Mr. Speaker, it is imperative that this year as we celebrate Dr. Martin Luther King's birthday and Black History Month, that Dr. Martin Luther King be remembered not only for his involvement in the civil rights movement, but also for his…
Mr. Speaker, it is imperative that this year as we celebrate Dr. Martin Luther King's birthday and Black History Month, that Dr. Martin Luther King be remembered not only for his involvement in the civil rights movement, but also for his quest to achieve peace and justice for all by speaking out against war. On April 4, 1967, Dr. Martin Luther King gave a speech entitled ``Beyond Vietnam.'' In this speech, Dr. King spoke out against the Vietnam war, and more importantly, spoke of the need to wage peace, not war.
In the weeks that President Bush and his administration have been leading this country to war against Iraq, I have found myself going through many of the same motions of a man who opposed a war more than thirty years ago. I began by voting against the Congressional Resolution that gave President Bush the authority to carry out this war, and have most recently pushed for Americans to more carefully consider the costs of going to war without just cause by introducing a bill that would reinstate the draft. My push to reinstate the draft was meant to first, show my opposition to a unilateral preemptive strike against Iraq and second, to insure that if America does go to war, that an equitable representation of all classes of Americans are making the sacrifice for our great country.
In being reintroduced to Dr. King's speech, I found that, while he was attempting to end a war, his goals in giving the ``Beyond Vietnam'' speech were similar to my own, in that he wanted the persons being called upon to fight the war to realize that the war they were fighting was serving the needs of persons that were not interested in serving their needs. As have I, Dr. King recognized that the poor were disproportionately shouldering the burden of a war. Dr. King described the war as a ``cruel manipulation of the poor'' and an ``enemy of the poor'' that was ``sending their sons and their brothers and their husbands to fight and to die in extraordinarily high proportions relative to the rest of the population.''
The recognition that the sacrifices being made for this country were (and continue to) not be shared was only one of a number of realizations Dr. King made in regards to the Vietnam War. As many of the insights he made then continue to be relevant in our journey down the warpath to Iraq, I invite you to read these excerpts from a speech delivered on April 4, 1967, at a meeting of Clergy and Laity Concerned at Riverside Church in New York City and consider the words of Dr. Martin Luther King.
Beyond Vietnam: A Time to Break Silence
I come to this magnificent house of worship tonight because
my conscience leaves me no other choice. [. . .] The recent
statement of your executive committee are the sentiments of
my own heart and I found myself in full accord when I read
its opening lines: ``A time comes when silence is betrayal.''
That time has come for us in relation to Vietnam. [. . .] I
come to this platform tonight to make a passionate plea to my
beloved nation. [. . .] Tonight, however, I wish not to speak
with Hanoi and the NLF, but rather to my fellow Americans,
who, with me, bear the greatest responsibility in ending a
conflict that has exacted a heavy price on both continents.
Since I am a preacher by trade, I suppose it is not
surprising that I have seven major reasons for bringing
Vietnam into the field of my moral vision. There is at the
outset a very obvious and almost facile connection between
the war in Vietnam and the struggle 1, and others, have been
waging in America. A few years ago there was a shining moment
in that struggle. It seemed as if there was a real promise of
hope for the poor--both black and white--through the poverty
program. There were experiments, hopes, new beginnings. Then
came the buildup in Vietnam and I watched the program broken
and eviscerated as if it were some idle political plaything
of a society gone mad on war, and I knew that America would
never invest the necessary funds or energies in
rehabilitation of its poor so long as adventures like Vietnam
continued to draw men and skills and money like some demonic
destructive suction tube. So I was increasingly compelled to
see the war as an enemy of the poor and to attack it as such.
Perhaps the more tragic recognition of reality took place
when it became clear to me that the war was doing far more
than devastating the hopes of the poor at home. It was
sending their sons and their brothers and their husbands to
fight and to die in extraordinarily high proportions relative
to the rest of the population. We were taking the black young
men who had been crippled by our society and sending them
eight thousand miles away to guarantee liberties in Southeast
Asia which they had not found in southwest Georgia and East
Harlem. So we have been repeatedly faced with the cruel irony
of watching Negro and white boys on TV screens as they kill
and die together for a nation that has been unable to seat
them together in the same schools. So we watch them in brutal
solidarity burning the huts of a poor village, but we realize
that they would never live on the same block in Detroit. I
could not be silent in the face of such cruel manipulation of
the poor.
My third reason moves to an even deeper level of awareness,
for it grows out of my experience in the ghettoes of the
North over the last three years--especially the last three
summers. As I have walked among the desperate, rejected and
angry young men I have told them that Molotov cocktails and
rifles would not solve their problems. I have tried to offer
them my deepest compassion while maintaining my conviction
that social change comes most meaningfully through nonviolent
action. But they asked--and rightly so--what about Vietnam?
