The Ezra Klein Show - The America That’s Still Possible

Episode Date: July 3, 2026

What does it mean to celebrate America on its 250th anniversary? The Trump administration’s festivities — from the U.F.C. fight on the White House lawn to the Great American State Fair — have centered American glory and greatness. What has been missing are the Americans who fought to move America closer to its promises. They had to love a country — or at least believe in a country — that often failed them. How did they do it? Beneath that is a deep question for anyone who loves a country, or even loves another person: How do you love something in its wholeness, amid its imperfections and failures? One person who is thinking deeply about how to do this is Bryan Stevenson. He’s a civil rights lawyer and the founder of the Equal Justice Initiative, which is based in Montgomery, Ala. E.J.I. has created a series of museums and sites in Montgomery that aim to examine America’s history of enslavement, racial violence and segregation, while also uplifting and honoring the people who endured these systems and fought to upend them. The sites are remarkable to witness, as I found out when I visited Montgomery, and they hold America’s manifold truths in tension with one another — all its horror and beauty, tragedy and triumph, inhumanity and humanity. I asked Stevenson how he’s thinking about America’s 250th birthday — and what work the country has left to fulfill its vision of liberty and equality for all. Mentioned: The Legacy Sites, Equal Justice Initiative Just Mercy by Bryan Stevenson The 1619 Project The 1776 Report The Apartheid Museum Book Recommendations: Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston Les Misérables by Victor Hugo The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky Thoughts? Guest suggestions? Email us at [e-mail]. You can find transcripts (posted midday) and more episodes of “The Ezra Klein Show” at nytimes.com/ezra-klein-podcast, and you can find Ezra on Twitter @ezraklein. Book recommendations from all our guests are listed at https://www.nytimes.com/article/ezra-klein-show-book-recs. This episode of “The Ezra Klein Show” was produced by Annie Galvin. Fact-checking by Kelsey Lannin. Audio by Jeff Geld and Johnny Simon Our executive producer is Claire Gordon. The show’s production team also includes Marie Cascione, Michelle Harris, Rollin Hu, Kristin Lin, Emma Kehlbeck, Jack McCordick, Marina King and Jan Kobal. Original music by Marion Lozano and Pat McCusker. Audience strategy by Shannon Busta. The director of New York Times Opinion Shows is Annie-Rose Strasser. Special Thanks to Sonia Kapadia, Tania Cordes, Danielle Carrasquero and the Equal Justice Initiative. Subscribe today at nytimes.com/podcasts or on Apple Podcasts and Spotify. You can also subscribe via your favorite podcast app here https://www.nytimes.com/activate-access/audio?source=podcatcher. For more podcasts and narrated articles, download The New York Times app at nytimes.com/app. Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for advertising.

So it's a 250th birthday of America, and Donald Trump is president. And I think the celebration you get from the Trump administration is going to be of a very specific kind. Get ready, America, because we're putting our love of country on full display. A celebration of American glory, American greatness. Uncritical, I think, will be underselling it. There has been, I think, a split, a severing of two. visions of American history. There's a vision that can only see glory and a vision that I think can only see suffering and sin. One of my beliefs about politics is that until we can reintegrate a story,

until we have leaders can be able to tell a more holistic story of the country, it's able to hold its triumphs and its tragedies together. It's going to be very, very hard to move forward. I'm in Montgomery, Alabama. I think of Montgomery in some ways as the birthplace of American democracy. Not where it was conceived, right? That's the founding. But where the actual thing promised that the founding began to really be born. The people of Montgomery walked to maintain their human dignity and their rights. This is where the Montgomery bus boycott began.

Let us all walk together for freedom, for liberty, for liberty. which led to the civil rights movement. I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed. Which led to the triumphs and the laws that for the first time made America some version of the democracy and the country that it initially promised to be. We hold these tools to be self-evident that all men are created each other. There's a series of really remarkable museums and sites here, the Legacy Museum, the Freedom Monument Sculpture Park, that have been created by the Equal Justice Initiative as ways of apprehending that history, holding horror and beauty, tragedy and triumph, inhumanity and humanity together. I think sometimes of wisdom as the ability to hold the totality of life, the wise you are, the more of life you can hold. And I think this holds quite a bit in it.

Brian Stevenson is the founder of the Equal Justice Initiative. He has done amazing work over the years, continues to do amazing work, defending people on death row. He is the author of the book Just Mercy, which was turned into a movie where he was played by Michael B. Jordan. How many of us can say that? But over time, he began to expand that work. into questions of remembrance, questions of our history and how we think about it, and whose humanity we are able to see inside of it. Talking to Stevenson, I was interested in how do you create a history of this country

that loves it in its totality? How do you work with America's past and its present in a way that doesn't trap you in pain, but doesn't force you to inhabit only an imagined glory? I'd have a story that pushes a country forward that enhances rather than reduces the bonds of brotherhood and solidarity between the people within it. As always my email, Ezraigned Show at NYTimes.com. Brian Stevenson, welcome to the show. Thank you. So we're speaking here not long before the 250th anniversary of America.

