On an evening dominated by talk of the divisions that keep Americans apart 50 years after the death of Martin Luther King Jr., there are several unlikely displays of unity.
There are the family members of Alton Sterling, slain by police in Louisiana in July 2016, joined on stage at Gilley’s by the widows of two officers killed in Baton Rouge a little less than two weeks later. United in loss, and more.
Earlier, on the same stage, there’s Eddie Bernice Johnson, Dallas’ Democratic representative in the U.S. House, and Senator Ted Cruz, once a contender for the Republican nomination for president, both Congress members united in their admiration for King and the imperative to make these occasional harmless gestures of bipartisanship. Not too unusual, except that Cruz also has to give up his front-row seat on the crowded panel to the Houston rapper Bradford Jordan, better known as Scarface, the man who put Texas hip-hop on the map with the Geto Boys. There’s a pre-recorded video from House Speaker Paul Ryan, beamed onto the big screen in close-up. Deion Sanders materializes from the shadows, pacing the stage and delivering a pep talk on the value of teamwork, then disappearing as quickly as he arrived.
This panel was brought together on MLK Day for the “Course Correction Conversation,” a discussion hosted by the Dallas nonprofit Urban Specialists, which focuses on keeping young people out of gangs, preventing violence, and fostering a transformation of “urban culture.”
The group, led by the pastor Bishop Omar Jahwar and Antong Lucky, a former gang member turned educator, has been around for years, but recently gained the backing of the Koch Brothers-funded organization Stand Together. The Kochs, often portrayed as villains by some progressives, are known for lending their considerable wealth to libertarian causes and Republican candidates, which explains why Ted Cruz and the floating head of Paul Ryan are in Dallas. The billionaire brothers’ money is also supporting a new anti-poverty initiative from Sanders, which explains why Prime Time is parachuting in.
The Kochs are not mentioned during the discussion. Maybe they shouldn’t be. It’s easy to see why Jahwar’s Urban Specialists, which seems to emphasize the importance of family and self-reliance, a sort of up-by-the-bootstraps ethos, would appeal to a group with such conservative values. But ending senseless violence and keeping young men out of gangs are issues that should have pretty broad bipartisan appeal. Jahwar says he invited a lot of senators to the discussion. “One said yes.”
There are certain things almost everyone can agree on.
“At some point, the human agenda has to supersede your personal agenda,” Jahwar says. Again, this discussion is about unity, not politics. Not policy, either. That would necessitate bringing politics into it.
Of the more than two dozen panelists, about half have enough time to speak, just enough to deliver an emotional appeal and pay tribute to King. The politicians could have well coordinated their “unity” messaging, and most speakers steer well clear of anything remotely controversial. Phrases like “black lives matter” and “reform” are not uttered. There are many pleas for more conversation, for a better understanding. Here are a few:
- Johnson: “The only way you get to know anyone, and to know their thoughts, is to communicate with them.”
- Ryan: I ask that we rededicate ourselves to “more communication, more dialogue, and more sympathy…”
- Cruz: King’s “I Have a Dream” speech “…communicated an aspirational, a positive, a vision that brought us together. He didn’t get up and tear people apart…He didn’t begin and say ‘I have a nightmare.’”
Less a discussion than an affirmation, a call to some nebulously defined action more than a plan of action, it turns out that a panel in which everyone agrees to agree with each other about an abstract desire for togetherness can make for somewhat uninspiring listening. The sight of the three women from Louisiana sharing a stage, all survivors of violence fraught by racial divisions — that by itself resonates far more loudly than much of what is said during the earlier, hurried discussion.
Leave it to John Carlos, who raised a Black Power fist from the podium of the 1968 Summer Olympics, to provide the most electric moments of the evening, unafraid to talk about poverty, slavery, welfare, protest, self-respect, the need to stand up for a better future. He doesn’t say anything about unity. Carlos is asked whether he would again raise his fist at the Olympics podium.
“I’ll never take my fist down,” he says. “Why? Because the injustices have not stopped.”
