Reflections on the 60th anniversary of the March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom — and the work that remains
Sixty years ago, our forebears marched for jobs and justice. For the promise of public education. For dignity at work and a voice in our democracy.
Sixty years ago. Think of their bravery, their courage: to hitch rides, board buses, sleep on church floors and trust strangers; to come from the segregated South — to the segregated nation’s capital. Because liberty, equality and opportunity — ideals synonymous with America — were being denied to so many Americans.
We continue to march because justice is still denied to too many Americans. We march in the footsteps of King and Lewis, of Randolph and Rustin, and of all those who came to Washington in 1963 to continue their work.
We march to realize the promise of America.
We march for public education to be the opportunity agent for all our children, because far too many of our students live in poverty, suffer from loneliness, attend underfunded schools and die from gunshots.
As others scheme to deprive some Americans of their right to vote, we march for the right to vote, to get out the vote and to exercise that vote.
We march not just to save our democracy, but to achieve the multiracial democracy that the 1965 Voting Rights Act envisioned.
We march for opportunity. Because when the wealthiest 1 percent of Americans have as much wealth as the bottom 90 percent, we need the pathways to good jobs and the middle class that Bayard Rustin and A. Philip Randolph fought for and that today’s union movement fights for.
We march to combat hate and division in America, because hate crimes — based on race, ethnicity, sexual orientation, gender identity or religion — are at the highest level on record, terrorizing not only those targeted but whole communities.
We march because we have the courage of our convictions and the audacity to act to bend the arc of the moral universe toward justice.
In the face of the extremists’ division and hate, we create connection and community. In the face of fear, we have hope. In the face of despair, we have dreams. In the face of silence, we tell our stories. In the face of smears, we offer solutions.
When they ban books, we give them away. When they try to erase history, we stand up to make sure it is taught — the truth, both good and bad.
When they denigrate vulnerable students, we stand up for their safety and their humanity.
When they attack educators and public schools, we promote solutions to help make every public school a place parents want to send their children, educators want to teach and kids thrive: Solutions to address loneliness, learning loss and literacy. Solutions that help kids learn to read and love to read. Solutions that create pathways, starting in high school, to good jobs and affordable college. Solutions that wrap the services kids and families need around their neighborhood schools.
Because while extremists try to divide us, public schools unite us. And because public schools anchor the promise of a multiracial democracy.
So, 60 years later, we draw courage from those who stood on this hallowed ground: The courage to fight. The courage to care. The courage to speak out, to show up, to act. To exercise the muscle of activism in our communities. To bend the arc toward justice. To realize the promise of America — for all.