What's your relationship to that day? You know, I think anniversaries are always a time for reflection. to think about who we are, where we've been. But for me, more importantly, where are we going? You know, I think about this moment in terms of what will people be talking about on our 300th anniversary. The cage match? I hope that we will be past spectacle violence as a way to commemorate our nation. I don't think that violence, which is a part of every nation's history, but it's not the best part, it's not the glorious part.

It's not the battles won. It's the ideas that motivated people to stand up for things that they believe in that I think are most important. So I see this as a moment for reflection, to acknowledge things that are extraordinary and wonderful, but to also acknowledge things that are difficult and painful that continue to harm and haunt us. We're sitting here in a museum. We are sitting in a place built to commemorate, to take seriously, to stare unflinchingly at some of the most brutal, violent, horrible moments in American history. And not just the moments, but the people that this violence was inflicted upon. And we're going to talk about different pieces of the museum that move. and what they mean. But one question I have is for you spending so much time in those areas, thinking so much about how to

represent them, thinking so much about how to make people feel something, they may not want to feel. What that has done to your relationship with maybe America itself or the idea of America, the story of America. I moved to Montgomery in the 1980s.

We had 59 markers and monuments to the Confederacy. The three largest High School's here where Robert E. Lehigh, Jefferson Davis High, Sydney-Leneer High, where the population had to walk around in a space that shouted the history of the confeditary and would not even whisper the history of slavery. You could not find the word slave, slavery, or enslavement anywhere in the city landscape. And I think that does something unhealthy for everybody. And so I just saw it as a way of creating a space for us to understand our history

more honestly, more completely. I think it is a narrative journey that you have to undertake, and there will be pain along the way. But it's a very familiar way of helping the world reckon with human rights violations. I mean, we have nearly 200 Holocaust museums across the world. We have over 40 in the United States. I think we need all of them. When you go to the Holocaust Museum, at least when I do,

I get to the end of it, and I am motivated to say never again, not Jewish, not connected to that history, but I am motivated by the suffering and the brutality that I have learned about to say never again. And for me, this country has never created a relationship to our history of racial violence, of enslavement, of lynching, of abuse of other people who are disfavored. we've never created a relationship to that history that has motivated us to say never again. And because we've never made that commitment of never again, we keep being romanced by new manifestations that pull us into the very patterns and behaviors that allow that kind of violence to be replicated. There's also conflict in bringing up this history. Donald Trump is president. and there has been an ongoing fury from him, from his white house and people around him, going back to his first term, about around their sense that the people, like you, trying to

create a relationship to our racial history, trying to create a reckoning with it, are trying to take the story of America and poison it. By viewing every issue through the lens of race, they want to impose a new segregation and we must not allow that to happen. Critical race theory, the 1619 project, and the crusade against American history is toxic propaganda, ideological poison that if not removed will dissolve the civic bonds that tie us together will destroy our country.

In answer to the New York Times 1619 project, They create the 1776 project. One of both the sources of their political strength and the engines of their political argument is that there is an organized faction trying to corrupt the story of America, trying to force us into a space of endless repentance and acidify the bonds of solidarity between us and that we are a nation, nations need, stories everybody believes in, and that one thing that they are offering the country, is an ability to be proud of America. Yeah. Again, what do you think of that? I think there's so many areas of our lives, particularly in this country,

that are inspiring and energizing and create joy and create meaning and purpose. There are lots of opportunities to feel proud and excited about what we have done. I mean, we cheer for our Olympic teams. We cheer for achievement. We cheer for success. The technology that has,

change the world is something that we all embrace and celebrate communication. But that doesn't mean that's the only thing you should think about. It's the only thing you should talk about. And I just think public health, human health is a really great way to think about this. It's like saying we don't want physicians to tell people that they have high blood pressure or diabetes because that's depressing. That's demoralizing. That's going to make people feel bad when they walk out. And we could ban physicians from ever giving that diagnosis. But the people who have high blood pressure, the people who have diabetes are going to get sick. They're not going to be healthy. And eventually it will kill them in ways that they don't have to die. You know, our military leaders,

if you talk to military leaders in military colleges and all of these academies, what they study are the mistakes we have made during our past. It's the misjudgments during war. It's the miscalculations that created outcomes that we didn't want. That's what you study so that you don't replicate those mistakes in the future. You do the same thing in science. You do the same thing in business. That's how we have succeeded. That's how we have achieved in this country. I don't share the view that we are doomed. I don't share the view that we are corrupted. without any opportunity for repair. I genuinely believe that there is something that feels more like freedom, more like equality,

more like liberty, and more like justice waiting for us in the United States. I think it's just waiting. But we will not get there if we don't find the courage to unburden ourselves from the parts of our history that hold us back. And I genuinely believe that. And I see lots of examples of it all the time. You know, we're here in Alabama, and Alabama college football is like religion. It really is. If you moved here, people would start asking you almost immediately,

Auburn or Alabama. There was this intensity around college football that I didn't quite understand. I thought, oh, they don't have a professional sports team. No, it's more than that. There's an identity that has evolved in this state that is connected to the success of these athletic programs, And the question becomes why. And when you think about it, here in Alabama, it's one of the things that we can be legitimately proud of, that we have won national championships against everybody, the Californians, the New Yorkers, the Midwest.

