Coretta the Insurrectionist
An "open letter" to Coretta Scott King on the occasion of her death
Joel Pomerantz
This essay was published in Numb Magazine, February 2006.
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Coretta, dear Coretta, my inspiration, my crowbar. Your life has come to an untimely end. No time would have suited me, but it had to come.
Despite your departure, I will remember you as a daily vitamin every morning. With you as vitamin I, Inspiration, I am fortified against the disease, the unease, the on-going destruction of our world.
Though I only met you a few times, those encounters made it clear that you weren't just what the world called you: wife, widow, "lieutenant" (the Associated Press, today), High Priestess, custodian of the Dream. Yes, even as your deceased husband's reputation has been smoothed, you too have been thoroughly sweetened. The Associated Press calls you "quiet" and "stoic." For all those misinformed editors, I apologize.
When last we met, at Antioch College Reunion 2004, it was to mourn the 2003 death of your mentor, your teacher, your Inspiration, Walter Anderson. He was our nation's first Black university department chair at a college not historically black . Good old Antioch, our dear alma mater.
And we all showed up to hear you give the keynote address, our superstar prodigal-daughter. We filed up the grand staircase of Kelly Hall in our version of regalia: piercings and tattoos, "Antioch Radicals" sweatshirts. We came to glow with pride and say we were there—I'm saying it now.
You began by praising Antioch, which we appreciated splendidly—especially when you laughed that you knew Martin was an interesting guy when you met him—because he talked like an Antiochian. We really loved that.
We had no notion of what you had in store for us next.
You didn't offer it right away. You wanted us to know first how disappointed you were in our government. And why. You were direct and detailed. I sat there wishing your words could enter the ears of every power-seeking Democrat today, the ones so disappointingly nervous to speak of these things. You came right out and told us what was at stake. We were riveted and amazed by your audacious version of "quiet stoicism."
Then, without pausing for breath, you called openly and unequivocally for revolution. I was forced to my feet by the voltage of that word. I couldn't believe my ears!
We didn't know you were going to speak to us like this, in our own language. Perhaps we expected you to be nostalgic, polite, friendly. Instead, you chose impolite. You weren't the slightest bit afraid to put those two entirely unfashionable, impolite words together: Nonviolent revolution. Not very nice, Coretta, crazy woman.
It isn't nice to block the doorway / It isn't nice to go to jail / There are nicer ways to do it / But the nice ways always fail / It isn't nice, it isn't nice / When we deal with men of ice / But if that is Freedom's price we don't mind.
That's what Malvina Reynolds sang when your husband wrote to the world from the Birmingham jail.
"We know through painful experience that freedom is never voluntarily given by the oppressor; it must be demanded by the oppressed."
That's what Martin said, on scraps smuggled out of that jail cell.
"What we most desperately need in our world today is a new nonviolent revolution."
That's what you said. Kelly Hall, June 25, 2004. Through our new wiring, recently installed in the 150 year-old hall. Good timing.
I knew from that woefully underpromoted PBS documentary Citizen King, by unhonored documentarian Orlando Bagwell, that you were the stimulus, the provocateur, behind some of the most important decisions your husband made. (After all, you were the Antiochian, not he.) I was aware that you weren't shy about politics and words. I knew that you had pushed to get Martin to come out against the Vietnam War. I knew that you were often his unrecognized radicalizing force.
And yet when you said those words it jolted me, it jolted us all.
Potent words, yours. "Nonviolent revolution." I was startled by the frankness—and obviousness. It was like a ton of told-ya-sos hitting me square between the ears. Dave Dellinger told me so. Shulamith Firestone told me so. Rachel Carson told me so. Jane Jacobs told me so. Eleanor Holmes Norton (another Antiochian) told me so. Ani DiFranco told me so. Matt Groening told me so. Richard Clarke told me so. Craig Murray told me so. My mother told me so.
Revolution. Maybe there has already been a revolution, one that has gradually subverted what was good about our original set of laws: freedom of speech for corporations to lie, freedom of law for liars to incorporate, extreme private property rights burying human rights. Those subtle courts, finding that corporations have a right to future profits!
Maybe a revolution has come while we were preoccupied with our fears…and shopping. We were busy being lured into little anti-social vehicular prisons by oil- and car-marketers who cleverly named them Sport.
They even called it a revolution, those still-soldiering veterans of the "Reagan Revolution."
But that was no revolution! What you and I call for now is a potent and lasting revolution, which will be a lot less like Reagan and a little bit more like what we did against the previous King George. Plus economic democracy, civil rights, grassroots participation, self-determination, universal education, hard limits on the power of potent market forces.
Here’s what you said at Antioch: "A revolution to provide hope and opportunity…a revolution that embraces justice, peace, sisterhood and brotherhood."
Justice. This morning, a new Supreme Court exists. Not just a new group of judges, but a new conception of the Court and a newly conceived purpose, albeit a purpose which was tested already, on January 12, 2001. That was the day when Sandra Day O’Connor capitulated, giving Florida to the rabid recount halters.
As of this morning we see O'Connor gone, leaving an ongoing—perhaps permanent—capitulation. We have a Court that very likely will allow this President to do whatever He damn well pleases. And as a result, all three branches of government are essentially in the pocket of one iceman with his assorted chilly picks.
So it is with heavy heart that I cry for you, peaceful Coretta, over the pitiable irony of your passing at this particular time, accompanied by the passing on of our checks and balances.
"Let us now rise up and lead our country and world to a greater destiny. Let us rise up and sound the knell for poverty, racism, war and violence. We've got to rise up with an unwavering determination and use our power to invigorate democracy and reclaim our environment from the ravages of industrial pollution. Rise up and lead nonviolent movements to feed the hungry and work for peace and human rights for all people in every nation." Tell it, Coretta.
We do need revolution. You are too right. And we need to make sure it happens nonviolently. This nonviolence is not merely to honor Martin's dogma. You both always had good reason and sound reasoning for your absolute commitment to nonviolence.
Nonviolence is the only thing that works in the long run. It avoids creating those horrific conditions seen in so many revolutions where the new rulers use the tactics of the old. It diminishes their inevitable calls for retribution. It saves the children from the belief in punishment as a tool in problem-solving.
And as Mohandas Gandhi taught us, it is nonviolence that prevents the worst consequences of fallible human judgment: the unretractable evils, the errors of poorly researched revenge, the tardy regrets of former fanatics.
I now repeat and sing out your call.
I call for immediate revolution against those who have stolen our laws, our public treasury and our pride. I call for resurrection of democracy. I call for democratic insurrection.
It's time to go far beyond having a dream. It's time to inflame the natural human passion for freedom and fairness to a high, furied fever. It's time to revolt against the muddled thinking we have been lured into by the opportunists of the misinformation age.
"Rise up," You say. "Rise up now, with an indomitable spirit of justice, compassion and love, united and determined."
I say, Tell it, sister!
Let's dance this revolution right out of Kelly Hall and through the halls of power.
Coretta Scott King's speech at Kelly Hall can be found here. She gave a similar speech once, two weeks later, July 8th, 2004 in Detroit, at the 87th International Conference of the Lion's Club.
Joel Pomerantz is a San Francisco-based writer who is recognized for his work in journalism, public art and community organizing. Joel was founding newsletter editor for the San Francisco Bicycle Coalition, and he helped conceive and create Critical Mass, the noncommercial monthly bicycling event, which has spread to more than 400 cities worldwide. At the time of Coretta's Kelly Hall speech, Joel was a volunteer working at Antioch College, and son of the College's first female president, Joan Straumanis.
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