging.
The MIA has reduced its budget and staff, but it has broadened
its focus and begun to address itself to other large areas of civic
improvement. It has retained Fred Gray as full-time legal counsel
to handle civil rights cases. It continues to conduct the once-a-
week mass meetings, where, besides the religious program, voting
clinics are held, and the speaker of the evening discusses the news
and current issues of interest. Preceding the meetings a well-at-
tended program of adult education demonstrates the Negroes' new
concern with self-improvement.
The MIA has set forth a ten-point program entitled "Looking
Forward," which envisions efforts in the fields of civic and political
education, community relations, education for individual com-
petence, improvement of economic status, health, recreation, law
enforcement, public relations, cultural advancement, and spirituaI
enrichment. Parts of this long-range program are still on the
drawing board; others are already in operation. Of most imme-
diate importance, perhaps, is the continuing effort to promote
registration and voting among all Negroes of voting age. This is
still an arduous task; thanks chiefly to the persistent opposition
of the white registrars, of the nearly 2000 Negroes sent to register
locally in the last two years, barely I0 per cent have succeeded
in getting their names on the books of eligible voters.
Thus Montgomery's racial problems are still far from solved.
Yet it is clear that things are much better than they were before
December 5, 1955. Citizens have more mutual respect and more
respect for themselves. Above all, our experience has shown that
social change can take place without violence.
X I
Where Do We Go From here?
THE bus struggle in Montgomery, Alabama,
is now history. As the integrated buses roll daily through the city -
they carry, along with their passengers, a meaning-crowded sym-
bolism. Accord among the great majority of passengers is evi-
dence of the basic good will of man for man and a portent of
peace in the desegregated society to come. Occasional instances
of discord among passengers are a reminder that in other areas
of Montgomery life segregation yet obtains with all of its potential
for group strife and personal conflict. Indeed, segregation is still
a reality throughout the South.
Where do we go from here? Since the problem in Montgomery
is merely symptomatic of the larger national problem, where do
we go not only in Montgomery but all over the South and the
nation? Forces maturing for years have given rise to the present
crisis in race relations. What are these forces that have brought
the crisis about? What will be the conclusion? Are we caught in a
social and political impasse, or do we have at our disposal the
creative resources to achieve the ideals of brotherhood and har-
monious living?
The last half century has seen crucial changes in the life of the
American Negro. The social upheavals of the two world wars the
great depression, and the spread of the automobile have rnade it
both possible and necessary for the Negro to move away frorn his
former isolation on the rural plantation. The decline of agriculture
and the parallel growth of industry have drawn large numbers of
Negroes to urban centers and brought about a gradual improve-
ment in their economic status. New contacts have led to a
broadened outlook and new possibilities for educational advance,
All of these factors have conjoined to cause the Negro to take a
fresh look at himself. His expanding life experiences have created
within him a consciousness that he is an equal element in a
larger social compound and accordingly should be given rights
and privileges commensurate with his new responsibilities. Once
plagued with a tragic sense of inferiority resulting from the
crippling effects of slavery and segregation, the Negro has now
been driven to ree#valuate himself. He has come to feel that he is
somebody. His religion reveal to him that God loves all His
children and that the important thing about a man is not 'his
specificity but his fundamentum"----not the texture of his hair or
the color of his skin but his eternal worth to God.
This growing self-respect has inspired the Negro with a new
determination to struggle and sacrifice until first-class citizenship
becomes a reality. This is the true meaning of the Montgomery
Story. One can never understand the bus protest in Montgomery
without understanding that there is a new Negro in the South,
with a new sense of dignity and destiny.
Along with the Negro's changing image of himself has come an
awakening moral consciousness on the part of millions of white
Americans concerning segregation. Ever since the signing of the
Declaration of Independence, America has manifested a schizo-
phrenic personality on the question of race. She has been torn
between selves----a self in which she has proudly professed democ-
racy and a self in which she has sadly practiced the antithesis of
democracy, The reality of segregation, like alavery, has always
had to confront the ideals of democracy and Christianity. Indeed,
segregation and discrimination are strange paradoxes in a nation
founded on the principle that all men are created equal. This
contradiction has disturbed the consciences of whites both North
and South, and has caused many of them to see that segregation
is basically evil.
Climaxing this process was the Supreme Court's decision out-
lawing segregation in the public schools. For all men of good will
May 17, 1954, marked a joyous end to the long night of enforced
segregation. In unequivocal langnage the Court affirmed that
"separate but equal" facilities are inherently unequal, and that to
segregate a child on the basis of his race is to deny that child
equal protection of the law. This decision brought hope to mil-
lions of disinherited Negroes who had formerly dared only to
dream of freedom. It further enhanced the Negro's sense of
dignity and gave him even greater detemnination to achieve
justice.
This determination of Negro Americans to win freedom from
all forms of oppression springs from the same deep longing that
motivates oppressed peoples all over the world. The rumblings
of discontent in Asia and Africa are expressions of a quest for
freedom and human dignity by people who have long been the
victims of colonialism and imperialism. So in a real sense the
racial crisis in America is a part of the larger world crisis.
But the numerous changes which have culminated in a new
sense of dignity on the part of the Negro are not of themselves
responsible for the present crisis. If all men accepted these his-
torical changes in good faith there would be no crisis. The crisis
developed when the collective pressures to achieve fair goals for
the Negro met with tenacious and determined resistance. Then
the emerging new order, based on the principle of democratic
equalitarianism, came face to face with the older order, based on
the principles of paternalism and subordination, The crisis was
not produced by outside agitators, NAACP'ers, Montgornery
Protesters, or even the Supreme Court. The crisis developed,
paradoxically, when the most sublime principles of American
democracy----imperfecty realized for almost two centuries---
began fulfilling themselves and met with the brutal resistance of
forces seeking to contract and repress freedom's growth.
The resistance has risen at times to orninous proportions. Many
states have reacted in open defiance. The legislative halls of the
South still ring loud with such words as "interposition" and
"nullification." Many public officials are using the power of their
offices to defy the law of the land. Through their irresponsible
actions, their inflammatory statements, and their dissemination
of distortions and half-truths, they have succeeded in arousing
abnormal fears and morbid antipathies within the minds of under-
privileged and uneducated whites, leaving them in such a state
of excitement and confusion that they are led to acts of meanness
and violence that no normal person would commit.
This resistance to the emergence of the new order expresses
itself in the resurgence of the Ku Klux klan. Determined to pre-
serve segregation at any cost, this organization employs methods
that are crnde and primitive. It draws its members from under-
privileged groups who see in the Negro's rising status a political
and economic threat. Although the Klan is importent politically
and openly denounced from all sides, it remains a dangerous
force which thrives on racial and religious bigotry. Because of
its past history, whenever the Klan moves there is fear of violence.
Then there are the White Citizens Councils. Since they occa-
sionally recruit members from a higher social and economic level
than the Klan, a halo of partial respectability hovers over them.
But like the Klan they are determined to preserve segregation
despite the law. Their weapons of threat, intimidation, and boy-
cott are directed both against Negroes and against any whites
who stand for justice. They demand absolute conformity from
white and abject submission from Negroes. The Citizens Councils
often argue piously that they abhor violence, but their defiance
of the law, their unethical methods, and their vitriolic public pro-
nouncements inevitably create the atmosphere in which violence
thrives.
As a result of the Councils' activities most white moderates in
the South no longer feel free to discuss in public the issues in-
volved in desegregation for fear of social ostracism and economic
reprisals. What channels of communication had once existed be-
tween whites and Negroes have thus now been largely closed.
The present crisis in race relations has characteristics that come
to the forefront in any period of social transition. The gnardians of
the status quo lash out with denunciation against the person or
organization that they consider most responsible for the emer-
gence of the new order. Often this denunciation rises to major
proportions, In the transition from slavery to restricted emanci-
pation Abraham Lincoln was assassinated. In the present transi-
tion from segregation to desegregation the Supreme Court is
castigated and the NAACP is maligned and subjected to extra-
legal reprisals,
As in other social crises the defenders of the status quo in the
South argue that they were gradually solving their own problems
until external pressure was brought to bear upon them. The
familiar complaint in the South today is that the Supreme Court's
decision on education has set us back a generation in race rela-
tions, that people of different races who had long lived at peace
have now been turned against one another. But this is a misin-
terpretation of what is taking place. When a subject people
moves toward freedom, they are not creating a cleavage, but are
revealing the cleavage which apologists of the old order have
sought to conceal. It is not the movement for integration which is
creating a cleavage in the United States today. The depth of the
 cleavage that existed, the true nature of which the moderates
failed to see and make clear, is being revealed by the resistance
to integration.
During a crisis period, a desperate attempt is made by the
extremists to influence the minds of the liberal forces in the ruling
majority. So, for example, in the present transition white South-
erners attempt to convince Northern whites that the Negroes are
inherently criminal. They seek instances of Negro crime and
juvenile delinquency in Northern communities and then say:
"You see, the Negroes are problems to you. They create problems
wherever they go." The accusation is made without reference to
the true nature of the situation. Environmental problems of
delinquency are interpreted as evidence of racial criminality.
Crises arising in Northern schools are interpreted as proofs that
Negroes are inherently delinquent. The extremists do not recog-
nize that these school problems are symptoms of urban disloca-
tion, rather than expressions of racial deficiency. Criminality and
delinquency are not racial; poverty and ignorance breed crime
whatever the racial group may be.
In the attempt to influence the minds of Northern and Southern
liberals, the segregationists are often subtle and skillful. Those
who are too smart to argue for the validity of segregation and
racial inferiority on the basis of the Bible set forth their argu-
ments on cultural and sociological grounds. The Negro is not
ready for integration, they say; because of academic and cultural
lags on the part of the Negro, the integration of schools will pull
the white race down. They are never honest enough to admit that
the academic and cultural lags in the Negro community are them-
selves the result of segregation and discrimination. The best way
to solve any problem is to remove its cause. It is both rationally
unsound and sociologically untenable to use the tragic effects of
segregation as an argument for its continuation.
All of these calculated patterns----the defiance of Southern legis-
lative bodies, the activities of White Supremacy organizations,
and the distortions and rationalizations of the segregationists----
have mounted up to massive resistance. This resistance grows out
of the desperate attempt of the white South to perpetuate a
system of human values that came into being under a feudalistic
plantation system and which cannot survive in a day of growing
urbanization and industrial expansion. These are the rock-bottom
elements of the present crisis.
The schools of the South are the present storm center. Here the
forces that stand for the best in our national life have been
tragically ineffectual. A year after the Supreme Court had de-
clared school segregation unconstitutional, it handed down a
decree outlining the details by which integration should proceed
"with all deliberate speed." While the Court did not set a definite
deadline for the termination of this process, it did set a tirne for
the beginning. It was clear that the Court had chosen this reason-
able approach with the expectation that the forces of good will
would immediately get to work and prepare the communities for
a smooth and peaceful transition.
But the forces of good will failed to come through. The Office
of the President was appallingly silent, though just an occasional
word from this powerful source, counseling the nation on the
moral aspects of integration and the need for complying with the
law, might have saved the South from much of its present con-
fusion and terror. Other forces of justice also failed to act. It is
true that immediately after the first decision was rendered, lead-
ing church, labor, and social welfare leaders issued statements
upholding the decision, and many supporting resolutions were
adopted by their organizations. But hardly a single group set
forth an action program wherein their members could actively
work to bring about a peaceable transition. Neither did they
develop a plan whereby individuals in southern communities who
were willing to work for desegregation could receive organization
support in the face of economic reprisals and physical violence.
As a result of the failure of the moral forces of the nation to
mobilize behind school integration, the forces of defeat were
given the chance to organize and crystallize their opposition.
While the good people stood silentiy and complacentiy by, the
misguided people acted. If every church and synagogne had
developed an action program; if every civic and social welfare
organization, every labor union and educational institution, had
worked out concrete plans for implementing their righteous
resolutions; if the press, radio, and television had turned their
powerful instruments in the direction of educating and elevat-
ing the people on this issue; if the President and the Congress had
taken a forthright stand; if these things had happened, federal
troops might not have been forced to walk the corridors of Central
High School.
But it is still not too late to act. Every crisis has both its dangers
and opportunities. It can spell either salvation or doom. 1n the
present crisis America can achieve either racial justice or the
ultimate social psychosis~ that can only lead to domestic suicide,
The dernocratic ideal of freedorn and equality will be fulfilled for
ali----or all human beings will share in the resulting social and
spiritual doom. In short, this crisis has the potential for democ-
racy's glfillment or fascism's triumph; for social progress or
retrogression. We can choose either to waIk the high road of
human brotherhood or to tread the low road of man's inhurnanity
to man.
History has thrush upon our generation an indescribably im-
portant destiny----to complete a process of democratization which
our nation has too long developed too slowly, but which is our
most powerful weapon for world respect and emulation. How
we deal with this crncial situation will determine our moral health
as individuals, our cultural health as a region, our political health
as a nation, and our prestige as a leader of the free world. The
future of Arnerica is bound up with the solution of the present
crisis. The shape of the world today does not perrnit us the luxury
of a faltering democracy. The United States cannot hope to attani
the respect of the vital and growing colored nations of the world
unless it remedies its racial problems at home. 1f America is to
remain a first-class nation, it cannot have a second-class citlzen-
A solution of the present crisis will not take place unless men
and women work for it. Human progress is neither automatic nor
inevitable. Even a superficial look at history reveals that no social
advance rolls in on the wheels of inevitability. Every step toward
the goal of justice requires sacrifice, suffering, and struggle; the
tireless exertions and passionate concern of dedicated individuajs,
Without persistent effort, tirne itself becomes an ally of the in-
surgent and primitive forces of irrational emotionalism and social
destrnction. This is no time for apathy or complacency. This is a
time for vigorous and positive action.
