In the early 1990s, Columbia University was entrenched in a tense battle over whether or not to demolish the Audubon Ballroom in Washington Heights, the place where Malcolm X was assassinated. In protest, each day, I wore a button with only a large “X” and the phrase “just a man” underneath. For me, it was a reminder of the humanity in us all, the need for us to remember that no matter how great the legacy or the legend, at the end of the day, we’re all people and deserving of a basic humanity. During this time, the Black Student Organization hosted the award-winning poet Nikki Giovanni on the campus, and I was appointed to be her escort. At one point, while Ms. Giovanni and I were standing alone, she looked at me, pointed to the button and said simply, “I like that…just a man.” At the time, I was quiet, inspired to explore why its message was so powerful. Since that time, I’ve continued to process how we remember those who gave their lives so that others may live, how we honor those who lead the struggle for a just and honorable human experience. Still, I ask, how do we honor their sacrifice while not perpetuating the conditions they fought to destroy?
This question is still unanswered as the U.S. Commission of Fine Arts considers how to physically represent Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. in what will be a 28-foot “Stone of Hope,” or tribute to Dr. King and the Modern Civil Rights Movement on the National Mall. In addition to a controversy surrounding the selection of Chinese sculptor Lei Yixin as the artist, there has also been a debate about whether to “soften” Dr. King’s physical appearance in the monument. Apparently, there was a recommendation to soften his brow and mouth to make him look less angry, and to unfold his arms, so as to make him look less confrontational.
In a recent article discussing the recommended changes, the Commission Vice Chair Pamela Nelson was quoted as saying, “This is how people are going to remember (King)…It’s critical to his legacy for ages to come. That’s why we’re so careful.” I can understand that; but I also believe that it would be a huge disgrace to construct a false depiction of the urgency of the movement and its true role as a highly confrontational stance against injustice. To soften his resolve–especially in stone–feels like a comparable attempt to place a muzzle on the power and vigilance of the Civil Rights Movement.
While the Commission ultimately decided to keep Dr. Kings’ arms folded while softening his facial expression a bit, I would still like to remind folks that Dr. King was very discontent with segregation, lynching, and other despicable conditions of racial and economic inequality. When we look at other public images of Dr. King, his face is concerned. His energy, while nonviolent, was certainly vigilant. Why should this monument reflect his story as anything else? He was assassinated–killed in an attempt to silence his growing impatience with the conditions inequality. Why should he look happy about that?
To memorialize an international figure such as Dr. King is a tremendous honor. I also recognize that it is also a tremendous process, one filled with artistic license and immense criticism. However, the one thing I hope to see come out of this is the public recognition that like Malcolm X, Dr. King was a man–one who was angry with oppression, one who was a loving father and husband, one whose powerful words are now being co-opted by those who wish to negate the gains made over the past forty years in equal access to education, employment, and other economic opportunities. You see, he and his legacy are very complex; but in it, I see a truth about people. People are fallible. People are powerful. People are angry and people are vulnerable. People are in a constant cycle of trying to improve their conditions, achieve a greater “freedom.” To me, this memorial should reflect that the struggle for equality is not a thing of the past. Tell the truth, US Commission of Fine Arts. Tell the truth.
Copyright 2008 Monique W. Morris
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