After the assassination attempt against Donald Trump, political friends and foes alike joined together to say: “This is not who we are, America.”
Bernice King could not in good conscience join the chorus. Few people know the violence sewn into America’s history more intimately than the daughter of Martin Luther King Jr.
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Americans of all backgrounds rallied together, after the Donald Trump assassination attempt, to insist that political violence is not a part of the national character. But the country’s racial history suggests more courage is needed to deliver on that promise.
“This is not who we should be,” she amended.
In the last chapter of his life, Dr. King moved beyond civil rights to focus on the “triple evils” of racism, poverty, and militarism. It was an unpopular message. But his words still exhort the world to see any attempt to deny all citizens dignity and equality as an act of political violence.
In one of his seminal speeches, Dr. King laid out a vision of two Americas. Choosing the better of them starts with being more honest about the country’s history and present, so that we might find the solutions that promise a brighter future.
I was at home on the couch when the words “Donald Trump” and “assassination attempt” ran across my phone. Between this polarizing political climate and an already unpredictable campaign season, I didn’t know what to believe.
What happened in the hours and days to follow was both shocking and predictable. On one hand, Mr. Trump’s political friends and foes alike joined together – a rarity – in offering a singular message: “This is not who we are, America.”
Yet the message reflected a view of American history that, while calming, ignores the violence that has been sewn into the country’s identity from the beginning. Chattel slavery, reconstructionist violence, and Jim Crow are just the beginnings of a different tale of what America has been.
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Americans of all backgrounds rallied together, after the Donald Trump assassination attempt, to insist that political violence is not a part of the national character. But the country’s racial history suggests more courage is needed to deliver on that promise.
Few people know that history more intimately than Bernice King, heiress to a family’s proud civil rights legacy.
“‘This is not who we are, America’ just doesn’t ring true to me,” she wrote on X. She continued:
My father was assassinated in this nation, gunned down on a motel balcony in Memphis, where he was engaged as a nonviolent warrior for nondiscriminatory, humane wages.
He was killed for working to end racism, poverty, and militarism, which he called the Triple Evils, and which are all still perpetuated both in policy and practice by the United States of America.
This is not who we should be.
With that honest statement about our culture of violence, political and otherwise, we can rise up to eradicate injustice and violence, and reform our rhetoric.
Crucially, Ms. King’s comments expanded on what defines political violence.
This point was the essential message of the last chapter of Martin Luther King’s life. The year before he was assassinated, Dr. King moved beyond civil rights to focus on the “triple evils.” It was an unpopular message.
“I wish that I could say that this is just a passing phase in the cycles of our nation’s life,” he said to the National Conference on New Politics in August 1967. “But I suspect that we are now experiencing the coming to the surface of a triple-prong sickness that has been lurking within our body politic from its very beginning. … Not only is this our nation’s dilemma, it is the plague of western civilization.”
By this definition, political violence lies in every attempt to deny all citizens dignity and equality. The pushback against the Black Lives Matter movement? The rolling back of diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) efforts? The militarization of police departments? The war in Gaza? A recent Supreme Court ruling that allows cities to punish homeless people for sleeping in public places? In defining political violence, Dr. King would likely exhort us to consider the motives behind such actions.
Last week, the Martin Luther King Jr. Center for Nonviolent Social Change hosted “Be Love Day.” Aside from emphasizing the teachings of Dr. King, the event encouraged voter registration and promoted anti-bullying ahead of the upcoming school year.
“Be love” is a theme sorely needed, underlining one of Dr. King’s most urgent messages, delivered at Stanford University in 1967.
Somewhere, we must come to see that social progress never rolls in on the wheels of inevitability. It comes through the tireless efforts and the persistent work of dedicated individuals, and without this hard work, time itself becomes an ally of the primitive forces of social stagnation. And so we must have time, and we must realize that the time is always right to do right.
For generations, the message of the King family has been: This is not who we should be. At Stanford, Dr. King laid out a vision of two Americas. Choosing the better of them starts with being more honest about the country’s history and present, so that we might find the solutions that promise a brighter future.