It is the shame of the sunshine patriots if the foregoing para-
graphs have a hollow sound, like an echo of countless political
speeches. These things must be repeated time and again, for
men forget quickly; but once said, they must be followed with a
dynamic program, or else they become a refuge for those who
shy from any action. If America is to respond creatively to the
present criss, many groups and agencies must rise above the
reiteration of generalities and begin to take an active part in
changing the face of their nation,
First, there is need for strong and aggressive leadership from
the federal government. If the executive and legislative branches
were as concerned about the protection of the citizenship rights
of all people as the federal courts have been, the transition from
a segregated to an integrated society would be much further
along than it is today. The dearth of positive leadership from
Washington is not confined to one political party. Both major
parties have lagged in the service of justice. Many Democrats
have betrayed it by capitulating to the undemocratic practices of
the Southern Dixiecrats. Many Republicans have betrayed it by
capitulating to the hypocrisy of right-wing Northerners.
In spite of the crncial role of the federal judiciary in this tense
period of transition, the courts cannot do the job alone. The
courts can clarify constitutional principles and remove the legal
basis for segregation, but they cannot write laws, appoint admin-
istrators, or enforce justice on the local level.
The states and localities have the powers if they choose to
exercise them. But the Southern states have made their policy
clear. Statcs' rights, they say in effect, include the right to
abrogate power when it involves distasteful responsibilities, even
to the Constitution of the United States, its amcndments, and its
judicial interpretation. So the power and the responsibility return
by default to the federal government. It is up to all branches of
the central government to accept the challenge.
Government action is not the whole answer to the present crisis,
but it is an important partial answer. Morals cannot be legislated,
but behavior can be regulated. Tbe law cannot make an employe
love me, but it can keep him from refusing to hire me because
of the color of my skin. We must depend on religion and educa
tion to alter the errors of the heart and mind; but meanwhile it is
an immoral act to compel a man to accept injustice until another
man's heart is set straight. As the experience of several Northern
WHERE DO WE GO FROM HERE?
states has shown, anti-discrimination laws can provide powerful
sanctions against this kind of immorality,
Moreover, the law itself is a form of education. The words of
the Supreme Court, of Congress, and of the Constitution are
eloquent instrnctors. In fact, it would be a mistake to minm- ize
the irnpact upon the South of the federal court orders and legis-
lative and executive acts already in effect. Desegregation of the
armed services, for instance, has already had an immense, incal-
culable impact. Federal court decrees have altered transportation
patterns, teachers' salaries, the use of recreational facilities, and
myriad other matters. The habits if not the hearts of people have
been and are being altered every day by federal action.
Another group with a vital role to play in the present crisis is
the white Northern liberals. The racial issue that we confront in
America is not a sectional but a national problem. The citize- nship
rights of Negroes cannot be flouted anywhere without impairing
the rights of every other American. Injustice anywhere is a threat
to justice everywhere. A breakdown of law in Alabama weakens
the very foundations of lawful government in the other forty-
seven states. The mere fact that we live in the United States
means that we are caught in a network of inescapable mutuality.
Therefore, no American can afford to be apathetic about the
problem of racial justice. It is a problem that meets every man
at his front door. The racial problem will be solved in Amrica
to the degree that every American considers himself personally
confronted with it. Whether one lives in the heart of the Deep
South or on the periphery of the North, the problem of injustice
is his problem; it is his problem because it is America,s problem.
There is a pressing need for a liberalism in the North which is
truly liberal, a liberalism that firmly believes in integration in its
own community as well as in the Deep South. It is one thing to
agree that the goal of integration is morally and legally right; it
is another thing to commit oneself positively and actively to the
ideal of integration----the former is intellectual assent, the latter
is actual belief. These are days that demand practices to match
professions. This is no day to pay lip service to integration, we
rnust pay life service to it.
Today in all too many Northern communities a sort of quasi-
liberalism prevaiIs, so bent on seeing all sides that it fails to be-
come dedicated to any side. It is so objectively analytical that it is
not subjectively committed. A trne liberal will not be deterred by
the propaganda and subtle words of those who say, "Slow up for
a while; you are pushing things too fast." I am not calling for an
end to sympathetic understanding and abiding patience; bat
neither sympathy nor patience should be used as excuses for
indecisiveness. They must be guiding principles for all of our
actions, rather than substitutes for action itself,
A significant role, in this tense period of transition, is assigned
to the rnoderates of the white South. Unfortunately today, the
leadership of the white South is by and large in the hands of
close-minded extremists. These persons gain prominence and
power by the dissemination of false ideas, and by appealing to
the deepest fears and hates within the human mind. But they do
not speak for the South; of that I arn convinced. They speak only
for a willful and vocal minority.
Even the most casual observer can see that the South has
marvelous possibilities. It is rich in natural resources, blessed
with the beauties of nature, and endowed with a native warrnth
of spirit. Yet in spite of these assets, it is retarded by a blight that
debilitates not only the Negro but also the white man. Poor white
men, women, and children, bearing the scars of ignorance, dep-
rivation, and poverty, are evidence of the fact that harm to one
is injury to all. Segregation has placed the whole South socially,
educationally, and economically behind the rest of the nation.
Yet actually, there is no single "solid" South; there are at least
three, geographically speaking. There is the South of compliance
---Oklahoma, Kentucky, Kansas, Missouri, West Virginia, Dela-
ware, and the District of Columbia. There is the wait-and-see
South----Tennessee, Texas, North Carolina, Arkansas, and Florida.
And there is the South of resistance---Georgia, Alabama, Missis-
sippi, Louisiana, South Carolina, and Virginia.
Just as there are three Souths geographically, there are several
Souths in terms of attitudes. A minority in each of these states
would use almost any means, including physical violence, to pre-
serve segregation. A majority, through tradition and custom, sin-
cerely believe in segregation, but at the same time stand on the
side of law and order. Hence, they are willing to comply with
the law not because they feel it is sound but because it is the
law. A third group, a growing minority, is working courageously
and conscientiously to implement the law of the land. These peo-
ple believe in the morality as well as the constitutionality of
integration. Their still small voices often go unheard among the
louder shouts of defiance, but they are actively in the field.
Furthermore there are in the white South millions of people of
good will whose voices are yet unheard, whose course is yet un-
clear, and whose courageous acts are yet unseen. These persons
are often silent today because of fear----fear of social, political,
and economic reprisals. In the name of God, in the interest of
human dignity, and for the cause of democracy these millions
are callcd upon to gird their courage, to speak out, to offer the
leadership that is needed. Still another South calls upon them:
The colored South, the South of millions of Negroes whose sweat
and blood has also built Dixie, who yearn for brotherhood and
respect, who want to join hands with their white fellow Southern-
ers to build a freer, happier land for all. If the moderates of the
white South fail to act now, history will have to record that
the greatest tragedy of this period of social transition was not
the strident clamor of the bad people, but the appallkng silence
of the good people. Our generation will have to repent not only
for the acts and words of the children of darkness but also for
the fears and apathy of the children of light.
