Martin Luther King Jr. – Carta da Prisão de Birmingham – 16 de abril de 1963

 

Birmingham, no estado americano do Alabama, era um lugar horrível para um negro viver. Tudo lá era segregado - negros não podiam nem sonhar em entrar nos parques, nas lojas, nos bares, nas escolas, nos hospitais e nas igrejas dos brancos. Os políticos bradavam frases racistas. Até o governador se enchia de orgulho para dizer: "Segregação já, segregação amanhã, segregação sempre!" Aí, em 1963, um pastor protestante chamado Martin Luther King Jr. chegou à cidade. Na época, ele já tinha alguma fama, graças a um boicote contra as empresas de ônibus que insistiam em tratar negros de modo diferente dos brancos. Mas ele nunca tinha enfrentado um inimigo tão violento, tão raivoso. King iniciou um boicote dos negros contra os comerciantes racistas e organizou protestos pacíficos nas ruas. Com base em uma lei absurda, botaram o cara na cadeia. Lá, dentro da cela, ele pegou um jornal para ler. E, no jornal, havia uma mensagem para ele. Oito clérigos do Alabama, todos brancos, criticavam as manifestações, chamavam King de extremista, anarquista, pediam respeito à lei. Em resposta aos clérigos, naquela cela escura, em confi namento solitário, King escreveu um dos textos mais poderosos da história, nas margens brancas do jornal, porque os carceireiros se negaram a lhe dar uma folha. Se você quer viver em paz com sua consciência, se quer ser um defensor da justiça, se quer fazer o bem e melhorar o mundo, leia a Carta da Prisão de Birmingham - a receita disso tudo está lá, expressa com clareza e sem margem para dúvidas. Veja só: "Há dois tipos de lei: as justas e as injustas", escreveu ele. "É nossa obrigação nãoapenas legal mas moral obedecer as leis justas. Por outro lado, temos a responsabilidade moral de desobedecer leis injustas." Mas ele não defende o mero desrespeito à lei, cometido de maneira envergonhada, por debaixo do pano. "Isso levaria à anarquia. Aquele que quebra a lei deve fazê-lo abertamente, amorosamente, e disposto a aceitar a pena." Ou seja, ele prega a desobediência civil, mas desde que se aceitem as conseqüências dos seus atos, como ele mesmo estava fazendo naquela cela escura e suja. E desde que seja sem violência, sem machucar ninguém, sem destruir nada - é assim que se estabelece a superioridade moral de quem está com a razão. King vai além. "Estou quase chegando à lamentável conclusão de que o maior obstáculo do negro no seu avanço em direção à liberdade não é a Ku Klux Klan, mas o branco moderado, que dá mais importância à ordem do que à justiça." Mais nociva que a minoria de homens maus que criam a injustiça é a maioria de homens "bons" que não fazem nada para denunciá-la. Mais perigoso que os policiais que torturam e matam, que os bandidos e os mentirosos psicopatas, os destruidores da natureza, os ladrões, os malandros, é o homem de bem que assiste a tudo isso adormecido e ri de quem tenta mudar alguma coisa. No dia 4 de abril de 1968, há 40 anos, uma bala de revólver acertou King na sacada de um hotel, atravessou sua bochecha e rompeu sua espinha antes de se alojar no seu ombro. King morreu aos 39 anos. Será que não aprendemos nada com ele?

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Denis Russo Burgierman é jornalista e acredita na força transformadora da não-violência.mundolivre@abril.com.br

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http://planetasustentavel.abril.com.br/noticia/atitude/conteudo_274795.shtml

Voce pode traduzir em www.altavista.com.br, no link Tradução BabelFish. Segue a carta abaixo:

Letter From a Birmingham Jail

Martin Luther King Jr. looks through the bars of a Burmingham, Alabama, cell in April 1963. (National Archives) 

By Michael Jay Friedman

Before Martin Luther King, Jr. brought his nonviolent civil rights campaign to Birmingham, Alabama in the spring of 1963, he called that city the "belly of the beast." It was there that Public Safety Commissioner Eugene "Bull" Connor would turn on the fire hoses and turn loose the police dogs, creating the televised images that helped galvanize the nation's conscience, and propel Washington toward adopt-ing the century's most significant civil rights legislation.

Three weeks before these climatic events, Dr. King was a prisoner in the Birming-ham City Jail, having defied a court injunction that forbade the marches, sit-ins and other peaceful protests that his Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC) employed to challenge segregation in the city. A number of local white clergymen, themselves friendly to King's long-term objectives, disagreed with his short-term tactics. They published a public statement calling the King-led demonstrations "unwise and untimely," and they opposed King's civil disobedience "however technically peaceful those actions may be."

The Letter from Birmingham Jail was King's reply. Lacking for writing paper, he scribbled in the margins of a newspaper page-wrapped around the pest control ads and garden club news, recalled the aide who smuggled out the newsprint. Yet those margins held an powerful condemnation of inaction in the face of injustice, and they displayed an extraordinary faith that in America the cause of freedom necessarily would prevail.

King answered the white pastors' charges in timeless language of universal applicability. Accused of being an outsider fomenting tension in Birmingham, King replied that in the face of oppression there were no 'outsiders': "Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly." As for the tension, "there is a type of constructive, nonviolent tension which is necessary for growth." For those who do not themselves suffer from the disease of segregation, King added, no direct action ever seems well timed; "'Wait' has almost always meant 'Never.'" No man, he continued, can "set the timetable for another man's freedom."

Acknowledging that he and his followers had indeed violated the injunction, King cited Saint Augustine's distinction between just and unjust laws, and asserted that one who breaks an unjust law in order to arouse the consciousness of his community "is in reality expressing the highest respect for law," provided he acts "openly, lovingly and with a willingness to accept the penalty." King, writing from his cell, thus led by example.

Even from that cell, King believed that in America, freedom ultimately would-indeed, must prevail. "I have no fear about the outcome of our struggle.... We will reach the goal of freedom... because the goal of America is freedom.... Our destiny is tied up with America's destiny.... the sacred heritage of our nation and the eternal will of God are embodied in our echoing demands."