They asked if our own nation wasn't using massive doses of
violence to solve its problems, to bring about the changes it
wanted. Their questions hit home, and I knew that I could
never again raise my voice against the violence of the
oppressed in the ghettos without having first spoken clearly
to the greatest purveyor of violence in the world today--my
own government. For the sake of those boys, for the sake of
this government, for the sake of hundreds of thousands
trembling under our violence, I cannot be silent. [. . .]
Now, it should be incandescently clear that no one who has
any concern for the integrity and life of America today can
ignore the present war. If America's soul becomes totally
poisoned, part of the autopsy must read Vietnam. It can never
be saved so long as it destroys the deepest hopes of men the
world over. So it is that those of us who are yet determined
that America will be are led down the path of protest and
dissent, working for the health of our land. [. . .]
And as I ponder the madness of Vietnam and search within
myself for ways to understand and respond to compassion my
mind goes constantly to the people of that peninsula. I speak
now not of the soldiers of each side, not of the junta in
Saigon, but simply of the people who have been living under
the curse of war for almost three continuous decades now. I
think of them too because it is clear to me that there will
be no meaningful solution there until some attempt is made to
know them and hear their broken cries. They must see
Americans as strange liberators. [. . .]
After the French were defeated it looked as if independence
and land reform would come again through the Geneva
agreements. But instead there came the United States,
determined that Ho should not unify the temporarily divided
nation, and the peasants watched again as we supported one of
the most vicious modem dictators--our chosen man, Premier
Diem. The peasants watched and cringed as Diem ruthlessly
routed out all opposition, supported their extortionist
landlords and refused even to discuss reunification with
the north. The peasants watched as all this was presided
over by U.S. influence and then by increasing numbers of
U.S. troops who came to help quell the insurgency that
Diem's methods had aroused. When Diem was overthrown they
may have been happy, but the long line of military
dictatorships seemed to offer no real change--especially
in terms of their need for land and peace.
The only change came from America as we increased our troop
commitments in support of governments which were singularly
corrupt, inept and without popular support. All the while the
people read our leaflets and received regular promises of
peace and democracy--and land reform. Now they languish under
our bombs and consider us--not their fellow Vietnamese--the
real enemy. They move sadly and apathetically as we herd them
off the land of their fathers into concentration camps where
minimal social needs are rarely met. They know they must move
or be destroyed by our bombs. So they go--primarily women and
children and the aged. [. . .] They wander into the
hospitals, with at least twenty casualties from American
firepower for one ``Vietcong''-inflicted injury. So far we
may have killed a million of them--mostly children. They see
the children, degraded by our soldiers as they beg for food.
They see the children selling their sisters to our soldiers,
soliciting for their mothers.
What do the peasants think as we ally ourselves with the
landlords and as we refuse to put any action into our many
words concerning land reform? What do they think as we test
our latest weapons on them, just as the Germans tested out
new medicine and new tortures in the concentration camps of
Europe? Where are the roots of the independent Vietnam we
claim to be building? Is it among these voiceless ones?
We have destroyed their two most cherished institutions:
the family and the village. We have destroyed their land and
their crops. [. . .] Now there is little left to build on--
save bitterness. Soon the only solid physical foundations
remaining will be found at our military bases and in the
concrete of the concentration camps we call fortified
hamlets. The peasants may well wonder if we plan to build our
new Vietnam on such grounds as these? Could we blame them for
such thoughts? We must speak for them and raise the questions
they cannot raise. These too are our brothers. [. . .] They
question our political goals and they deny the reality
of a peace settlement from which they will be excluded. Their
questions are frighteningly relevant. Is our nation planning
to build on political myth again and then shore it up with
the power of new violence?
Here is the true meaning and value of compassion and
nonviolence when it helps us to see the enemy's point of
view, to hear his questions, to know his assessment of
ourselves. For from his view we may indeed see the basic
weaknesses of our own condition, and if we are mature, we may
learn and grow and profit from the wisdom of the brothers who
are called the opposition. [. . .]
At this point I should make it clear that while I have
tried in these last few minutes to give a voice to the
voiceless on Vietnam and to understand the arguments of those
who are called enemy, I am as deeply concerned about our
troops there as anything else. For it occurs to me that what
we are submitting them to in Vietnam is not simply the
brutalizing process that goes on in any war where armies face
each other and seek to destroy. We are adding cynicism to the
process of death, for they must know after a short period
there that none of the things we claim to be fighting for are
really involved. Before long they must know that their
government has sent them into a struggle among Vietnamese,
and the more sophisticated surely realize that we are on the
side of the wealthy and the secure while we create hell for
the poor. [. . .]