Who can best lead the South out of the social and economic
quagmire? Her native sons. Those who were born and bred on
her rich and fertile soil; those who love her because they were
nurtured by her, Through love, patience, and understanding good
will they can call their brothers to a way of noble living. This
hour represents a great opportunity for the white rnoderates,
if they will only speak the trnth, obey the law, and suffer if neces-
sary for what they know is right.
Still another agency of effective change today is the labor
rnovement. Across the years the Negro has been a perpetual victim
of econornic exploitation. Prior to the Civil War the alaves worked
under a system which offered neither compensation nor civil-
rights. Since emancipation the Negro American has continued
to suffer under an essentially unreconstructed economy. He war
freed without land or legal protection, and was made an outcast
entitled only to the most menial jobs. Even the federal govern-
ment that set hirn free failed to work out any long-range policy
that would gnarantee econornic resources to a previously en-
sIaved people---as much entitled to the land they had worked as
were their former owners. The exploitation of the Negro popula-
tion persisted through the Reconstruction period and continues
down to the present day,
Labor unions can play a tremendous role in rnaking economic
justice a reality for the Negro, Trade unions are engaged in a
struggle to advance the economic welfare of those American citi-
zens whose wages are their livelihood. Since the American Negro
is virtually nonexistent as the owner and manager of rnass pro-
duction industry, he must depend on the payment of wages for
his economic survival.
There are in the United States I6.5 million members of approxi-
mately I50 bona fide trade unions. Of this numh M
national and international affiliated organizations of the AFL-
CIO. The unions forming the AFL-CIO include I.3 rnillion
Negroes among their I3.5 million members. Only the combined
religious institutions serving the Negro community can claim a
greater membership of Negroes. The Negro then has the right to
expect the resources of the American trade union movement to
be used in assuring him----like all the rest of its mernbers----of a
proper place in American society. He has gained this right along
with all the other workers whose mutual efforts have built this
country's free and democratic trade unions.
Economic insecurity strangles the physical and cultural growth
of its victims. Not only are millions deprived of formal education
and proper health facilities but our most fundamental social unit
----the family----is tortured, corrupted, and weakened by economic
insufficiency When a Negro man is inadequately paid, his wife
must work to provide the simple necessities for the children.
When a mother has to work she does violence to motherhood by
depriving her children of her loving gnidance and protection;
often they are poorly cared for by others or by none'---left to roarn
the streets unsupervised. It is not the Negro alone who is wronged
by a disrnpted society; many white families are in sirnilar straits.
The Negro rnother leaves home to care for----and be a substitute
mother for----white children, while the white mother works. In this
strange irony lies the promise of future correction.
Both Negro and white workers are equally oppressed. For
both, the living standards need to be raised to levels consistent
with our national resources. Not logic but a hollow social distinc-
tion has separated the races. The economically depressed white
accepts his poverty by telling himself that, if in no other respect,
at least socially he is above the Negro. For this empty pride in a
racial myth he has paid the crushing price of insecurity, hunger,
ignorance, and hopelessness for hirnself and his children.
Strong ties must be made between those whites and Negroes
who have problems in common. White and Negro workers have
mutual aspirations for a fairer share of the products of industries
and farms. Both seek job security, old-age security, health and
welfare protection. The organized labor movcment, which has
contributed so much to the economic security and well-being of
millions, must concentrate its powerful forces on bringing eco-
nomic emancipation to white and Negro by organizing them to-
gether in social equality.
Certainly the labor movement has aIready made significant
moves in this direction. Virtually every national or international
union has clear policies of nondiscrimination, and the national
leaders of AFL-CIO have proclaimed sincerely the ultimate ob-
jective of eliminating racial bias not only from the American labor
movement but also from American society as a whole. But in spite
of this stand, some unions, governed by the racist ethos, have
contributed to the degraded economic status of the Negroes.
Negroes have been barred from membership in certain unions,
and denicd apprenticeship training and vocational education. In
every section of the country one can find local unions existing as
a serious and vicious obstacle when the Negro seeks jobs or up-
grading in employment. The AFL-CIO drive to organize the
South has been virtually abandoncd because of the massive resist-
ance of a significant portion of the organized labor oligarchy,
many of whom have been active in White Citizens Councils
The existence of these conditions within the ranks of labor
reveals that the job is a continuing one. The AFL-CIO must use
all of the powerful forces at its command to enforce the principles
it has professed. Labor leaders must continue to recognize that
labor has a great stake in the struggle for civil rights, if only be-
cause the forces that are anti-Negro are usually anti-labor too.
The current attacks on organized labor because of the misdeeds of
a few malefactors should not blind us to labor's essential role in
the present crisis.
The church too must face its historic obligation in this crisis.
In the final analysis the problem of race is not a political but a
moral issue. Indeed, as the Swedish economist Gunnar Myrdal has
pointed out, the problem of race is America's greatest moral
dilemma. This tragic dilemma presents the church with a great
challenge. The broad universalism standing at the center of the
gospel makes segregation morally unjustifiable. Racial segregation
is a blatant denial of the unity which we have in Christ; for in
Christ there is neither Jew nor Gentile, bond nor free, Negro nor
white. Segregation scars the soul of both the segregator and the
segregated. The segregator looks upon the segregated as a thing
to be used, not a person to be respected. Segregation substitutes
an "I-it" relationship for the "I-thou" relationship. Thus it il
utterly opposed to the noble teachings of our Judeo-Christiau
tradition.
It has always been the responsibility of the church to broaden
horizons, challenge the status quo, and break the mores wher
necessary. The task of conquering segregation is an inescapable
must confronting the church today.
There are several specific things that the church can do. First,
it should try to get to the ideational roots of race hate, something
that the law cannot accomplish. All race prejudice is based upon
fears, suspicions, and misunderstandings, usually groundless. Th
church can be of irnneasurable help in giving the popular rnind
direction here. Through its channels of religious education, the
church can point out the irrationality of these beliefs. It can show
that the idea of a superior or inferior race is a rnyth that has been
completely refuted by anthropological evidence. It can show that
Negroes are not innately inferior in academic, health, and moral
standards. It can show that, when given equal opportunities,
Negroes can demonstrate equal achievement.
The church can also do a great deal to reveal the true inten-
tions of the Negro----that he is not seeking to dorninate the nation,
but simply wants the right to live as a first-class citizen, with all
the responsibilities that good citizenship entails. The church can
also help by mitigating the prevailing and irrational fears con-
cerning intermarriage. It can say to men that marriage is an in-
dividual matter that must be decided on the merits of individual
cases. Properly speaking, races do not marry; individuaIs marry.
Marriage is a condition which requires the voluntary consent of
two contracting parties, and either side can always say no. The
church can reveal that the continual outcry concerning inter-
rnarriage is a distortion of the real issue. It can point out that the
Negro's primary aim is to be the white man's brother, not his
brother-in-law.
Another thing that the church can do to make the principle of
brotherhood a reality is to keep men's minds and visions centered
on C,od. Many of the problems America now confronts can be
explained in terms of fear. There is not only the job of freeing the
Negro from the bondage of segregation but also the responsibil-
ity of freeing his white brothers from the bondage of fears con-
cerning integration. One of the best ways to rid oneself of fear is
to center one's life in the will and purpose of C'od. "Perfect love
casteth out fear."