We beat them on these playing fields, and it generates pride. And I just want to step back a few decades and remind people that George Wallace stood in front of the University of Alabama schoolhouse door and said, segregation forever. Black people will never walk through these gates. And most of the people in the state supported him. But then courageous black athletes and courageous white parents sent their kids to that school as integration took place. And then we got excited about the possibility of winning. And our desire to win overcame our desire to be segregated. And we started winning. And now you see this pride, you see this joy, you see this triumph for this state. And on those game days, black people, white people, poor people, rich people are all glued to the TV. They're all at the

stadium. They're all celebrating. It's like what's happening with the Knicks in New York City right now. That triumph is a state triumph. It's an everybody triumph. And the only thing I want to acknowledge is that you owe that to the civil rights movement. You owe that to the courageous people who said, No, we reject segregation forever. And if we understand that, then we begin to imagine, well, where else might we have achievement and progress and win things if we got past that bigotry, if we got past that fear? I always feel that you can make a real argument that Montgomery is a birthplace of American democracy, not where it's conceived, right? There's a conception of American democracy that happens in arguably 1776, you know, or maybe before that, depending on how you want to think about it. But America is not a democracy until at least after the civil rights and the voting rights acts on any real measure that we would recognize today.

And what turns that begins here with a bus boycott. And this place is not just a monument to segregation or Jim Crow. The civil rights movement, I really do think, to be the most beautiful moment. and movement in American history, of course, braided in with some of the absolute ugliest and most horrifying moments in American history, but somehow taking that in its totality, not choosing one or the other, not seeing so much of the ugliness that the heroism disappears, that you cease to see that as America too, or vice versa. that feels like a mature relationship to our history.

Like wisdom is holding both things as part of the American synthesis. I even think it actually starts earlier than that. When I think about the legacy of slavery, one of the things that I've just been focused on a lot since we started working on our sites is how extraordinary it was that when those four million black people were emancipated after the Civil War, they decided not to seek revenge and retribution against the people who enslaved them. They knew who sold their children.

They knew who abused them. They knew who raped them. They knew who did all of these horrific things. And they could have given into the emotion, the desire to seek retribution and revenge against the enslavers, the people who did these torturous things. But instead, when you look at what happens after the Civil War, you see, this community of people choose, America. They say, you know what? We're going to build schools. We're going to build churches. We're going to build families. We're going to commit to this country like nobody's ever committed before. Black men registered to vote. They ran for office. They tried to create harmony and peace with those who had

enslaved and tortured them. It was a remarkable commitment to a healthier, better future. It collapse quickly, and that's what gives rise to a century of segregation in Jim Crow laws. Black people were killed by the police on buses. It wasn't just one day. It was a whole history of abuse. Black people had to get on the front of the bus, pay their fare, get off the bus, go to the back door. And sometimes the bus would just drive away before a black person could get on the bus. So many black riders in Montgomery would be left humiliated on the street. And that was the But to understand what happens in 1955, I think we need to have some appreciation for what happened in 1865, because when they made that first commitment to build America and were brutally and violently rejected, you could also understand why people might say, we're never going to do that again. But that's exactly what happens in 1955. When people finally said, we're going to challenge this, they were believing in an America that would respect. them that would respond to their challenge. To stay off the buses, every black person in this community, 50,000 people, it's remarkable. And they succeed. And that success then gives birth to the civil rights movement and inspired people, black and white, to commit to swim ends where they might be poisoned or threatened with acid, to commit to read ends, where they might get beaten and pulled out of libraries, to commit to freedom rides where riders were bloody brutalized. And to commit to all of that activism and struggle.

that then yielded this incredible moment in 1965 where democracy in this country took shape in a way that had never existed before. And I think you're right. That decade, that's why we have at our Montgomery Square, this language, the decade that changed the world. One thing that the museums and the sculpture sites and the monuments here that you have put together, one thing they do really beautifully is what you did there, which is show this as an integrated history. There's no one moment. There's no eras disconnected from each other. And so it begins even before slavery in this country, begins at the beginning of a slave trade.

When you walk in the museum, you're greeted with waves. And I spent a lot of time with data visualizations in my day. I'm not usually very moved by them. Yeah. But you have one that is visualizing the flow of ships, of slave ships. and where they went, right, which is not initially, primarily to America.

That's right. The slave trade was much more global than that. But you begin to see as you take into the 1700s, the 1800s, it concentrate in America towards cotton, towards the south, towards those riches. And this, I think, the first thing that began to really settle into my soul from being at the museum, it made me think about the people on the ships in two ways. One is, and you have incredibly moving installations around this, the people ripped from their homes and their families, pregnant women, children, and two million die in the crossing, just a huge number of people.

So many throw themselves overboard. It's gutting. It's like a truly gutting thing to sit with. I also spent time thinking about the enslavers. And one thing that was really present for me throughout the work you all have done here is the power of stories. and what it must have taken, what stories it must have taken, to not see the humanity of the people before you, not see that when they were weeping, those tears mattered, not see that the families you were destroying and dissolving, loved each other and mattered exactly as much as your own, not see that they were humans and that you had become the monster, right, to do all this with a Bible in your hand. Yeah. I'm curious, having sat in so much of this, how you understand what those stories were.

Yeah. That led people to sacrifice their humanity and to so betray the humanity of the people they were enslaved. Yeah. I think that's such an important question. And the transatlantic trade in that water in the Atlantic Ocean, just as backdrop, you know, that exhibit really came out of my first trip to Africa. And I mentioned this because I think it's true for all of us. It's just we're all learning, evolving. So I grew up on the ocean. The Atlantic Ocean was the beach. It was a place to go. And then I went to Africa for the first time. Misconnected. I was supposed to give a

speech in a Buzha in Nigeria. And I got there too late. And so they sent somebody to meet me at the airport in Lagos who was supposed to take care of me. And this young lawyer met me at the airport. And he was very nice. And first thing he said was, I've canceled your hotel room. You're not going to stay in a hotel. You're going to stay with me and my family. My son is excited to meet you. And he's going to share it.

So he was very, he was committed to giving me an authentic experience. And he said, I had to show you Lagos. It was like 11 o'clock at night. And he took me all around the city. And we would literally go into neighborhoods and he would start shouting, hey, everybody, come out and meet this black American lawyer. And people would come out and these women were trying to sell me shay butter and all these products. And it was rich.

I was tired, but it was rich. And he took me all around the city, and I finally said, man, I got to get a little rest. Can we just go home and get a little? I got to get up early. He said, okay, one more place. And he took me to the beach. I didn't even think about the beach in Lagos. It was not pretty.

It was dark. It was kind of concrete slabs. There were soldiers with guns and fast food. Nothing beautiful about it. He said, come on, come on. And we climbed over the concrete slabs down to the shore of the beach. It was dark. You could see the moon shining across the ocean. And this guy had been so gregarious and so talkative. All of a sudden got so quiet.

And I was standing there. And I looked over at him and he was crying. He had a tear running down his face. And then he looked at me and he said, I brought you here because I wanted to tell you, I'm sorry, this is where we lost you. And for the first time in my life, I realized I was standing on the other side of this, ocean that separated me from everything that's important about me. My identity, my culture, my history was all taken from me by the Atlantic Ocean. If I take a DNA test, I show up in 24 different countries. And it hit me hard. First time. And it changed my relationship to the Atlantic Ocean. When I got back here, I realized that that body of water needed to be understood more honestly. We've spent millions of dollars looking for trinkets from the Titanic in the Atlantic,

and we haven't spent hardly anything to reckon with the two million bodies that are buried in the bottom of that ocean. And so a story can help us understand things about who we are, our relationship to the things around us, that are important. I still love the beach. I still see it as a place of beauty. But I also see this need to help others understand the harm that was caused by moving millions of people off of their land, their place, their space. It's really unprecedented in human history. And so the second part of your question gets to the how, why. And when I look at the history of enslavement,

and you try to understand how did that come? Because you're right. People who enslaved other people thought of themselves as moral and decent and Christian. And you have to ask, well, how do you think of yourself as moral and decent and Christian? When you're pulling away a screaming woman from her children, knowing that that mother will never see those children again because you're treating her as property. How do you do that? And you beat her for crying. And you beat her. As you have so many exhibits on this. Absolutely. And you abuse. And I think you have to understand that that takes a false narrative. In order for those people to feel moral and decent and Christian, there had to be a false narrative, legitimating, sustaining. animating what they were seeing. And so we created a false narrative in this country. It actually began when Europeans arrived, and we had to deal with indigenous peoples, which is part of the reason why I think we need to talk more about that history. When we created our Constitution,

when we declared independence and advanced these ideas of equality and freedom and justice, we denied native people protection. We said, oh, no, those native people, they're different. And we created this narrative of racial difference that we used to justice. We denied native people. We said, oh, no, those native people, they're different. And we created this narrative of racial difference that we used to justify forcing people off their lands, the famine, the war, the disease, and that narrative of racial difference, the same narrative is what was used to justify 246 years of slavery. And the false narrative was that black people are not as good as white people, that black people are less human, less evolved, less capable. And that's why I believe the great evil of slavery wasn't the bondage, the forced labor, the violence, all

of those things. I think the true evil of American slavery was the narrative we created to justify enslavement. And when I give talks, I often argue that the North won the Civil War, but the South won the narrative war. Those ideas of racial difference in racial hierarchy, they continued. And then some important footnote on that, even many of the abolitionists in the North, even many of the people who did not believe in slavery also did not believe in racial equality, which is why Reconstruction collapses. They retreated from that because they were being governed by this narrative of racial differences. So then when Southern States start codifying racial segregation and creating Jim Crow, it didn't seem as strange as you would imagine it should be to have laws barring black people

and white people from sitting in the same part of a bus or playing checkers together or living next to one another, this absurd, crazy world where black kids couldn't play with white kids and black people couldn't say this to a white person. That is all rooted in this narrative. And we talk about mass incarceration in the same context because I think there's a way in which we have tolerated throwing away hundreds of thousands of people because it's politically expedient.

