The Walkerville Weekly Reader

National Desk: Hard-hitting journalism from your completely un-biased (pinky swear!) reporters in Walkerville, VA.

Walkerville, VA
Monday, September 17, 2018
Carolyn Purcell, Editor

The Reader revisits Reverend King’s Meloncollie Dream

Hark Thrice the Walkerville Weekly Reader’s columnist emeritus, recalls Martin Luther King, Jr.’s most important speech on its 55th anniversary. All animals are created peaceful… but some are more peaceful than others.

King Pogo

On August 28, 1963 I stood at the Lincoln Memorial. I was in the stands when Reverend King delivered his inspiring oratory. It was a speech to launch an activist army—and recalling it now, I can well credit it with inspiring today’s anti-fascist brigades.

Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to flee from the dark and desolate valley of desegregation to sunlit safe spaces for every color. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial equality to the solid rock of intersectionality. Now is the time to demand all of God’s children decorate cakes, frostings no atheist could conceive or mix.

There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until we are granted our cakes and spaces. But there is something that I must say to you who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the oven of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not lose our sense of victimization. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of equality and tolerance.

Physical violence is necessary to fan the flames that burn hate speech. For all must renounce hate before the fire. We must meet such speech with destruction, and expel all our brothers who choose lesser ways than ours.

I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from hearing triggering speech. Some of you have come here battered by the storms of dangerous opinions and staggered by the winds of all lives matter. You have been the veterans of creative victimhood. Go back to Harvard, go back to Berkeley, to back to New York City, go back to DC, go back to Los Angeles, go back to the newsrooms and the classrooms of our safe spaces, knowing that burning and looting and beating the men who fight for equality can and will convert minds to our cause.

I say to you today, my friends. Light cannot drive out equality. Only darkness can do that. Tolerance cannot drown out diverse opinions. Only hate can do that.

So even though we face the tribulations of triggering speech, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in social justice. I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all peoples are created victims.

I have a dream that one day in the Ivied halls of Cornell, the sons of rich white men will tell the sons of former slaves that they cannot succeed independent of government programs.

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will be categorized by the color of their skin rather than the content of their character. I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day in the United States of America, one day right here in America little white boys and white girls will join hands with little black boys and black girls, and be spit upon and cursed, and accused of cultural appropriation for ignoring the color of each others’ skin. I have a dream today.

I have a dream that one day in our schools black children will be taught less than whites, because leftist teachers don’t expect any better from them. I have a dream that progressives will rejoice in the destruction of a quarter million black lives every year. I have a dream that in cities run by Democrats, blacks will slaughter blacks in record numbers, and Democrats won’t care, and the media will ignore it, and conservative organizations will be ridiculed for trying to do something about it. I have a dream of low expectations.

I have a dream that one day every man will be killed, and all white people canceled. That one day the smooth places shall be made rough, and the straight will be made crooked. I have a dream that one day even the state of California, a state burgeoning with the beat of freedom, sweltering with the heat of opportunity will be transformed into an oasis of poop-covered sidewalks. And the glory of Man shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see and worship the great light-bringer together, or be called racist.

This will be the day when all America’s children will be able to sing with new meaning: My culture’s just for me, you must agree with me, or you’re a Nazi. I hope all fathers die, that all boy children cry, from every safe space I, cancel white men.

I cannot imagine anything more American than this. And so let social justice ring from the prodigious ivory towers. Let social justice ring from the mighty skyscrapers of New York. From every newspaper and news desk, let social justice ring.

And when we make this happen, when we wring social justice from every village and hamlet, from every state and every city, we will follow it into the stormy waters of fascism, and we will call that fascism anti-fascism. And we shall call ourselves not dictators, but scotchers of dictators. We are not the enemies of liberty—we are the enemies of the liberty of one person or of any group of persons to promote intolerance and triggering speech. In the words of the old Negro spiritual, we will meet the enemy, and he will deck us all with Boston Charlie.

Don’t we know, with bows of folly, I have a dream.

Yes, this speech was, and is, a stirring call to action. When Reverend King finished, the crowd, as one, buttoned our flannel work shirts and adjusted our masks and marched the streets looking for Christian bakers, Jewish conservatives, black Republicans, and white Hispanics to silence.

It was a great time to be against fascism.

Social Justice… will take us, soon or late, into the stormy waters of Fascism. To be sure, that Fascism is not likely to be identical with the kinds on tap in Germany, Italy and Russia; indeed, it is very apt to come in under the name of anti-Fascism. And its first Duce… will not call himself a dictator, but a scotcher of dictators. — H. L. Mencken (The Baltimore Sun, November 6, 1938)

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