When people think about race problems they are too often
more concerned with men than with God. The question usually
asked is: "What will my friends think if I am too friendly to
Negroes or too liberal on the race question?" Men forget to ask:
"what will God think?" And so they live in fear because they
tend to seek social approval on the horizontal plane rather than
spiritual devotion on the vertical plane.
The church must remind its worshipers that man finds greater
s'ecurity in devoting his life to the eternal demands of the
Ahnighty God than in giving his ultimate allegiance to the transi-
toy demands of man. The church must continually say to Chris-
tians, "ye are a colony of heaven." Trne, man has a dual citizenry.
He lives both in time and in eternity; both in heaven and on earth.
But he owes his ultimate allegiance to God. It is this love for
God and devotion to His will that casteth out fear,
A further effort that the church can make in attempting to
solve the race problem is to take the lead in social reform. It is
not enough for the church to be active in the realm of ideas; it
mast move out into the arena of social action. First, the church
doing this can it be effective in its attack on outside evils- Un-
fortunately rnost of the major denorninations still practice segre-
gation in local churches, hospitals, schools, and other church
institutions. It is appalling that the most se&egated hour of
Christian Arnerica is eleven o'clock on Sunday morning, the same
hour when many are standing to sing, "In Christ there is no East
nor West." Equally appalling is the fact that the most segregated
school of the week is the Sunday School. How often the church
has had a high blood count of creeds and an anemia of deedsl
Dean Liston Pope of the Yale Divinity School rightly says in
The Kingdom beyond Caste: "The church is the rnost segre-
gated major institution in American society. It has lagged behind
the Supreme Court as the conscience of the nation on questions
of race, and it has fallen far behind trade unions, factories,
schools, department stores, athdetic gatherings and most other
major areas of human association as far as the achievement of
integration in its own life is concerned."
There has been some progress. Here and there churches are
courageoualy making attacks on segregation, and actually inte-
grating their congregations. The National Council of Churches
has repeatedly condemned segregation and has requested its
constituent denominations to do likewise. Most of the major
denorninations have endorsed that action. The Roman Catholic
Church has declared, "Segregation is morally wrong and sinful."
All this is admirable. But these stands are still far too few, and
they move all too alowly down to the local churches in actual
practice. The church has a schism in its own soul that it must
close. It will be one of the tragedies of Christian history if a
future Gibbon is able to say that at the height of the twentieth
century the church proved to be one of the greatest bulwarks of
segregated power.
The church must also become increasingly active in social
action outside its doors. It must seek to keep channels of com-
munication open between the Negro and white community. It
must take an active stand against the injustice that Negroes con-
front in housing, education, police protection, and in city and state
courts. It must exert its influence in the area of economic justice.
As guardian of the moral and spiritual life of the community the
church cannot look with indifference upon these glaring evils.
It is impossible to speak of the role of the church without re-
ferring to the ministers. Every minister of the gospel has a man-
date to stand up courageously for righteousness, to proclaim the
eternal verities of the gospel, and to lead men from the darkness
of falsehood and fear to the light of tmth and love.
b the South this mandate presents white ministers with a
difficult choice. Many who believe segregation to be directly
opposed to the will of God and the spirit of Christ are faced with
the panful alternative of taking a vocal stand and being fired or
staying quiet in order to remain in the situation and do some
good. Pastors who have adopted the latter course feel that if they
were forced out of their churches their successors would in all
probability be segregationist, thus setting the Christian cause
back. Many ministers have kept their peace not merely to save a
job but because they feel that restraint is the best way to serve the
cause of Christ in the South. In quiet unpublicized ways many
of these m- isters are making for a better day and helpfully mold-
ing the rninds of young people. These men should not be
criticized.
In the final analysis every white minister in the South must
decide for himself which course he will follow. There is no single
right strategy, The important thing is for every minister to dedi-
cate himself to the Christian ideal of brotherhood, and be sure
that he is doing something positive to implement it. He must
never allow the theory that it is better to remain quiet and help
the cause to become a rationalization for doing nothing. Many
m- isters can do rnuch more than they are doing and still hold
their congregations. There is a great deal that ministers can
achieve collectively. In every Southern city there should be
interracial ministerial associations in which Negro and white
ministers can come together in Christian fellowship and discuss
common comrnunity problems. One of the most disappointing
experiences of the Montgomery stmggle was the fact that we
could not get the white misterial association to sit down with
us and discuss our problem. With individual exceptions the white
inisters, from whom I had naively expected so much, gave
little.
Ministers can also collectively call for compliance with the
law and a cessation of violence. This has been done by white
ministers of Atlanta, Richmond, Dallas, and other cities, and not
a single one has, to my knowledge, lost his job, It is difficult for
a denomination to fire all of its ministers in a city. 1f ever the
white min isters of the South decide to declare in a united voice
the truth of the gospel on the question of race, the transition
from a segregated to an integrated society will be infinitely
smoother.
Any discussion of the role of the Christian minister today must
ultimately emphasize the necd for prophecy. Not every minister
can be a prophet, but some must be prepared for the ordeals of
this high calling and be willing to suffer courageously for right-
eousness. May the problem of race in America soon make hearts
burn so that prophets will rise up, saying, "Thus saith the Lord,'
and cry out as Amos did, ". . . let justice roll down like waters,
and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream."
Fortunately, a few in the South have already been willing to
follow this prophetic way. I have nothing but praise for these
ministers of the gospel of Jesus Christ and rabbis of the Jewish
faith who have stood unflinchingly before threats and intimida-
tions, inconvenience and unpopularity, even at times in physical
danger, to declare the doctrine of the Fatherhood of C;od and the
brotherhood of man. For such noble servants of God there is the
consolation of the words of Jesus: "Blessed are ye, when rnen
shall revile you, and persecute you, and shall say all manner of
evil against you falsely, for my sake. Rejoice, and be exceeding
glad: for great is your reward in heaven: for so persecuted they
the prophets which were before you."
Here, then, is the hard challenge and the sublime opportunity:
to let the spirit of Christ work toward fashioning a truly great
Christian nation. If the church accepts the challenge with devo-
tion and valor, the day will be speeded when men everywhere
will recognize that they "are all one in Christ Jesus."
Finally, the Negro himself has a decisive role to play if
integration is to become a reality. Indeed, if first-class citizenshi-p
is to become a reality for the Negro he must assume the primary
responsibility for ms:king it so. Integrab-on is not some laN-sh dL-sh
Cat the federal government or the white liberal will pass out on
a silver platter while the Negro merely furnihes the appetite.