You know, the drug war in the 1970s. You know, we had 300,000 people in our jails and prisons until the 1970s. And by the end of the century, we had over two million. How did that happen? Well, we had people from both political parties saying that people who are drug addicted, people who are drug dependent are criminals who should be punished for their addiction and dependency. Even the people when I'm representing my client, people are trying to kill the people I represent. It's heartbreaking to me. I'm working on a case now. I'm bombing a 10-year-old child. And there are people in this state that refuse to put this child in the juvenile system. They're trying to keep him in the adult system, 10-year-old boy. and because there's no place for 10-year-old children in the adult system, what they do with the 10-year-old boy is put him in solitary confinement. And that is such a destructive, cruel, abusive thing to do. And if I could just get them close enough to this child, I don't think anybody would say that's what we should be doing.

But they won't get close. But some of them were close to this child. There was a judge who sentenced that child, no? Well, there was. But judges don't have to get close to the people they sentenced. I mean, I think one of the things if I could radically change our criminal. system. I would make judges go to jails and prisons and see what's happening to people in jails and prisons. I would actually make them spend time in low-income communities, the zip codes where you have

the highest rates of arrest and process. I would want them to go and actually see the lives of children, see what's happening to kids who are born into violent families where people are always shouting that are living near gunshots all the time to see the environments so they could have an appreciation for who that person is. But that's the problem now, is that. That's the problem now is that we have so many people with the power, police, prosecutors, and judges who are disconnected. And if the only thing you see is people at their worst, then that can mislead you as well, right? And that's what happens to a lot of law enforcement. You only see people on their worst day, and that makes you angry, and I get it.

But if you actually spent time with their mothers, their siblings, the people trying to help them, if you spent time in poor communities and you actually saw the struggle people are engaged in to overcome, then I think you'd actually have a different mindset. But no, I think this child is a consequence of the way in which we've divided things. Almost all the kids under the age of 13 in this state who have been condemned in this way are kids of color. And the judges are almost all white. I was in the lynching room, one of the things, and I found that of everything I sat in here to be the hardest space to sit in. Yeah.

But two things really sat with me. One was because you have put up all this coverage of lynchings, right? Newspapers and announcements and invitations, right, to come out to see the lynching. Yeah. Of kids, of 13-year-olds, of 15-year-olds, there's one in which an infant is lynched. Yeah. And that's talked about, right? Just as a fact, like, come, you know, this is what happened.

And this is what we did. And then the other was this other dimension of the news reports that you put up on it. The thirst for violence and the, like there were multiple where they couldn't find the person so they lynched the brother. Yes. And that was, again, reported on, advertised. He talked too much. Now he won't talk anymore was the way another one was described. You know, we were just talking about maybe this.

this difference between being close to someone and being near them. There's maybe a different way of saying what I was saying. There was a judge at some point near that child. There was a prosecutor near that child in a room with that child. And in these communities, there is maybe not closeness in the way you're describing it, an intimacy, a seeing of another person's struggle, humanity, dignity, soul. But there's nearness. And in some ways the nearness, it seems,

that you can feel a pulsing fear behind it, right, particularly if there's ever evidence of revolt, of violence, of people trying to fight back in a system that is destroying them. And then the system has to come down with extraordinary force on them or anybody near them, escape, right? The punishment for escape. That would be in some ways the most honorable and human response. to what is being done. Yeah. The number of people who are brutalized, or at times I think lynched, but certainly brutalized during slavery for just going at night to try to see their wife who has been moved.

Yeah. Or their mother. There's something about this nearness but not closeness. Yeah. I think that's right. I mean, the people who were most at risk of lynching violence in the 20th century were black veterans after World War I and black veterans after World War II. Why? Because they had gone to Europe and fought. They'd been given a gun. They had done something that people applauded them for. France celebrated them. And now they're back in Mississippi. Now they're back in Georgia. And for the local power structure, that was a threat. And so they would try to humiliate them. Boy, take that uniform off right now. And they would say no. And their resistance was such a threat to this social order, this racial order, that they would be particularly at risk of victimization. And so I think you can look at that.

in terms of proximity, and I think that is a very real framework. But it's also worth kind of stepping out from that. How did that happen? Well, that's where I think this narrative becomes so important. And part of what I'm saying is, yes, it is not good for you to enslave another human being. I don't want you to do that because I care about you. I think it will corrupt your heart, your soul, it will limit your capacity to love. It is not healthy to say to people, you can't love that person because of their color.

It is not good for you to take your children to a lynching, which many families did, and let them watch a black man being brutalized and mutilated. It's not good for them. You're going to create an unhealthy relationship to life. And that's why I do see this as an effort to liberate everybody, to uplift everybody, and not just the people who have kind of disproportionately borne the burden of this bigotry, but everybody. There's a picture right next to us of a bunch of white families staring at the feet of a lynched man, and some of the children are in ties, right? They dress them up for the occasion.