This is the message of the great Buddhist leaders of
Vietnam. Recently one of them wrote these words: ``Each day
the war goes on the hatred increases in the heart of the
Vietnamese and in the hearts of those of humanitarian
instinct. The Americans are forcing even their friends into
becoming their enemies. It is curious that the Americans, who
calculate so carefully on the possibilities of military
victory, do not realize that in the process they are
incurring deep psychological and political defeat. The image
of America will never again be the image of revolution,
freedom and democracy, but the image of violence and
militarism.''
If we continue, there will be no doubt in my mind and in
the mind of the world that we have no honorable intentions in
Vietnam. [. . .] The world now demands a maturity of America
that we may not be able to achieve. It demands that we admit
that we have been wrong from the beginning of our adventure
in Vietnam, that we have been detrimental to the life of the
Vietnamese people. The situation is one in which we must be
ready to turn sharply from our present ways.
[. . .] I would like to suggest five concrete things that
our government should do immediately to begin the long and
difficult process of extricating ourselves from this
nightmarish conflict: (1) End all bombing in North and South
Vietnam; (2) Declare a unilateral cease-fire in the hope that
such action will create the atmosphere for negotiation; (3)
Take immediate steps to prevent other battlegrounds in
Southeast Asia by curtailing our military buildup in Thailand
and our interference in Laos; (4) Realistically accept the
fact that the National Liberation Front has substantial
support in South Vietnam and must thereby play a role in any
meaningful negotiations and in any future Vietnam government;
(5) Set a date that we will remove all foreign troops from
Vietnam in accordance with the 1954 Geneva agreement. [. . .]
Meanwhile we in the churches and synagogues have a
continuing task while we urge our government to disengage
itself from a disgraceful commitment. We must continue to
raise our voices if our nation persists in its perverse ways
in Vietnam. We must be prepared to match actions with words
by seeking out every creative means of protest possible. [. .
.]
The war in Vietnam is but a symptom of a far deeper malady
within the American spirit, and if we ignore this sobering
reality we will find ourselves organizing clergy- and laymen-
concerned committees for the next generation. They will be
concerned about Guatemala and Peru. They will be concerned
about Thailand and Cambodia. They will be concerned about
Mozambique and South Africa. We will be marching for these
and a dozen other names and attending rallies without end
unless there is a significant and profound change in American
life and policy. Such thoughts take us beyond Vietnam, but
not beyond our calling as sons of the living God.
In 1957 a sensitive American official overseas said that it
seemed to him that our nation was on the wrong side of a
world revolution. During the past ten years we have seen
emerge a pattern of suppression which now has justified the
presence of U.S. military ``advisors'' in Venezuela. This
need to maintain social stability for our investments
accounts for the counter-revolutionary action of American
forces in Guatemala. It tells why American helicopters are
being used against guerrillas in Colombia and why American
napalm and green beret forces have already been active
against rebels in Peru. It is with such activity in mind that
the words of the late John F. Kennedy come back to haunt us.
Five years ago he said, ``Those who make peaceful revolution
impossible will make violent revolution inevitable.'' [. . .]
I am convinced that if we are to get on the right side of
the world revolution, we as a nation must undergo a radical
revolution of values. We must rapidly begin the shift from a
``thing-oriented'' society to a ``person-oriented'' society.
When machines and computers, profit motives and property
rights are considered more important than people, the giant
triplets of racism, materialism, and militarism are incapable
of being conquered.
A true revolution of values will soon cause us to question
the fairness and justice of many of our past and present
policies. [. . .] A true revolution of values will soon look
uneasily on the glaring contrast of poverty and wealth. With
righteous indignation, it will look across the seas and see
individual capitalists of the West investing huge sums of
money in Asia, Africa and South America, only to take the
profits out with no concern for the social betterment of the
countries, and say: ``This is not just.'' It will look at our
alliance with the landed gentry of Latin America and say:
``This is not just.'' The Western arrogance of feeling that
it has everything to teach others and nothing to learn from
them is not just. [. . .]
We must move past indecision to action. We must find new
ways to speak for peace in Vietnam and justice throughout the
developing world--a world that borders on our doors. If we do
not act we shall surely be dragged down the long dark and
shameful corridors of time reserved for those who possess
power without compassion, might without morality, and
strength without sight.
Now let us begin. Now let us rededicate ourselves to the
long and bitter--but beautiful--struggle for a new world.
This is the calling of the sons of God, and our brothers wait
eagerly for our response. Shall we say the odds are too
great? Shall we tell them the struggle is too hard? Will our
message be that the forces of American life militate against
their arrival as full men, and we send our deepest regrets?
Or will there be another message, of longing, of hope, of
solidarity with their yearnings, of commitment to their
cause, whatever the cost? The choice is ours, and though we
might prefer it otherwise we must choose in this crucial
moment of human history.