One of the rnost damaging effects of past segregation on the per-
sonality of the Negro rnay well be that he has been victimi-zed
with the delusion that others should be rnore concerned than
hirnself about his citizenship rights,
In this period of social change, the Negro rnust come to see that
there is much he himself can do about his plight. He may be un-
educated or poverty-stricken, but these handicaps must not pre"
vent hirn from seeing that he has within his being the power to
alter his fate. The Negro can take direct action against injustice
without waiting for the government to act or a majority to agree
with him or a court to rnle in his favor,
Oppressed people deal with their oppression in three char-
acteristic ways. One way is acquiescence: the oppressed resign
emselves to their doom. They tacitly adjust themselves to
pression and thereby become conditioned to it. In every
ovement toward freedom some of the oppressed prefer to re-
ain oppressed. Almost 2800 years ago Moses set out to lead the
hildren of Israel fiom the slavery of Egypt to the fieedom of the
mised land. He soon discovered that alaves do not always
eloome their deliverers, They become accustomed to being
aves, They would rather bear those ills they have, as Shake-
speare pointed out, than flee to others that they know not of.
They prefer the "fleshpots of Egypt" to the ordeals of emanci-
pation.
There is such a thing as the freedom of exhaustion. Some
people are so worn down by the yoke of oppession that they
give up. A few years ago in the slum areas of Atlanta, a Negro
guitarist used to sing almost daily: "Ben down so long that down
don't bother me." This is the type of negative freedom and
resignation that often engnlfs the life of the oppressed.
But this is not the way out. To accept passively an unjust
system is to coo#perate with that system; thercby the oppressed
become as evil as the oppressor. Noncoo#peration with evil is as
much a moral obligation as is coo#peration with good. The op-
pressed must never allow the conscience of the oppressor to
slumber. Religion reminds every man that he is his brother's
keeper. To accept injustice or segregation passively is to say to
the oppressor that his actions are morally right. It is a way of
allowing his conscience to fall asleep. At this moment the op-
pressed fails to be his brother's keeper. So acquiescence"---while
often the easier way----is not the moral way. It is the way of the
coward. The Negro cannot win the respect of his oppressor by
acquiescing; he merely increases the oppressor's arrogance and
contempt. Acquiescence is interpreted as proof of the Negro's
inferiority. The Negro cannot win the respect of the white people
of the South or the peoples of the world if he is wining to sell
the future of his children for his personal and inunediate com-
fort and safety.
A second way that oppressed people sometimes deal with
oppression is to resort to physical violence and corroding hatred.
Violence often brings about momentary results. Nations have
frequently won their independence in battle. But in spite of tem-
porary victories, violence never brings permanent peace- It
solves no social problem; it merely creates new and more com-
plicated ones.
Violence as a way of achieving racial justice is both impractical
and immoral. It is impractical because it is a descending spiral
ending in destruction for all. The old law of an eye for an eye
leaves everybody blind. It is immoral because it seeks to humiliate
the opponent rather than win his understanding; it seeks to
annihilate rather than to convert. Violence is immoral because it
thrives on hatred rather than love. It destroys community and
mskes brotherhood impossible. It leaves society in monologue
rather than dialogne. Violence ends by defeating itself. It creates
bitterness in the survivors and brntality in the destroyers. A voice
echoes through time saying to every potential Peter, "Put up your
sword." History is cluttered with the wreckage of nations that
failed to follow this command.
If the American Negro and other victims of oppression suc-
cumb to the temptation of using violence in the struggle for
freedom, future generations will be the recipients of a desolate
night of bitterness, and our chief legacy to them will be an end-
less reign of meaningless chaos. Violence is not the way.
The third way open to oppressed people in their quest for
freedom is the way of nonviolent resistance. Like the synthesis
in Hegelian philosophy, the principle of nonviolent resistance
seeks to reconcile the truths of two opposites----acquiescence and
violence----while avoiding the extremes and immoralities of both
The nonviolent resister agrees with the person who acquiesces
that one should not be physically aggressive toward his opponent
but he balances the equation by agreeing with the person oi
violence that evil must be resisted. He avoids the nonresistanc
of the fomner and the violent resistance of the latter. With non-
violent resistance, no individual or group need subrnit to any
wrong, nor need anyone resort to violence in order to right a
wrong.
It seems to me that this is the method that rnust gnide the
actions of the Negro in the present crisis in race relations,
Through nonviolent resistance the Negro will be able to rise to
the noble height of opposimg the unjust system while loving the
perpetrators of the system. The Negro must work passionately
and unrelentingly for full stature as a citizen, but he must not
use inferior methods to gain it. He must never come to terms
with falsehood, malice, hate, or destrnction.
Nonviolent resistance makes it possible for the Negro to remain
in the South and strnggle for his rights. The Negro's problem
will not be solved by rnnning away. He cannot listen to the glib
suggestion of those who would urge him to migrate en masse to
othcr sections of the country. By grasping his great opportunity
in the South he can make a lasting contribution to the rnoral
strcngth of the nation and sct a sublirne example of courage for
gcnerations yet unborn.
By nonviolent resistance, the Negro can also enlist all men of
good will in his struggle for equality. The problem is not a purely
racial one, with Negroes set against whites. In the end, it is not a
struggle betwcen people at all, but a tcnsion between justice and
injustice. Nonviolent resistance is not airned against oppressors
but against oppression. Under its banner consciences, not racial
groups, are enlistcd.
If the Negro is to achieve the goal of integration, he must or-
ganize himself into a militant and nonviolent mass movement.
All three elements are indispensable. The movement for equality
and justice can only be a success if it has both a mass and militant
character; the barriers to be overcome require both. Nonviolence
is an imperative in order to bring about ultimate community-
A mass rnovement of a militant quality that is not at the same
tirne committed to nonviolence tends to generate conflict, which
in turn breeds anarchy. The support of the participants and the
sympathy of the uncommitted are both inhibited by the threat
thsit bloodshed will engulf the community. This reaction in turn
encourages the opposition to threaten and resort to force. When,
however, the mass movement repudiates violence while moving
resolutely toward its goal, its opponents are revealed as the in-
stigators and practitioners of violence if it occurs. Then publia
support is magnetically attracted to the advocates of nonviolence;
while those who employ violence are literally disarmed by over.
whelming sentiment against their stand.
Only through a nonviolent approach can the fears of the white
community be rnitigated. A guilt-ridden white minority lives in
fear that if the Negro should ever attain power, he would act
without restraint or pity to revenge the injustices and brntality
of the years. It is something like a parent who continually mis-
treats a son. One day that parent raises his hand to strike the son,
only to discover that the son ~ now as tall as he is. The parent is
suddenly afraid----fearful that the son will use his new physical
Eower to repay his parent for all the blows of the past.
The Negro, once a helpless child, has now grown up politically,
oulturally, and economically. Many white men fear retaliation.
The job of the Negro is to show them that they have nothing to
Eear, that the Negro understands and forgives and is ready to
forget the past. He must convince the white man that all he
seeks is justice, for both himself and the tuhite man. A mass
movement exercising nonviolence is an object lesson in power
under discipline, a demonstration to the white community that if
such a movement attained a degree of strength, it would use its
power creatively and not vengefully.
Nonviolence can touch men where the law cannot reach them.