"One day," King wrote, "the South will recognize its real heroes." And so it has. So have scores of millions of Americans, and uncountable freedom-loving people everywhere.

Permission granted by Intellectual Properties Management, Atlanta, Georgia, as manager of the King Estate. 

Further Dr. King's legacy by making community service a way of life. Please visit the King Center's website to find a service opportunity in your neighborhood: www.thekingcenter.org

-- Michael Jay Friedman

The Following is the text of Dr. King's Letter:

Letter From a Birmingham JailApril 16, 1963

MY DEAR FELLOW CLERGYMEN: 

While confined here in the Birmingham City Jail, I came across your recent statement calling our present activities "unwise and untimely." Seldom, if ever, do I pause to answer criticism of my work and ideas. If I sought to answer all the criticisms that cross my desk, my secretaries would be engaged in little else in the course of the day, and I would have no time for constructive work. But since I feel that you are men of genuine goodwill and your criticisms are sincerely set forth, I would like to answer your statement in what I hope will be patient and reasonable terms. 

I think I should give the reason for my being in Birmingham, since you have been influenced by the argument of "outsiders coming in." I have the honor of serving as president of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference, an organization operating in every Southern state, with headquarters in Atlanta, Georgia. We have some eighty-five affiliate organizations all across the South -- one being the Alabama Christian Movement for Human Rights. Whenever necessary and possible we share staff, educational and financial resources with our affiliates. Several months ago our local affiliate here in Birmingham invited us to be on call to engage in a nonviolent direct action program if such were deemed necessary. We readily consented and when the hour came we lived up to our promises. So I am here, along with several members of my staff, because I have basic organizational ties here. 

Beyond this, I am in Birmingham because injustice is here. Just as the eighth century prophets left their little villages and carried their "thus saith the Lord" far beyond the boundaries of their home towns; and just as the Apostle Paul left his little village of Tarsus and carried the gospel of Jesus Christ to practically every hamlet and city of the Graeco-Roman world, I too am compelled to carry the gospel of freedom beyond my particular home town. Like Paul, I must constantly respond to the Macedonian call for aid. 

Moreover, I am cognizant of the interrelatedness of all communities and states. I cannot sit idly by in Atlanta and not be concerned about what happens in Birmingham. Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny. Whatever affects one directly affects all indirectly. Never again can we afford to live with the narrow, provincial "outside agitator" idea. Anyone who lives inside the United States can never be considered an outsider anywhere in this country. 

You deplore the demonstrations that are presently taking place in Birmingham. But I am sorry that your statement did not express a similar concern for the conditions that brought the demonstrations into being. I am sure that each of you would want to go beyond the superficial social analyst who looks merely at effects, and does not grapple with underlying causes. I would not hesitate to say that it is unfortunate that so-called demonstrations are taking place in Birmingham at this time, but I would say in more emphatic terms that it is even more unfortunate that the white power structure of this city left the Negro community with no other alternative. 

In any nonviolent campaign there are four basic steps: 1) Collection of the facts to determine whether injustices are alive. 2) Negotiation. 3) Self-purification and 4) Direct action. We have gone through all of these steps in Birmingham. There can be no gainsaying of the fact that racial injustice engulfs this community. 

Birmingham is probably the most thoroughly segregated city in the United States. Its ugly record of police brutality is known in every section of this country. Its unjust treatment of Negroes in the courts is a notorious reality. There have been more unsolved bombings of Negro homes and churches in Birmingham than any city in this nation. These are the hard, brutal and unbelievable facts. On the basis of these conditions, Negro leaders sought to negotiate with the city fathers. But the political leaders consistently refused to engage in good faith negotiation. 

Then came the opportunity last September to talk with some of the leaders of the economic community. In these negotiating sessions certain promises were made by the merchants -- such as the promise to remove the humiliating racial signs from the stores. On the basis of these promises Rev. Shuttlesworth and the leaders of the Alabama Christian Movement for Human Rights agreed to call a moratorium on any type of demonstrations. As the weeks and months unfolded we realized that we were the victims of a broken promise. The signs remained. Like so many experiences of the past we were confronted with blasted hopes, and the dark shadow of a deep disappointment settled upon us. So we had no alternative except that of preparing for direct action, whereby we would present our very bodies as a means of laying our case before the conscience of the local and national community. We were not unmindful of the difficulties involved. So we decided to go through a process of self-purification. We started having workshops on nonviolence and repeatedly asked ourselves the questions: "Are you able to accept blows without retaliating?" "Are you able to endure the ordeals of jail?" We decided to set our direct-action program around the Easter season, realizing that with the exception of Christmas, this was the largest shopping period of the year. Knowing that a strong economic withdrawal program would be the by-product of direct action, we felt that this was the best time to bring pressure on the merchants for the needed changes. Then it occurred to us that the March election was ahead and so we speedily decided to postpone action until after election day. When we discovered that Mr. Connor was in the run-off, we decided again to postpone action so that the demonstrations could not be used to cloud the issues. At this time we agreed to begin our nonviolent witness the day after the run-off.

This reveals that we did not move irresponsibly into direct action. We too wanted to see Mr. Connor defeated; so we went through postponement after postponement to aid in this community need. After this we felt that direct action could be delayed no longer. 

You may well ask: "Why direct action? Why sit-ins, marches, etc.? Isn't negotiation a better path?" You are exactly right in your call for negotiation. Indeed, this is the purpose of direct action. Nonviolent direct action seeks to create such a crisis and establish such creative tension that a community that has constantly refused to negotiate is forced to confront the issue. It seeks so to dramatize the issue that it can no longer be ignored. I just referred to the creation of tension as a part of the work of the nonviolent resister. This may sound rather shocking. But I must confess that I am not afraid of the word tension. I have earnestly worked and preached against violent tension, but there is a type of constructive nonviolent tension that is necessary for growth. Just as Socrates felt that it was necessary to create a tension in the mind so that individuals could rise from the bondage of myths and half-truths to the unfettered realm of creative analysis and objective appraisal, we must see the need of having nonviolent gadflies to create the kind of tension in society that will help men to rise from the dark depths of prejudice and racism to the majestic heights of understanding and brotherhood. So the purpose of the direct action is to create a situation so crisis-packed that it will inevitably open the door to negotiation. We, therefore, concur with you in your call for negotiation. Too long has our beloved Southland been bogged down in the tragic attempt to live in monologue rather than dialogue. 

