Reflections on MLK Weekend 2023- From Keenan to King Day, and Beyond

Weary.

As I stood on the corner of Lincoln and Venice this past Saturday of MLK Weekend, I could not shake the achy feeling from my bones. Only a few days prior, the life of 31-year old Keenan Anderson was taken on that Venice intersection. Dozens and dozens from the community huddled in vigil on the sidewalk, an uncharacteristically heavy rain coming down around us.

Naïve as the sentiment may be, I felt somehow that we had left this business back in 2020. The death of Keenan, a 10th grade teacher to students in Washington DC, seemed all too reminiscent of the unjust deaths that were highlighted so prominently almost 3 summers back. Anderson himself noted the significance of his interaction with the LAPD, crying out “They’re trying to George Floyd me!” while being held down by the police.

A collection of different faith leaders offered thoughts, prayers, and songs throughout the night, hoping to bring some sense of comfort to the crowd. Even as they brought me peace in the moment, I left the vigil quite unnerved. Holding the upcoming celebration of Dr. Martin Luther King’s life against the reality of Keenan Anderson’s unjustified death caused a grave question to flash across my mind-

Was Dr. King’s dream just that- a dream?

As soon as I thought about it, I chastised myself for letting it exist in the first place. Clearly, immense progress has been made since the life of MLK was taken from us so abruptly. Time and again though, I’ve seen Dr. King’s goals incorrectly summarized with one of his most famous quotes about his children, their skin tone, the content of their character, and nothing more. It’s comforting and quotable, and easier to fit on an Instagram slide than some of his more complex work. Still, the injustice done on that street corner had me angry, and craving a remembrance that regarded his radicalism, the vivid faith he held that led him into action, his belief in the inherent value of Black life. I feared such a commemoration would not be delivered, and the sense of uneasiness followed me home.

Across town and two days later, I found myself arriving on the stately grounds of Exposition Park in South Los Angeles. For MLK Day, my roommate suggested a house trip to the California African American Museum. The institution was hosting a series of events for King Day, the name so jovial in comparison to the end of Dr. King’s life, and in comparison to the residue I carried from Anderson’s vigil. I was intrigued to see what the space truly had to offer.

When we finally came upon the building, it was full of life. Children buzzed around the front steps, dodging between those that hindered their games. Young families meandered around the interactive exhibit, because i am that by Adee Roberson and Azikiwe Mohammed. Elders looked on, chatting and grinning as they sat among the bustle. While I still retained some heaviness from the vigil two days prior, I was surprised at how much simply being in that space lifted my spirits.

We had made it in time for the last attraction of the day, a concert from the Inner City Youth Orchestra of Los Angeles. They were joined by members of the Angel City Chorale. As the band tuned and prepared, an expectant weight blanketed the space.

After starting the concert with a rendition of “Lift Every Voice and Sing”, the orchestra’s conductor, Charles Dickerson, explained to the audience that in honor of Dr. King, he decided to put the words of the I Have A Dream speech to music. Funnily enough, I found myself disheartened again. Not because I dislike the symphony, but because that odd ache was back. The one that cringes when Dr. King’s life and beliefs are painted with too broad a brush stroke. The one that weeps for lives taken with little thought. I didn’t want to be fed happy go lucky fluff when the weight of Keenan’s vigil still cloaked my shoulders.

In my vulnerable apprehension, however, I think I was primed in just the right headspace to receive Dickerson’s work. His piece reflects his deep understanding of Dr. King’s ideals, and the work it takes to produce a dream such as his. The onset of the piece is quite dark, and almost disorienting in nature. At the titular phrase, however, “I Have A Dream”, a shimmering quality takes over the music, the vocals triumphant. It is such a stark shift from those prior measures that it sets the audience on the precipice of something akin to hope. Though I did not anticipate it to be, it was a uniquely spiritual moment.

Tears began to well in my eyes, and only increased when the chorus reached the portion of the speech wherein Dr. King speaks about the struggle involved in his vision. Over and over, the singers layer words about enduring the fight together, united through the joys and trials that come along with it. Instead of breezing through this portion, Dickerson’s arrangement ruminates on these words, musically reflecting the time necessary to achieve such work. It grounded me to the involved and in-depth work that Dr. King emphasized in his writings. Rhythmic, practiced work, not unlike that of the symphony. That his was a lifetime of service, not just a speech or two. That in the fight for Keenan Anderson, there are those who are dedicating their lives to see him brought justice, putting in work to make Dr. King’s dream a reality.

Following as best we can in the path of Dr. King, who himself embraced a life of sacred resistance, we here at Sacred Resistance recognize the necessity of the work that is a long struggle. We are an organization borne out of the direct need to protest unjust deportations and rampant discrimination in our communities. As we continue to honor that work, Sacred Resistance also wants to explore the holy and often under-recognized work of organizers and leaders in our midst. From those in the offices aiding immigrants to those on the streets helping the unhoused, we know these stories of resistance deserve to be heard.

Sacred Resistance is a lifetime commitment, and we hope you will stay connected with us as we uncover how that looks in this new chapter. As we say goodbye, I will leave you with my favorite quote from Dr. King’s I Have A Dream speech, and my favorite portion of Dickerson’s rendition.

“With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.”

In Solidarity,

Naomi

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