When the law regnlates behavior it plays an indirect part in-
molding public sentiment. The enforcement of the law is itself a
form of peaceful persuasion. But the law needs help. The courts
can order desegregation of the public schools. But what can be
done to mitigate the fears, to disperse the hatred, violence, and
irrationality gathered around school integration, to take the
initiative out of the hands of racial demagogues, to release respect
for the law? 1n the end, for laws to be obeyed, men must believe
they are right.
Here nonviolence comes in as the ultimate form of persuasion
It is the method which seeks to implement the just law by appeal-
ing to the conscience of the great decent majority who through
blindness, fear, pride, or irrationality have allowed their con-
sciences to sleep.
The nonviolent resisters can sumarize their message in the;
following simple terms: We will take direct action against in-
justice without waiting for other agencies to act. We will not obey
unjust laws or submit to unjust practices. We will do this peace-
fully, openly, cheerfully because our airn is to persuade. We
adopt the means of nonviolence because our end is a community
at peace with itself. We will try to persuade with our words, but
if our words fail, we will try to persuade with our acts. We will
always be willing to talk and seek fair compromise, but we are
ready to suffer when necessary and even risk our lives to become
witnesses to the truth as we see it.
The way of nonviolence means a willingness to suffer and sacri-
fice. It may mean going to jail. If such is the case the resister must
be willing to fill the jail houses of the South. It may even mean
physical death. But if physical death is the price that a rnan must
pay to free his children and his white brethren from a permanent
death of the spirit, then nothing could be more redemptive-
What is the Negro's best defense against acts of violence in-
ed upon him? As Dr. Kenneth Clark has said so eloquently,
is only defense is to meet every act of barbarity, illegality,
uelty and injustice toward an individual Negro with the fact
at I00 more Negroes will present themselves in his place as /
emal victirns." Every tirne one Negro school teacher is fired
believing in integration, a thousand others should be ready to
the same stand. If the oppressors bomb the home of one
gro for his protest, they must be rnade to realize that to press
the rising tide of the Negro's courage they will have to bomb
dreds more, and even then they will fail.
Faced with this dynamic unity, this amazing self-respect, this
- gness to suffer, and this refusal to hit back, the oppressor
find, as oppressors have always found, that he is glutted
th his own barbarity. Forced to stand before the world and his
splattered with the blood of his brother, he wili call an end
his self-defeating massacre.
ffaerican Negroes must come to the point where they can say
their white brothers, paraphrasing the words of Gandhi: "We
match your capacity to inflict suffering with our capacity to
ure suffering. We will meet your physical force with soul
we will not hate you, but we camot in all good conscience
ey your unjust laws. Do to us what you will and we will still
you. Bomb our homes and threaten our children; send your
ded perpetrators of violence into our communities and drag
out on some wayside road, beating us and leaving us half dead,
we will still love you. But we will soon wear you down by our
Lcity to suffer. And in winning our freedom we will so appeal
our heart and conscience that we will win you in the process."
elism impels rne to admit that many Negroes will find it
cult to follow the path of nonviolence. Some will consider it
eless; some will argue that they have neither the strength nor
courage to join in such a mass demonstration of nonviolent
action. As E. FrankIin Frazier points out in Bla Bourgeoisie
many Negroes are occupied in a middle-class strnggle for statu
and prestige. They are more concerned about "conspicuous con-
surnption" than about the cause of justice, and are probably not
prepared for the ordeals and sacrifices involved in nonviolent
action. Fortunately, however, the success of this method is not
dependent on its unanirmous acceptance. A few Negroes in every
communityunswervingly committed to the nonviolent way, cm
persuade hundreds of others at least to use nonviolence as a
technique and serve as the moral force to awaken the alumberim
national conscience. Thoreau was thinking of such a creative
rninority when he said: "I know this well, that if one thousand if
one hundred, if ten men whom I could name---if ten honest men
only----aye, if one honest man, in the state of Massachusetts, ceas-
ing to hold slaves, were actually to withdraw from the copartner-
ship, and be locked up in the county jail therefore, it would be Ce=
abolition of alavery in Arnerica. For it matters not how small the
beginning may seem to be, what is once well done is done for-
ever."
Mahatma Gandhi never had more than one hundred persons
absolutely committed to his philosophy. But with this small
group of devoted followers, he galvanized the whole of India, and
through a magnificent feat of nonviolence challenged the might of
the British Empire and won freedom for his people,
This method of nonviolence will not work miracles overnight,
Men are not easily moved from their mental rnts, their prejudiced
and irrational feelings. When the underprivileged demand free-
dom, the privileged first react with bitterness and resistance. Even
when the demands are couched in nonviolent terrns, the initial
response is the same. Nehru once remarked that the British were
never so angry as when the Indians resisted them with non-
violence, that he never saw eyes so full of hate as those of the
British troops to whorn he turned the other cheek when they beat
with lathis, But nonviolent resistance at least changed the
rninds and hearts of the Indians, however impervious the British
may have appeared, "We cast away our fear," says Nehrn. And
in the end the British not only granted freedom to adia but came
to have a new respect for the Indians. Today a mutual friendship
based on complete equality eits between these two peoples
n-thin the Commonwealth.
In the South too, the initial white reaction to Negro resistance
has been bitter. I do not predict that a sirnilar happy ending will
come to Montgomery in a few months, because integration is
more complicated than independence. But I know that the
Negroes of Montgornery are already walking straighter because
of the protest. Wd I expect that this generation of Negro children
throughout the United States will grow up stronger and better
because of the courage, the dignity, and the suffering of the
nine children of Little Rock, and their counterparts in Nashville,
Climton, and Sturges. And I believe that the white people of this
country are being affected too, that beneath the surface this
nation's conscience is being stirred.
The nonviolent approach does not irnmediately change the
heart of the oppressor. It first does something to the hearts and
souls of those committed to it. It gives them new self-respect; it
calls up resources of strength and courage that they did not know
they had. Finally it reaches the opponent and so stirs his con-
science that reconciliation becomes a reality.
1 sugaest this approach because I think it is the only way to
reestablish the broken community. Court orders and federal
enforcement agencies will be of inestimable value in achieving
desegregatio~. But desegregation is only a partial, though neces-
sary, step toward the ultimate goal which -
Desegregation will break down the legal barriers, and bring rnen
together physically. But something must happen so to touch the
hearts and souls of men that they will come together, not because
the law says it, but because it is natural and right. In other words ,
our ultirnate goal is integration which is genuine intergroup and
interpersonal living. Only through nonviolence can this goal be
attained, for the aftermath of nonviolence is reconciliation and
the creation of the beloved community.
It is becoming clear that the Negro is in for a season of suffer-
ing. As victories for civil rights mount in the federaI courts, angy
passions and deep prejudices are further aroused. The mountain
of state and local segregation laws still stands. Negro leaders
continue to be arrested and harassed under city ordinances, and
their homes continue to be bombed. State laws continue to be
enacted to circumvent integration. I pray that, recognizing the
necessity of suffering, the Negro will make of it a virtue. To
suffer in a righteous cause is to grow to our humanity's full stature.