One of the basic points in your statement is that our acts are untimely. Some have asked, "Why didn't you give the new administration time to act?" The only answer that I can give to this inquiry is that the new Birmingham administration must be prodded about as much as the outgoing one before it acts. We will be sadly mistaken if we feel that the election of Mr. Boutwell will bring the millennium to Birmingham. While Mr. Boutwell is much more articulate and gentle than Mr. Connor, they are both segregationists, dedicated to the task of maintaining the status quo. The hope I see in Mr. Boutwell is that he will be reasonable enough to see the futility of massive resistance to desegregation. But he will not see this without pressure from the devotees of civil rights. My friends, I must say to you that we have not made a single gain in civil rights without determined legal and nonviolent pressure. History is the long and tragic story of the fact that privileged groups seldom give up their privileges voluntarily. Individuals may see the moral light and voluntarily give up their unjust posture; but as Reinhold Niebuhr has reminded us, groups are more immoral than individuals. 

We know through painful experience that freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed. Frankly, I have never yet engaged in a direct action movement that was "well timed," according to the timetable of those who have not suffered unduly from the disease of segregation. For years now I have heard the words [sic]"Wait!" It rings in the ear of every Negro with a piercing familiarity. This "Wait" has almost always meant "Never." We must come to see with the distinguished jurist of yesterday that "justice too long delayed is justice denied." 

We have waited for more than three hundred and forty years for our constitutional and God-given rights. The nations of Asia and Africa are moving with jet-like speed toward the goal of political independence, and we still creep at horse and buggy pace toward the gaining of a cup of coffee at a lunch counter. I guess it is easy for those who have never felt the stinging darts of segregation to say, "Wait." But when you have seen vicious mobs lynch your mothers and fathers at will and drown your sisters and brothers at whim; when you have seen hate filled policemen curse, kick, brutalize and even kill your black brothers and sisters with impunity; when you see the vast majority of your twenty million Negro brothers smothering in an airtight cage of poverty in the midst of an affluent society; when you suddenly find your tongue twisted and your speech stammering as you seek to explain to your six-year-old daughter why she can't go to the public amusement park that has just been advertised on television, and see tears welling up in her eyes when she is told that Funtown is closed to colored children, and see the depressing clouds of inferiority begin to form in her little mental sky, and see her begin to distort her little personality by unconsciously developing a bitterness toward white people; when you have to concoct an answer for a five-year-old son asking in agonizing pathos: "Daddy, why do white people treat colored people so mean?"; when you take a cross-country drive and find it necessary to sleep night after night in the uncomfortable corners of your automobile because no motel will accept you; when you are humiliated day in and day out by nagging signs reading "white" and "colored"; when your first name becomes "nigger," your middle name becomes "boy" (however old you are) and your last name becomes "John," and your wife and mother are never given the respected title "Mrs."; when you are harried by day and haunted by night by the fact that you are a Negro, living constantly at tip-toe stance never quite knowing what to expect next, and plagued with inner fears and outer resentments; when you are forever fighting a degenerating sense of "nobodiness"; then you will understand why we find it difficult to wait. There comes a time when the cup of endurance runs over, and men are no longer willing to be plunged into an abyss of despair. I hope, sirs, you can understand our legitimate and unavoidable impatience. 

You express a great deal of anxiety over our willingness to break laws. This is certainly a legitimate concern. Since we so diligently urge people to obey the Supreme Court's decision of 1954 outlawing segregation in the public schools, it is rather strange and paradoxical to find us consciously breaking laws. One may well ask: "How can you advocate breaking some laws and obeying others?" The answer is found in the fact that there are two types of laws: There are just and there are unjust laws. I would agree with Saint Augustine that "An unjust law is no law at all." 

Now, what is the difference between the two? How does one determine when a law is just or unjust? A just law is a man-made code that squares with the moral law or the law of God. An unjust law is a code that is out of harmony with the moral law. To put it in the terms of Saint Thomas Aquinas, an unjust law is a human law that is not rooted in eternal and natural law. Any law that uplifts human personality is just. Any law that degrades human personality is unjust. All segregation statutes are unjust because segregation distorts the soul and damages the personality. It gives the segregator a false sense of superiority, and the segregated a false sense of inferiority. To use the words of Martin Buber, the Jewish philosopher, segregation substitutes an "I-it" relationship for an "I-thou" relationship, and ends up relegating persons to the status of things. So segregation is not only politically, economically and sociologically unsound, but it is morally wrong and sinful. Paul Tillich has said that sin is separation. Isn't segregation an existential expression of man's tragic separation, an expression of his awful estrangement, his terrible sinfulness? So I can urge men to disobey segregation ordinances because they are morally wrong. 

Let us turn to a more concrete example of just and unjust laws. An unjust law is a code that a majority inflicts on a minority that is not binding on itself. This is difference made legal. On the other hand a just law is a code that a majority compels a minority to follow that it is willing to follow itself. This is sameness made legal. 

Let me give another explanation. An unjust law is a code inflicted upon a minority which that minority had no part in enacting or creating because they did not have the unhampered right to vote. Who can say that the legislature of Alabama which set up the segregation laws was democratically elected? Throughout the state of Alabama all types of conniving methods are used to prevent Negroes from becoming registered voters and there are some counties without a single Negro registered to vote despite the fact that the Negro constitutes a majority of the population. Can any law set up in such a state be considered democratically structured? 