I was thinking, as you said some of that, about the word narrative. I'm trying to open up what I felt about that. Narrative somehow seems so thin for what it was, right? There's a, narrative in a book. There's a narrative in a Pixar film that this wasn't just a story people were telling. It was a way that they were and were not able to register plain facts of the world in front of them, which isn't to say it's not a narrative or not a story, but it made me think about what has to happen for a story to penetrate so deeply that it is more powerful than your immediate reality is to you. I always think of Descartes vivisecting animals and as a scream, right? And animals do scream if you cut them open while they're alive, saying they're not really

feeling pain. Those are just mechanical sounds. And one of the parts of the museum that I really spent a lot of time in were the ads to sell slaves. And the reason I found myself just reading more and more and more of them, is that there are a moment when you saw something, a dissonance breaking through, right? We talk about narrative, but there's also the power of self-interest and of interest. And as you read these, there's a wall of them in the museum. The slaves are, the people are, described as able to learn anything, completely trustworthy, of a great family.

right they read almost like college endorsement letters because they're trying to get the highest price for them yeah and so on the one hand there's this narrative this story of brutishness of subhumanity of incapacity and then it's Peter is a master bricklayer and you see something happening that what is known but can't be admitted yeah well i i think you're absolutely right that the reality of being with another human being, seeing another person's humanity is always going to emerge in ways that are powerful. You know, I grew up in segregation. There were no but for Brown versus Board of Education, I would have had a life where there was no engagement with people who are white. But because of that decision, lawyers came into our community, made them open up to public schools, and I began interacting. with white kids, and they began interacting with me. And by the end of high school, gosh, they elected me to be the president of the student body, which would have been inconceivable, not because I was

particularly special, but just because we were able to get to a place of relationship. And I say that because when you think about the harm done by segregation, we never focus on what it did to our understanding of who we are. I mean, I think about the lives of most Americans in the 20th century. There were very few places where people had integrated, racially integrated lives. And now what's happened is we're seeing that replicated again. Our public schools in Montgomery are racially segregated. The public schools are 76 percent black. White parents didn't want their kids going to school with black kids after Brown. And so they left and started creating private schools and charter schools, and that separation has continued.

And that's the tragedy of the narrative that keeps us apart. I mean, when you really get to know a person, I mean, again, I see this in my legal work. And a lot of what I'm trying to do in this space has been informed by that. I've had correctional officers come up to me with tears in their eyes when one of my clients is getting close to an execution date and say, please, please save this man. He's a good person. He doesn't deserve this. They wouldn't be able to testify to that in court.

If I asked him for an affidavit, they wouldn't be able to do that because they would lose their job. But it was a genuine understanding. This is a human being whose life has meaning and purpose and value. He's not someone who's beyond hope, beyond redemption. And it wasn't even about innocence or guilt. It was about what they observed. So I do think that dissonance, what you see in those ads, is a dissonance that was was intentional, that was sustained, obviously by the economic benefit of saying something

positive about this person that you're trying to sell, but you can see it throughout history. This brings us in a way to the 250th to 1776. You can see it in the Founding Fathers, who many of them knew and left eloquent writings to the effect of slavery is a moral horror that God will judge this country for. And not only did they not abolish slavery upon the founding of the country, but they did not free their own slaves. And that's where I think there's something interesting in this question of, in some ways, it almost takes us off the hook then and now to say that the problem was, everyone believed a story that wasn't true. Because many people knew the story wasn't true.

or they believe multiple stories at one time. But it's sometimes hard, costly, to act upon what you know is true. I mean, you don't have to take away from the brilliance of the founders or the morality in other dimensions or what they gifted unto the world to say that actually it's a profound warning to read their writings on this and then recognize what they did not do. Absolutely. And that's why exploring what they did not do is as important as exploring what they did, understanding what they did.

And to not reckon with what they did not do, it's not just dishonest. It's misleading. It will allow you to believe that greatness can be achieved without completeness, without something that's consistent. And I just think, again, it ends up being unhealthy. I think about people I know super talented, incredibly talented, and I could talk forever about how unique and skilled and talented they are as a musician, as an athlete. But I also know that they are suffering, that they are struggling, that they're dealing with mental health challenges, emotional challenges, depression. And if I don't talk about that, if they don't talk about that, their talents

will not define them. They'll be overwhelmed by these other things. things. And so that's why I feel like it's unhealthy to not acknowledge the tensions, the contradictions, the failures of the founding fathers and the failures of our largest society. Let me have you expand on that because I think that's a very profound statement that, and I want to remember how you said it, that greatness is not possible without completeness. Is that what you said? Yeah. I think many people of the fear that what you will have if you confront, if you admit,

if you look straight at your failings, your country's failings, is not completeness so much as a kind of overwhelm, that you will be overwhelmed by the darkness. Tell me why you don't believe that. Well, I just, I don't, I think we have too many examples of that not happening to fear that it, that it will happen to us. I mean, you know, a lot of what I'm doing here came out of going to South Africa and visiting the apartheid museum. And to get into that museum, you get a ticket, and the ticket will arbitrarily assign you a label that says white or colored, and you have to go through the door that your ticket

corresponds with. So before you even go into that museum, you have to deal with the discomfort of participating with apartheid. and I went with three or four Swedish lawyers. We're all at some human rights conference. We all bought tickets. We all got tickets that said white. And when they realized that and they saw the doors,

they immediately stopped and said, oh, no. And they went back to the black woman working at the counter and said, yeah, we don't want the white ticket. We want the other ticket. And she wouldn't sell it to them. But that sense of discomfort before you even go in. And when you go to the apartment. What did it feel like for you?