If only to save himself from bitterness, the Negro needs the visiom
to see the ordeals of this generation as the opportunity to trans-
fignre himself and American society. If he has to go to jail for the
cause of freedom, let him enter it in the fashion Gandhi urged his
countrymen, "as the bridegroom enters the bride's chamber"---
that is, with a litile trepidation but with a great expectation.
Nonviolence is a way of humility and self-restraint. We Negroes
talk a great deal about our rights, and rightly so. We proudly
proclaim that three-fourths of the people of the world are colored.
We have the privilege of watching in our generation the great
drama of freedom and independence as it unfolds in Asia smd
Africa. All of these things are in line with the work of providence.
We must be sure, however, that we accept them in the right
spirit. In an effort to achieve freedom in America, Asia, and Africa
we must not try to leap from a position of disadvantage to one
of advantage, thus subverting justice. We must seek democracy
and not the substitution of one tyranny for another. Our aim rnust
never be to defeat or humiIiate the white man. We must not be-
come victimized with a philosophy of black supremacy. God -s
not interested merely in the freedom of black men, and brown
men, and yellow men; God is interested in the freedom of the
whoIe human race.
The nonviolent approach provides an answer to the long de-
bated question of gradualism uerms irnmediacy. On the one hand
it prevents one from falling into the sort of patience which is an
excuse for do-nothingisrn and escapism, ending up in standstill-
isrn. On the other hand it saves one from the irresponsible words
which estrange without reconciling and the hasty judgment which
is blind to the necessities of social process. It recognizes the need
for moving toward the goal of justice with wise restraint and cahn
reasonableness. But it aEo recognizes the immorality of slowing
up in the move toward justice and capitulating to the guardians of
an unjust status quo. It recognizes that social change cannot corne
overnight. But it causes one to work as if it were a possibility the
next morning.
Through nonviolence we avoid the temptation of taking on the
psychology of victors. Thanks largely to the noble and invaluable
work of the NAACP, we have won great victories in the federal
courts. But we must not be self-satisfied. We must respond to
every decision with an understanding of those who have opposed
us, and with acceptance of the new adjustments that the court
orders pose for them. We must act in such a way that our vic-
tories will be triumphs for good will in all men, white and Negro.
Nonviolence is essentially a positive concept. Its corollary must
always be growth. On the one hand nonviolence requires nonco-
operation with evil; on the other hand it requires coo#peration with
the constructive forces of good. Without this constructive aspect
noncoo#peration ends where it begins. Therefore, the Negro must
get to work on a program with a broad range of positive goals.
One point in the Negro's program should be a plan to improve
his own economic lot, Through the establishment of credit unions,
savings and loan associations, and coo#perative enterprises the
Negro can greaily improve his economic status. He must develop
habits of thrift and techniques of wise investment. He must not
wait for the end of the segregation that lies at the basis of his
economic deprivation; he must act now to lik himself up by his
own bootstraps.
The constmctive program ahead must include a campaign to
get Negroes to register and vote. Certainly they face many ex-
ternal barriers. All types of underhand methods are still
used in the South to prevent the Negroes from voting, and the
success of these efforts is not oiy wjust, it is a real embarra
ment to the nation we love and must protect. The advocacy of free
elections in Europe by American officials is hypocrisy when free
elections are not held in great sections of America.
But external resistance is not the oiy present barrier to Nego
voting. Apathy among the Negroes themselves is also a factor.
Even where the polls are open to all, Negroes have shown them-
selves too alow to exercise their voting privileges. There must be
a concerted effort on the part of Negro leaders to arouse their
people from their apathetic indifference to this obligation of citi-
zenship. In the past, apathy was a moral failure. Today, it is a
fom of moral and political suicide.
The constrnctive program ahead must include a vigorous at-
tempt to irnprove the Negro's personal standards. It must be re-
iterated that the standards of the Negro as a group lag behind
not because of an inherent inferiority, but because of the fact
that segregation does exist. The 'behavior deviants" within the
Negro community stem Fom the economic deprivation, emotional
frustration, and soi isolation which are the inevitable con-
comitants of segregation. When the white man argnes that segre'
gation should continue because of the Negro's agging standards,
he fails to see that the standards lag because of segregation.
Yet Negroes must be honest enough to admit that our standards
do often fall short. One of the sure signs of maturity is the
sibility to rise to the point of self-criticism. Whenever we are
objects of criticism frorn white men, even though the criticisms
ae malicioualy directed and mixed with half-trnths, we must pick
out the elements of trnth and make them the basis of creative
teconstruction. We must not let the fact that we are the victirns of
injustice lull us into abrogating responsibility for our own lives.
Our crime rate is far too high. Our level of cleanliness is fre-
quently far too low. Too often those of us who are in the rniddle
olass live above our means, spend money on nonessentials and
frivolities, and fail to give to serious causes, organizations, and
educational institutions that so desperately need fUnds. We are
too often loud and boisterous, and spend far too much on drink.
Even the most poverty-stricken among us can purchase a tencent
bar of soap; even the most uneducated among us can have high
moraE. Through cornmunity agencies and religious institutions
Negro leaders must develop a positive program through which
Negro youth can become adjusted to urban living and improve
their general level of behavior. Since crime often grows out of a
sense of futility and despair, Negro parents must be urged to gve
their children the love, attention, and sense of belonging that a
segregated society deprives them of. By improving our standards
here and now we will go a long way toward breaking down the
arguments of the segregationist.
This then must be our present program: Nonviolent resistance
to all forms of racial injustice, including state and local laws and
practices, even when this means going to jail; and imaginative,
bold, constrnctive action to end the demoralization caused by the
legacy of alavery and segregation, inferior schools, slums, and
second-class citizenship. The nonviolent strnggle, if conducted
with the dignity and courage alieady shown by the people of
Montgomery and the children of Little Rock, will in itseU hele
end the demoralization; but a new fiontal assault on the poverty,
disease, and ignorance of a people too long ignored by America
conscience will make victory more certain.
In short, we must work on two fronts. On the one hand, we
must continue to resist the system of segregation which is the
basic cause of our lagging standards; on the other hand we mvst
work constrnctively to improve the standards themselves. There
must be a rhythmic alternation between attacking the causes sind
healing the effects.
This is a great hour for the Negro. The challenge is here. Ta
become the imstrnments of a great idea is a privilege that history
gives only occasionally. Arnold Toynbee says in A Study of His-
toS that it may be the Negro who will give the new spiritual
dynarnic to Western civilization that it so desperately needs to
survive. I hope this is possible. The spiritual power that the
Negro can radiate to the world comes from love, understamd-
ing, good will, and nonviolence. It may even be possible for the
Negro, through adherence to nonviolence, so to challenge Ce
nations of the world that they will serioualy seek an alternative
to war and destrnction. In a day when Sputniks and Explorers
dash through outer space and gnided ballistic missiles are carving
highways of death through the stratosphere, nobody can win a
war. Today the choice is no longer between violence and non-
violence. It is either nonviolence or nonexistence. The Negro
may be C.od's appeal to this age'---an age drifting rapidly to its
doom. The eternal appeal takes the form of a warning: "All who
take the sword will perish by the sword."