These are just a few examples of unjust and just laws. There are some instances when a law is just on its face and unjust in its application. For instance, I was arrested Friday on a charge of parading without a permit. Now there is nothing wrong with an ordinance which requires a permit for a parade, but when the ordinance is used to preserve segregation and to deny citizens the First-Amendment privilege of peaceful assembly and peaceful protest, then it becomes unjust. 

I hope you can see the distinction I am trying to point out. In no sense do I advocate evading or defying the law as the rabid segregationist would do. This would lead to anarchy. One who breaks an unjust law must do it openly, lovingly, (not hatefully as the white mothers did in New Orleans when they were seen on television screaming "nigger, nigger, nigger") and with a willingness to accept the penalty. I submit that an individual who breaks a law that conscience tells him is unjust, and willingly accepts the penalty by staying in jail to arouse the conscience of the community over its injustice, is in reality expressing the very highest respect for law. 

Of course, there is nothing new about this kind of civil disobedience. It was seen sublimely in the refusal of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego to obey the laws of Nebuchadnezzar because a higher moral law was involved. It was practiced superbly by the early Christians who were willing to face hungry lions and the excruciating pain of chopping blocks, before submitting to certain unjust laws of the Roman empire. To a degree academic freedom is a reality today because Socrates practiced civil disobedience. 

We can never forget that everything Hitler did in Germany was "legal" and everything the Hungarian freedom fighters did in Hungary was "illegal." It was "illegal" to aid and comfort a Jew in Hitler's Germany. But I am sure that if I had lived in Germany during that time I would have aided and comforted my Jewish brothers even though it was illegal. If I lived in a Communist country today where certain principles dear to the Christian faith are suppressed, I believe I would openly advocate disobeying these anti-religious laws. I must make two honest confessions to you, my Christian and Jewish brothers. First, I must confess that over the last few years I have been gravely disappointed with the white moderate. I have almost reached the regrettable conclusion that the Negro's great stumbling block in the stride toward freedom is not the White Citizen's Counciler or the Ku Klux Klanner, but the white moderate who is more devoted to "order" than to justice; who prefers a negative peace which is the absence of tension to a positive peace which is the presence of justice; who constantly says "I agree with you in the goal you seek, but I can't agree with your methods of direct action;" who paternalistically feels he can set the timetable for another man's freedom; who lives by the myth of time and who constantly advises the Negro to wait until a "more convenient season." Shallow understanding from people of goodwill is more frustrating than absolute misunderstanding from people of ill will. Lukewarm acceptance is much more bewildering than outright rejection. 

I had hoped that the white moderate would understand that law and order exist for the purpose of establishing justice, and that when they fail to do this they become dangerously structured dams that block the flow of social progress. I had hoped that the white moderate would understand that the present tension in the South is merely a necessary phase of the transition from an obnoxious negative peace, where the Negro passively accepted his unjust plight, to a substance-filled positive peace, where all men will respect the dignity and worth of human personality. Actually, we who engage in nonviolent direct action are not the creators of tension. We merely bring to the surface the hidden tension that is already alive. We bring it out in the open where it can be seen and dealt with. Like a boil that can never be cured as long as it is covered up but must be opened with all its pus-flowing ugliness to the natural medicines of air and light, injustice must likewise be exposed, with all of the tension its exposing creates, to the light of human conscience and the air of national opinion before it can be cured. 

In your statement you asserted that our actions, even though peaceful, must be condemned because they precipitate violence. But can this assertion be logically made? Isn't this like condemning the robbed man because his possession of money precipitated the evil act of robbery? Isn't this like condemning Socrates because his unswerving commitment to truth and his philosophical delvings precipitated the misguided popular mind to make him drink the hemlock? Isn't this like condemning Jesus because His unique God-Consciousness and never-ceasing devotion to His will precipitated the evil act of crucifixion? We must come to see, as the federal courts have consistently affirmed, that it is immoral to urge an individual to withdraw his efforts to gain his basic constitutional rights because the quest precipitates violence. Society must protect the robbed and punish the robber. 

I had also hoped that the white moderate would reject the myth of time. I received a letter this morning from a white brother in Texas which said: "All Christians know that the colored people will receive equal rights eventually, but it is possible that you are in too great of a religious hurry. It has taken Christianity almost 2000 years to accomplish what it has. The teachings of Christ take time to come to earth." All that is said here grows out of a tragic misconception of time. It is the the strangely irrational notion that there is something in the very flow of time that will inevitably cure all ills. Actually time is neutral. It can be used either destructively or constructively. I am coming to feel that the people of ill-will have used time much more effectively than the people of good will. We will have to repent in this generation not merely for the vitriolic words and actions of the bad people, but for the appalling silence of the good people. We must come to see that human progress never rolls in on wheels of inevitability. It comes through the tireless efforts and persistent work of men willing to be co-workers with God, and without this hard work time itself becomes an ally of the forces of social stagnation. We must use time creatively, and forever realize that the time is always ripe to do right. Now is the time to make real the promise of democracy, and transform our pending national elegy into a creative psalm of brotherhood. Now is the time to lift our national policy from the quicksand of racial injustice to the solid rock of human dignity. 

You spoke of our activity in Birmingham as extreme. At first I was rather disappointed that fellow clergymen would see my nonviolent efforts as those of the extremist. I started thinking about the fact that I stand in the middle of two opposing forces in the Negro community. One is a force of complacency made up of Negroes who, as a result of long years of oppression, have been so completely drained of self-respect and a sense of "somebodiness" that they have adjusted to segregation, and, of a few Negroes in the middle class who, because of a degree of academic and economic security, and because at points they profit by segregation, have unconsciously become insensitive to the problems of the masses. The other force is one of bitterness, and hatred comes perilously close to advocating violence. It is expressed in the various black nationalist groups that are springing up over the nation, the largest and best-known being Elijah Muhammad's Muslim movement. This movement is nourished by the contemporary frustration over the continued existence of racial discrimination. It is made up of people who have lost faith in America, who have absolutely repudiated Christianity, and who have concluded that the white man is an incurable "devil." I have tried to stand between these two forces saying that we need not follow the "do-nothingism" of the complacent or the hatred and despair of the black nationalist. There is the more excellent way of love and nonviolent protest. I'm grateful to God that, through the Negro church, the dimension of nonviolence entered our struggle. If this philosophy had not emerged, I am convinced that by now many streets of the South would be flowing with floods of blood. And I am further convinced that if our white brothers dismiss as "rabble rousers" and "outside agitators" those of us who are working through the channels of nonviolent direct action and refuse to support our nonviolent efforts, millions of Negroes, out of frustration and despair, will seek solace and security in black-nationalist ideologies, a development that will lead inevitably to a frightening racial nightmare. 

