It's been half a century since hundreds of marchers, determined to secure southern blacks' right to vote, set off across the Edmund Pettus Bridge outside Selma, Ala., on their way to the state capitol in Montgomery. The demonstrators intended to present their grievances to the state legislature and the governor, but before they could even clear the bridge they were attacked by state troopers and armed white vigilantes blocking their path. Scores of protesters were savagely beaten with truncheons, bats and other weapons, and they were forced back across the span in the violent confrontation known as "Bloody Sunday."
That moment is documented in director Ava DuVernay's powerful new film, "Selma," which chronicles the role played by the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. and his associates in the struggle for passage of the Voting Rights Act of 1965, which gave African-Americans living in the South access to the ballot box for the first time since Reconstruction. That the film was nominated this year for an Academy Award for Best Picture is perhaps a small measure of how far the nation has come over the last 50 years toward fulfilling its promise of equal opportunity and justice for all. But as Americans prepare to celebrate the Martin Luther King Day holiday tomorrow, it is also painfully apparent how far the country still falls short of that ideal.
The continuing protests over the killing of unarmed black men by police in Ferguson, Mo., New York City and elsewhere across the country make it plain that America is not yet a post-racial society. Black men are incarcerated at six times the rate of their white peers, and they receive longer sentences than whites who commit the same crimes. Black families are more likely to live in poverty than white families, and black children are more likely than white children to attend underfunded, low-performing schools that don't prepare them for college or a career. The black unemployment rate is twice that for whites.
Such inequalities along racial lines are no longer enshrined in law, as they were in King's day, but their persistence in powerful institutions such as the criminal justice system, the job and housing markets and the schools make them no less oppressive. Whenever social relationships are dominated by unequal access to the institutions of power, the powerless are the first to suffer.
For King, nonviolent protest was not just a tactic for confronting entrenched power but a living commitment to his faith that love is stronger than hate and truth mightier than lies. In 1965 he called on the nation to wage a great moral struggle, not just to change unjust laws through nonviolent protest but to transform human hearts as well. That, he believed, was the only way the nation could begin to heal the wounds of its long and tragic racial history, and it is surely just as true today as it was then. It's said that on hearing President Lyndon Johnson end his televised announcement of support for the Voting rights Act with the words "we shall overcome," he broke down in tears.
America still needs King's message, which is why we continue to honor his life and achievement. On the 50th anniversary year of the Voting Rights Act — legislation recently gutted by the Supreme Court — we may well ask how much longer it will take before his dream of equality and brotherhood is finally fulfilled. We can take courage and renewed resolve from the answer King himself gave after he and the demonstrators finally arrived on the steps of the Alabama State Capitol in Montgomery on March 25, 1965:
"I know you are asking today, 'How long will it take?'" he told the assembled crowd. "Somebody's asking, 'How long will prejudice blind the visions of men, darken their understanding, and drive bright-eyed wisdom from her sacred throne?
"Somebody's asking, 'When will wounded justice, lying prostrate on the streets of Selma and Birmingham and communities all over the South, be lifted from this dust of shame to reign supreme among the children of men?" Somebody's asking, 'When will the radiant star of hope be plunged against the nocturnal bosom of this lonely night, plucked from weary souls with chains of fear and the manacles of death? How long will justice be crucified, and truth bear it?
"I come to say to you this afternoon, however difficult the moment, however frustrating the hour, it will not be long, because 'truth crushed to earth will rise again.' How long? Not long, because 'no lie can live forever.' How long? Not long, because 'you shall reap what you sow.'
"How long? Not long, because the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice."