On April 4, 1968, I was a senior in high school when Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was murdered in Memphis, Tennessee. That weekend I had been attending a planning meeting in Richmond, Virginia, for mobilizing white teens from suburban churches to serve in inner-city projects in the District of Columbia and Baltimore.
Protesters march down the street Jan. 27 in Memphis, Tenn., as authorities release police video depicting five Memphis officers beating Tyre Nichols, whose death resulted in murder charges and provoked outrage. Gerald Herbert/Associated Press
Driving home on Sunday afternoon I arrived at the Baltimore city line, about five miles from my house, to find National Guard troops and tanks blocking off access to the city. I was allowed to pass only on the condition that I drive directly home.
Today I know the real reason I was allowed to pass by those armed soldiers was that my face was white, not Black. Dr. King was only 39 years old when he was murdered.
William Page was only 25 years of age when he was lynched in August 1917 in Lilian, Virginia. My mother would have been a toddler sleeping in her crib at home, just a mile away from the schoolyard in which he was hanged. Newspaper reports state that a mob of about 500 men assembled to commit the murder.
William Page would be the last Black man to be lynched in my mother’s home county of Northumberland, but the lynchings would continue on for another seven years, claiming the lives of nine additional Black men across Virginia.
I am now just a bit older than my mother was when she died. At 72, I look back over a lifetime of witnessing racial injustice through the segregation of schools and other public and private facilities. The false doctrine of “separate but equal” was then in full force throughout Virginia, where both of my parents were born and raised.
Room 306 of the Lorraine Motel in Memphis, Tenn., on April 6, 1968, just after Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s assassination there April 4, 1968. A memorial plaque and cross and flower arrangement are on the motel room window and door. Associated Press
I carry childhood memories of seeing “White” and “Colored” water fountains in the county courthouse. Of visiting the family doctor whose small brick office behind his house in had separate waiting rooms. Hearing my grandmother talk about “the colored” schools that a neighboring county closed for five full years rather than integrate, meanwhile taking public funds to open white academies. Knowing that nearby was a “colored beach” that was a small sliver of sand allotted to Black children. And knowing that there would never be any Black worshippers or preachers at the church revival meetings where my grandmother played piano.
Looking back at all of those memories, I know full well that the privilege to pass by those National Guard tanks in 1968 had come at the expense of others, sometimes in deadly ways.
In his 1964 book “Why We Can’t Wait,” Dr. King wrote: “Armies of officials are clothed in uniform, invested with authority, armed with the instruments of violence and death and conditioned to believe that they can intimidate, maim or kill Negroes with the same recklessness that once motivated the slaveowner.”
Now, nearly 60 years later, we see that Dr. King is still being proven right with the brutal beating death of Tyre Nichols in Memphis. It wasn’t a rope like they used on William Page, or a bullet like the one that felled Dr. King, but the stun gun, pepper spray, fists and boots of police officers who have been charged with murder in an incident that equals the terror of the August night when 500 men watched William Page die.
Must we wait for another hundred years to pass for this senseless killing to stop? The simple answer is, no, we can’t wait.
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