Oppressed people cannot remain oppressed forever. The urge for freedom will eventually come. This is what happened to the American Negro. Something within has reminded him of his birthright of freedom; something without has reminded him that he can gain it. Consciously and unconsciously, he has been swept in by what the Germans call the Zeitgeist, and with his black brothers of Africa, and his brown and yellow brothers of Asia, South America and the Caribbean, he is moving with a sense of cosmic urgency toward the promised land of racial justice. Recognizing this vital urge that has engulfed the Negro community, one should readily understand public demonstrations. The Negro has many pent up resentments and latent frustrations. He has to get them out. So let him march sometime; let him have his prayer pilgrimages to the city hall; understand why he must have sit-ins and freedom rides. If his repressed emotions do not come out in these nonviolent ways, they will come out in ominous expressions of violence. This is not a threat; it is a fact of history. So I have not said to my people "get rid of your discontent." But I have tried to say that this normal and healthy discontent can be channelized through the creative outlet of nonviolent direct action. Now this approach is being dismissed as extremist. I must admit that I was initially disappointed in being so categorized. 

But as I continued to think about the matter I gradually gained a bit of satisfaction from being considered an extremist. Was not Jesus an extremist for love -- "Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, pray for them that despitefully use you." Was not Amos an extremist for justice -- "Let justice roll down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream." Was not Paul an extremist for the gospel of Jesus Christ -- "I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus." Was not Martin Luther an extremist -- "Here I stand; I can do none other so help me God." Was not John Bunyan an extremist -- "I will stay in jail to the end of my days before I make a butchery of my conscience." Was not Abraham Lincoln an extremist -- "This nation cannot survive half slave and half free." Was not Thomas Jefferson an extremist -- "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal." So the question is not whether we will be extremist but what kind of extremist will we be. Will we be extremists for hate or will we be extremists for love? Will we be extremists for the preservation of injustice--or will we be extremists for the cause of justice? In that dramatic scene on Calvary's hill, three men were crucified. We must not forget that all three were crucified for the same crime--the crime of extremism. Two were extremists for immorality, and thusly fell below their environment. The other, Jesus Christ, was an extremist for love, truth and goodness, and thereby rose above his environment. So, after all, maybe the South, the nation and the world are in dire need of creative extremists. 

I had hoped that the white moderate would see this. Maybe I was too optimistic. Maybe I expected too much. I guess I should have realized that few members of a race that has oppressed another race can understand or appreciate the deep groans and passionate yearnings of those that have been oppressed and still fewer have the vision to see that injustice must be rooted out by strong, persistent and determined action. I am thankful, however, that some of our white brothers have grasped the meaning of this social revolution and committed themselves to it. They are still all too small in quantity, but they are big in quality. Some like Ralph McGill, Lillian Smith, Harry Golden and James Dabbs have written about our struggle in eloquent, prophetic and understanding terms. Others have marched with us down nameless streets of the South. They have languished in filthy roach-infested jails, suffering the abuse and brutality of angry policemen who see them as "dirty nigger lovers." They, unlike so many of their moderate brothers and sisters, have recognized the urgency of the moment and sensed the need for powerful "action" antidotes to combat the disease of segregation. 

Let me rush on to mention my other disappointment. I have been so greatly disappointed with the white church and its leadership. Of course, there are some notable exceptions. I am not unmindful of the fact that each of you has taken some significant stands on this issue. I commend you, Rev. Stallings, for your Christian stand on this past Sunday, in welcoming Negroes to your worship service on a non-segregated basis. I commend the Catholic leaders of this state for integrating Spring Hill College several years ago. 

But despite these notable exceptions I must honestly reiterate that I have been disappointed with the church. I do not say that as one of those negative critics who can always find something wrong with the church. I say it as a minister of the gospel, who loves the church; who was nurtured in its bosom; who has been sustained by its spiritual blessings and who will remain true to it as long as the cord of life shall lengthen. 

I had the strange feeling when I was suddenly catapulted into the leadership of the bus protest in Montgomery several years ago, that we would have the support of the white church. I felt that the white ministers, priests and rabbis of the South would be some of our strongest allies. Instead, some have been outright opponents, refusing to understand the freedom movement and misrepresenting its leaders; all too many others have been more cautious than courageous and have remained silent behind the anesthetizing security of the stained-glass windows. 

In spite of my shattered dreams of the past, I came to Birmingham with the hope that the white religious leadership of this community would see the justice of our cause, and with deep moral concern, serve as the channel through which our just grievances would get to the power structure. I had hoped that each of you would understand. But again I have been disappointed. I have heard numerous religious leaders of the South call upon their worshippers to comply with a desegregation decision because it is the law, but I have longed to hear white ministers say, "follow this decree because integration is morally right and the Negro is your brother." In the midst of blatant injustices inflicted upon the Negro, I have watched white churches stand on the sideline and merely mouth pious irrelevancies and sanctimonious trivialities. In the midst of a mighty struggle to rid our nation of racial and economic injustice, I have heard so many ministers say, "Those are social issues with which the gospel has no real concern." And I have watched so many churches commit themselves to a completely other-worldly religion which made a strange distinction between body and soul, the sacred and the secular. 

So here we are moving toward the exit of the twentieth century with a religious community largely adjusted to the status quo, standing as a tail-light behind other community agencies rather than a headlight leading men to higher levels of justice. 