Well, I walked right through the white door. It didn't bother me. I mean, you know, because I understood what they were. were trying to do, they were trying to get you to imagine, to appreciate, to kind of engage with the arbitrariness of that regime. But there were rooms in that museum where there were nooses hanging from the wall. I was like, oh, my God. And when I left, I thought, we don't have any museums like this in America. Then I went to Berlin. And in Berlin, I was blown away. You can't go 200 meters in Berlin without seeing the Stapelstein and the markers and the monuments dedicated

to the victims of the Holocaust. The Holocaust Memorial sits in the center of Berlin. There's like a dozen museums dealing with the horrors of the Holocaust just in Berlin. There were no Adolf Hitler statues. There were no monuments to the perpetrators of the Holocaust. In Germany, you're required to understand the Holocaust before you graduate from high school. You can't graduate without a detailed understanding of that history. And they don't have people saying, oh, we can't teach our kids about the Holocaust. That might make them feel uncomfortable or ashamed. It's the opposite. Well, now they do have some people saying that. And I think this is important because when we, I remember our earlier conversations and you tell me about Berlin, and in the decade or so that

has passed since then, you know, maybe a bit less, we've seen the rise of the AFD. And at the nuclear core of the AFD, I mean, they have an argument about immigration and many other things. but much of their appeal is about restoring German pride, allowing Germans to be proud of who they are again. There is no vaccine against bigotry and politics of fear and anger. Nothing will insulate us from tensions, and you see that in Germany, you see that in Europe. But when you think about Germany, the villain of the 20th century and where it stands today in the 21st century, in less than 80 years that nation has transformed itself. And it wasn't immediate.

If you talked about the Holocaust, you'd get booed. You'd get shouted at. But what has happened there in the last 80 years, I think, is quite remarkable. And we need to understand that before we say, oh, we can't talk about that in the United States, because we'll get defined by that. We'll be overwhelmed by that. The principal difference, of course, is that in South Africa, there was a change in power. A black majority took over and they were insisting on reckoning

with the history of apartheid. The Nazis lost the war. Had the Nazis won the war, we wouldn't see the Germany that we see. And in the United States, there hasn't been a shift in power. The people who benefited from enslavement didn't have to forfeit all that they benefited from. The people who actually fought against the United States were quickly restored into power and didn't have to give up anything as a result of that. The people who were, who lynched others, were never held accountable. Even in the 1960s, the moment we're in now is, I think, a consequence because we never required accountability. We didn't even require people who disenfranchised black people for a century to say, I'm sorry, I'm wrong. We shouldn't

have done that. Most of them voted against the Voting Rights Act in 1965, these Southern Congress members, and they just began scheming for ways to maintain political disenfranchisement. It's the absence of reckoning that allows the problems that contribute to these issues to continue. It's interesting to me how much the memorials in other places informed what you have done here. And being here, I thought a lot about Holocaust museums, concentration camps, right? That exists very much in my family's history. And I had a similar feeling here that I have there. The confronting the Holocaust, it doesn't make me afraid of Germans. It makes me afraid of human beings.

The confronting that photo of people on their Sunday best looking at a man hanging from a tree. It doesn't make me afraid of Americans or, you know, whatever county that might have happened in, the people of that county. It makes me afraid of human beings. Yeah. that what we are capable of is very easy for us to deny. Yeah. And it's also a mistake, I think, to assume that it's only what they are capable of. Absolutely.

Absolutely. And I'm glad to hear you say that because that's the goal. You know, people will say, well, my people never enslaved anybody, as if somehow that exonerates them from living in a community where the hotels and the railroads and the business and the insurance, all of that was trafficking in the commerce of slavery. You didn't have to enslave someone to benefit from slavery. And so that's not the right framework. If you're looking for a personal exoneration in that way, that's not going to get us where we need to go.

We are succeeding if we can get people to think past the particulars of the moment, the particulars of the era, which is what a lot of people do when they tell you, don't talk about that. That's in the past. It doesn't matter anymore. They're trying to reduce it to a particular phenomenon. Why are you talking about slavery? That happened a long time ago. I think if you truly appreciate the harms of slavery,

if you truly appreciate the harms of lynching, if you truly get to the horrors and the harms of segregation, then you'll begin to never want to tolerate abuse of power. You'll never want to exploit people who have less privilege. you'll begin to talk against hatred. And I think part of why I value making this a human story of recognizing the humanity of every person is because it stops mattering where you are in the story.

You just know that that is wrong. There's not much in the museum about the abolitionists or about the Civil War. There's a lot about enslavement, but Frederick Douglass is not absent, but he's not highly present. Say, I think of Lincoln or sort of anything in that kind of vast movement that ended this horror. And particularly the parts of it did so when it seems so remote, right? When I read the biographies of Douglas or others, and there's just such a long period.