I have traveled the length and breadth of Alabama, Mississippi and all the other southern states. On sweltering summer days and crisp autumn mornings I have looked at her beautiful churches with their lofty spires pointing heavenward. I have beheld the impressive outlay of her massive religious education buildings. Over and over again I have found myself asking: "What kind of people worship here? Who is their God? Where were their voices when the lips of Governor Barnett dripped with words of interposition and nullification? Where were they when Governor Wallace gave the clarion call for defiance and hatred? Where were their voices of support when tired, bruised and weary Negro men and women decided to rise from the dark dungeons of complacency to the bright hills of creative protest?" 

Yes, these questions are still in my mind. In deep disappointment, I have wept over the laxity of the church. But be assured that my tears have been tears of love. There can be no deep disappointment where there is not deep love. Yes, I love the church; I love her sacred walls. How could I do otherwise? I am in the rather unique position of being the son, the grandson and the great-grandson of preachers. Yes, I see the church as the body of Christ. But, oh! How we have blemished and scarred that body through social neglect and fear of being nonconformists. 

There was a time when the church was very powerful. It was during that period when the early Christians rejoiced when they were deemed worthy to suffer for what they believed. In those days the church was not merely a thermometer that recorded the ideas and principles of popular opinion; it was a thermostat that transformed the mores of society. Whenever the early Christians entered a town the power structure got disturbed and immediately sought to convict them for being "disturbers of the peace" and "outside agitators." But they went on with the conviction that they were "a colony of heaven," and had to obey God rather than man. They were small in number but big in commitment. They were too God-intoxicated to be "astronomically intimidated." They brought an end to such ancient evils as infanticide and gladiatorial contest. 

Things are different now. The contemporary church is often a weak, ineffectual voice with an uncertain sound. It is so often the arch supporter of the status quo. Far from being disturbed by the presence of the church, the power structure of the average community is consoled by the church's silent and often vocal sanction of things as they are. 

But the judgement of God is upon the church as never before. If the church of today does not recapture the sacrificial spirit of the early church, it will lose its authentic ring, forfeit the loyalty of millions, and be dismissed as an irrelevant social club with no meaning for the twentieth century. I am meeting young people every day whose disappointment with the church has risen to outright disgust. 

Maybe again, I have been too optimistic. Is organized religion too inextricably bound to status-quo to save our nation and the world? Maybe I must turn my faith to the inner spiritual church, the church within the church, as the true ecclesia and the hope of the world. But again I am thankful to God that some noble souls from the ranks of organized religion have broken loose from the paralyzing chains of conformity and joined us as active partners in the struggle for freedom. They have left their secure congregations and walked the streets of Albany, Georgia, with us. They have gone through the highways of the South on tortuous rides for freedom. Yes, they have gone to jail with us. Some have been kicked out of their churches, and lost support of their bishops and fellow ministers. But they have gone with the faith that right defeated is stronger than evil triumphant. These men have been the leaven in the lump of the race. Their witness has been the spiritual salt that has preserved the true meaning of the Gospel in these troubled times. They have carved a tunnel of hope though the dark mountain of disappointment. 

I hope the church as a whole will meet the challenge of this decisive hour. But even if the church does not come to the aid of justice, I have no despair about the future. I have no fear about the outcome of our struggle in Birmingham, even if our motives are presently misunderstood. We will reach the goal of freedom in Birmingham and all over the nation, because the goal of America is freedom. Abused and scorned though we may be, our destiny is tied up with the destiny of America. Before the pilgrims landed at Plymouth we were here. Before the pen of Jefferson etched across the pages of history the majestic words of the Declaration of Independence, we were here. For more than two centuries our fore-parents labored in this country without wages; they made cotton king; and they built the homes of their masters in the midst of brutal injustice and shameful humiliation -- and yet out of a bottomless vitality they continued to thrive and develop. If the inexpressible cruelties of slavery could not stop us, the opposition we now face will surely fail. We will win our freedom because the sacred heritage of our nation and the eternal will of God are embodied in our echoing demands. 

I must close now. But before closing I am impelled to mention one other point in your statement that troubled me profoundly. You warmly commended the Birmingham police force for keeping "order" and "preventing violence." I don't believe you would have so warmly commended the police force if you had seen its angry violent dogs literally biting six unarmed, nonviolent Negroes. I don't believe you would so quickly commend the policemen if you would observe their ugly and inhuman treatment of Negroes here in the city jail; if you would watch them push and curse old Negro women and young Negro girls; if you would see them slap and kick old Negro men and young boys; if you will observe them, as they did on two occasions, refuse to give us food because we wanted to sing our grace together. I'm sorry that I can't join you in your praise for the police department. 

It is true that they have been rather disciplined in their public handling of the demonstrators. In this sense they have been rather publicly "nonviolent". But for what purpose? To preserve the evil system of segregation. Over the last few years I have consistently preached that nonviolence demands that the means we use must be as pure as the ends we seek. So I have tried to make it clear that it is wrong to use immoral means to attain moral ends. But now I must affirm that it is just as wrong, or even more so, to use moral means to preserve immoral ends. Maybe Mr. Connor and his policemen have been rather publicly nonviolent, as Chief Pritchett was in Albany, Georgia, but they have used the moral means of nonviolence to maintain the immoral end of flagrant racial injustice. T. S. Eliot has said that there is no greater treason than to do the right deed for the wrong reason. 

I wish you had commended the Negro sit-inners and demonstrators of Birmingham for their sublime courage, their willingness to suffer and their amazing discipline in the midst of the most inhuman provocation. One day the South will recognize its real heroes. They will be the James Merediths, courageously and with a majestic sense of purpose, facing jeering and hostile mobs and with the agonizing loneliness that characterizes the life of the pioneer. They will be old oppressed, battered Negro women, symbolized in a seventy-two year old woman of Montgomery, Alabama, who rose up with a sense of dignity and with her people decided not to ride the segregated buses, and responded to one who inquired about her tiredness with ungrammatical profundity; "my feet is tired, but my soul is rested." They will be the young high school and college students, young ministers of the gospel and a host of their elders courageously and nonviolently sitting-in at lunch counters and willingly going to jail for conscience's sake. One day the South will know that when these disinherited children of God sat down at lunch counters they were in reality standing up for the best in the American dream and the most sacred values in our Judaeo-Christian heritage, and thusly, carrying our whole nation back to those great wells of democracy which were dug deep by the founding fathers in the formulation of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence. 

Never before have I written a letter this long, (or should I say a book?). I'm afraid it is much too long to take your precious time. I can assure you that it would have been much shorter if I had been writing from a comfortable desk, but what else is there to do when you are alone for days in the dull monotony of a narrow jail cell other than write long letters, think strange thoughts, and pray long prayers? 

If I have said anything in this letter that is an overstatement of the truth and is indicative of an unreasonable impatience, I beg you to forgive me. If I have said anything in this letter that is an understatement of the truth and is indicative of my having a patience that makes me patient with anything less than brotherhood, I beg God to forgive me. 

I hope this letter finds you strong in the faith. I also hope that circumstances will soon make it possible for me to meet each of you, not as an integrationist or a civil rights leader, but as a fellow clergyman and a Christian brother. Let us all hope that the dark clouds of racial prejudice will soon pass away and the deep fog of misunderstanding will be lifted from our fear-drenched communities and in some not too distant tomorrow the radiant stars of love and brotherhood will shine over our great nation with all their scintillating beauty. 

Yours for the cause of Peace and Brotherhood, 

Martin Luther King, Jr.

 

olá amigos(as)

Para:	Victor
Assunto:	olá amigos(as)
Data:	3/Dez 19:28
Eu segurei muitas coisas em minhas mãos, e eu perdi tudo; mas tudo que que eu coloquei nas mãos de Deus eu ainda possuo." Martin Luther King . . jcardellis | 6 de Janeiro de 2009 | 25 utilizadores que gostaram deste vídeo, 1 utilizadores que não gostaram deste vídeo Mensagem de amizade Mais Boa Noite Recados e Mensagens para Orkut VÃO POR MIM, NEOBLANC...BRANCURA K PERDURA! AhaHAHAH

Maria

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Ni Benedetti se salva

17
Ago
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Publicado por Delfina Acosta

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Cuando le echo una mirada a mi correspondencia electrónica, me llama la atención la curiosa tendencia que van adquiriendo algunos mensajes.
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Quién no ha oído hablar de Jorge Luis Borges, aquel poeta que a los cincuenta y cinco años perdió -definitivamente- la vista, pero siguió escribiendo porque él había nacido para escribir y para sembrar asombro en los filósofos y en sus contemporáneos.
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Y eran sus versos para echarnos a pensar en los elementos del universo, para envolvernos con una capa de tristeza, a veces, pues sus versos hablaban de eso, de la tristeza de existir y del desamparo que siente el hombre ante la muerte.
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En una oportunidad recibí un correo donde se le adjudicaban a él alegres ocurrencias sobre el arte de vivir, de compartir lo bonito del amanecer y del atardecer y otras ñoñerías por el estilo.
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Caramba: Venir a escribir sobre tantas cosas, y usando signos de admiración, después de muerto, sobrepasa toda molestia y picazón. Y todo porque a alguien se le ocurrió adjudicar un ligero y superficial mensaje de amor, luz, paz y felicidad a Jorge Luis Borges.
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Hace una semana, aproximadamente, me llegó otro mensaje. Sorpresa: Las palabras pertenecían a Martin Luther King, quien abrió su célebre discurso en los escalones del monumento a Lincoln diciendo: “Yo tengo un sueño. Estoy feliz de unirme a ustedes hoy en lo que quedará en la historia como la mayor demostración por la libertad en la historia de nuestra nación. Hace años, un gran americano, bajo cuya sombra simbólica nos paramos, firmó la Proclama de Emancipación. Este importante decreto se convirtió en un gran faro de esperanza para millones de esclavos negros que fueron cocinados en las llamas de la injusticia. Llegó como un amanecer de alegría para terminar la larga noche del cautiverio”.
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Pues bien, esa frase “Yo tengo un sueño”, que fue el inicio de un histórico discurso y llama viva de la lucha de un hombre por su ideal, llegó a mi correo electrónico transformado en un “Yo tengo un sueño de amor, de paz, de cariño, y de deseos de mirar el mundo convertido en un planeta color rosa”. Y otros sueños que ya no recuerdo.
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Ay, don Martin. ¿Se da cuenta usted en qué han transformado su discurso? Y había que ver las ilustraciones de las frases a usted adjudicadas: un arco iris sonriente, unas flores dibujando un corazón de chocolate y un cielito lindo.
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Tampoco se salvó Mario Benedetti. El escritor uruguayo, autor de “La tregua”, también fue utilizado por estos amables usuarios que quieren cambiar el universo a través de términos bonitos, querendones, y libres de acentos ortográficos.
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Le “hicieron decir” cosas empalagosamente regadas con la expresión de un amor chocolatado.
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Cuánta cursilería y cuánta buena fe al mismo tiempo.
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Pero usted no tiene nada que ver con eso, don Mario. Digo, no son suyas aquellas palabras que incitan al amor y a la esperanza, a través de un lenguaje que es la lectura más acabada de la mediocridad.
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Pero todo sea hecho en el mundo para ser perdonado.
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¿Qué culpa tienen los ignorantes que solo quieren mejorar el mundo usando palabras querendonas, aunque se aprovechan del nombre de los muertos ilustres?

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Como James Brown tornou-se um militante negro

Cultura

 

Vermelho - 7 de Julho de 2010 - 12h51

Recém-lançado no Brasil, o livro O Dia em Que James Brown Salvou a Pátria (ed. Zahar), do jornalista James Sullivan, biografa o principal formulador do funk norte-americano a partir de um episódio crucial: a influência que o furacão Brown exerceu sobre a população negra dos Estados Unidos nos dias que se seguiram ao assassinato do reverendo Martin Luther King Jr. em 4 de abril de 1968.

Por Pedro Alexandre Sanches, em Opera Mundi

Pode parecer a princípio um mero mergulho no passado histórico da nação ao norte. Mas de modo indireto o livro, originalmente nomeado The Hardest Working Man (How James Brown Saved the Soul of America), tem muito a dizer e revelar para leitores do Brasil de 2010, que se acostumam, aos poucos e aos sobressaltos, a encarar questões sensíveis como cotas, políticas afirmativas, reparação, direitos civis, reivindicações de minorias.

A trama gira em torno de um tenso show do cantor e compositor sulista (de Barnwell, Carolina do Sul) na cidade nortista de Boston, um dia após a morte do militante pelos direitos civis Luther King, quando a população negra dos EUA estava conflagrada e ensaiava levantes por vezes violentos país adentro. Após nervosas negociações de gabinete, decidiu-se que a apresentação seria exibida ao vivo (e a seguir reprisada) pela TV local.

Para alguns, esse estratagema teria servido para manter a população em casa, fixada nos quadris do astro pop, garantindo assim a pacificação das ruas da cidade (os tradutores do título em português desmontam ambiguidades e compram essa hipótese, ainda que em 5 de julho de 1968 Brown pudesse no máximo ter salvo Boston, e não a pátria inteira).

Para outros, igualmente contemplados no livro, aquele ato significaria a cooptação do cantor pelo poder branco – integrantes do movimento negro deixariam ali de chamá-lo de “Irmão Número 1 do Soul”, trocando a alcunha para “Irmão Vendido Número 1”.

Sullivan documenta a grande viagem empreendida por Brown nos anos 1960, de artista restrito ao público negro a poderoso comunicador e proprietário de três estações de rádio – mas, também, de homem inconsciente de sua própria identidade negra a militante e coinventor do “black power”.

Mesmo para quem defende que o Brasil não é racista em 2010, há de doer a constatação crua da discriminação explícita e da segregação profunda vigentes nos EUA nos primeiros anos daquela década, menos de 50 anos atrás. “As celebridades negras costumavam obter mais destaque quando suas personalidades eram menos desafiadoras”, afirma o autor a certa altura.

A questão aparentemente superficial do alisamento capilar aparece em depoimento transcrito da autobiografia do aguerrido ativista negro Malcolm X (assassinado em fevereiro de 1965): “Esse foi meu primeiro passo para a autodegradação, quando enfrentava aquela dor toda, literalmente queimando minha carne, para ter cabelo de branco”.

Brown também alisava o cabelo, e só em julho de 1968 adotaria um corte natural (e curto), exigindo o mesmo dos integrantes da banda. “Queria que as pessoas soubessem que uma das coisas que eu mais prezava e à qual renunciei foi o meu cabelo. Era um verdadeiro atrativo para a minha carreira. Mas eu o cortei pelo movimento”, afirmaria mais tarde, segundo Sullivan.

O trauma do assassinato de Luther King motivaria Brown a lançar também sua canção mais engajada politicamente, Say It Loud – I’m Black and I’m Proud (1968). O autor contempla a hipótese de que fosse uma estratégia do artista para reagir à desconfiança gerada pelo show televisionado de Boston. Por outro lado, evidencia que musicalmente o funk de Brown foi se tornando maciço e corpulento na mesma medida em que os movimentos pelos direitos civis dos negros cresciam e tomavam as ruas norte-americanas.

O futuro “Poderoso-Chefão do Soul” progredia e se consolidava enquanto incendiava de orgulho e raça funks como I Got You (I Feel Good) (1964), Papa’s Got a Brand New Bag (1965), a protopolitizada Don’t Be a Dropout (1967), Cold Sweat (1967), Hot Pants (1970), Get Up (I Feel Like Being a) Sex Machine (1970)...

Nesse ínterim, tornou-se um militante incansável a favor da educação para a população negra – sempre demarcando que ele próprio não tivera esse privilégio. Prestou apoio ao governo de Richard Nixon (1969-1974), devido a compromissos assumidos pelo político republicano em relação a ações afirmativas, renda mínima, iniciativas empresariais de minorias e empreendedorismo negro. “Embora o apoio a Nixon tenha deixado alguns de seus melhores amigos perplexos, ele jamais se arrependeu disso”, escreve Sullivan.

Se temas como esses traçam alguma semelhança com debates do Brasil de 2010, no ano de 1968 daqui a ditadura militar e seu AI-5 sufocavam qualquer respiro para lutas por direitos civis de minorias. Toni Tornado, Erlon Chaves e Dom Salvador foram brutalmente reprimidos quando levaram a cabo um levante funk (e sexy) no Festival Internacional da Canção da Globo em 1970.

Jorge Ben homenageou o atuante Muhammad Ali e tateou um “black is beautiful” à brasileira em Negro É Lindo (1971), mas permaneceu tímido e discreto a esse respeito. Wilson Simonal compôs e gravou um Tributo a Martin Luther King (1967), antes mesmo do assassinato do reverendo, e nos anos seguintes ensaiou comandar um “black power” tropicalista – sucumbiu definitivamente em 1974, condenado, preso, encrencado à esquerda e à direita.

Brown teria mais sorte e longevidade que Simonal, mas morreria decadente em 2006, apequenado por episódios de violência doméstica e prisões por burlar o fisco. “Você paga quando goza de todos os seus direitos. Não gozei dos meus direitos. Não tive essa chance”, justificou-se numa autobiografia.

Percalços à parte, o que o mantém e o manterá vivo séculos afora é o testemunho gravado no calor da perda de Luther King, em Say It Loud – I’m Black and I’m Proud: “Eu trabalhei com meus pés e minha mãos/ mas todo o trabalho que fiz foi para o outro homem/ agora exigimos uma chance de fazer as coisas por nós mesmos/ estamos cansados de bater nossas cabeças contra a parede/ e de trabalhar para os outros”.

Se escravizados e escravizadores ficaram ou não confinados no passado das Américas, cabe à consciência de cada um de nós responder. 
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ver no Galeria & Photomaton:

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James Brown : Say It Loud -- I'm Black and I'm Proud

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