I mean, now we see it on the other side of the story. but when that work was so unlikely. Why? Well, if you ask some, most people in this country, what do you know about slavery? They'll say, well, we know there was a civil war. Can you identify anybody who, Frederick Douglass, maybe Harriet Tubman.

And it doesn't help them understand anything about slavery. To know that someone escaped and then did these remarkable things, that's an achievement narrative. But I think it's misleading to reduce slavery to the story of abolitionists or to reduce slavery to the success of Frederick Douglass. Because what that does is actually allows you to avoid the pain and the harm and imagine that it created this opportunity for this great man to emerge. What you need to know about slavery was how cruel it was, how horrific it was, how painful it was, the ways in which it distorted. And most people haven't thought about what it was like to be a mother, an enslaved mother, and to give birth to a child, maybe even as a product of rape, and have to decide, do I love this child or not?

Half the people I know are being sold away from their children or their children are being sold away from them. If I love this child, my heart's going to be broken. So maybe I shouldn't love this child so much because it's just too fragile. it's too likely that they'll be pulled away from me. And when you learn that most of these mothers chose to love despite the threat that they would be sold, despite the fact that this was a product of sexual violence and rape, you begin to see something different about that enslaved woman.

You begin to understand something different about these people. And if you don't understand that, then you're going to misunderstand the nature of slavery. My great-grandfather was enslaved in Caroline County, Virginia. Virginia. And even though he was enslaved and enslaved people could lose their life for trying to read or write, it was against the law. My great-grandfather learned to read or write as a teenager. He risked his life to learn to read a right as a teenager because he had a hope of freedom. It's in the 1850s. He didn't know a civil war was coming, but he had a hope of freedom. And he learned to read a right. And my grandmother told me, after emancipation, something I never talked about before, that my great-grandfather would read the newspaper to formally enslaved people who he would invite to their house once a week so they would know what was going on. He would stand on the porch and read the newspaper from front to back. And people who didn't know how to read or write would hear him read. And my grandmother said, she loved the fact that her dad

knew how to read. And she said, when my dad started reading, I would push my siblings aside. And she said, I would get near him and I would just wrap my arms around his leg. I said, mama, why did you do that? She said, well, I would wrap my arms around his leg because I wanted to learn to read too. And she said, I thought you learned to read by touching somebody while they read. And he taught my grandmother to read or write, and she would insist that we would read. I would sometimes go to visit her. She'd make these desserts that smelled so good. I'd go running. She'd say, come on, Brian, get this pie. And I'd go run it, and she'd be in front of the kitchen with a stack of books. She'd make you read for the dessert. But what I realized is that there was power in the hopes of those

who'd come before me. I felt lifted up by generations of people who had struggled. And that's what we're trying to do with this history. We want to be very direct about the harms and the horrors of slavery. But we also want people to understand the resilience, the power, the strength, the courage, the character of people to love in the midst of agony. It then gives you something to celebrate in a new way when you get to the National Monument. and we decided to take the names of the four million who were emancipated, who for the first time in American history could have a surname. That happened in 1870.

It was the first time enslaved people in this country got to have a serning, but to now have those 122,000 names on that monument that's 43 feet tall and 150 feet wide. And to see the descendants of enslaved people in this country finally have a place to go where they can connect to their enslaved ancestors with pride for their capacity to survive, their capacity to love, their capacity to endure. I just think is really important. We're trying to help people understand

there's power in knowing who we are and what we've done. There's power in appreciating our capacity to overcome not just slavery and lynching and segregation, but anything that diminishes us, that pushes us away from these broad and beautiful ideas. And I really am energized by it. There's nothing that undid me across the museum the way the narratives of peoples,

of slaves' commitments to their family's death. Absolutely. And over and over and over again, I would see the pictures or read the stories or read their words. and think about my seven-year-old. Yeah. There's one of which a young kid, the father who's being taken from him, talks about him running and like trying to hit the chains around as if to break them.

Yeah. Yeah. You know, or the men and women parted from each other. Yeah. You know, and people's names are changed to go back to what you were saying about the names. When the people you love are taken from you, you will very likely never see them again. So now do I take nothing away from that. heroism, I actually found it to be the most affecting, right?

The commitment to the fundamental nature of being a human being, which is loving and caring for yours. And there's nothing I found to be more indicative of like the way people turn themselves into monsters in the system, then that they would do this to, then that they would force people to advertise themselves on a slave block and then whip them for crying upon separation from those they love, right? It just, I find it unimaginable. So when I ask about the abolitionists, I don't ask to reduce the story of slavery to a narrative about them, but the reason I do ask about them and the reason I want to do it from a different angle is that you've been talking here

about what it means to inhabit these moments and ask, how could that be me? What it means to inhabit this moment and ask, not just how could you identify with a man who is lynched, But what does it mean to identify with the people watching the man be lynched? But there's also something, if you're thinking about how these stories lead you towards justice, what does it mean to commit yourself to that when it's not easy, when it's not a majoritarian position, when you don't see the civil war coming? And yes, like the story of Frederick Douglass or Garrison or all these different people, it can be reduced down to cliche. but it's also not just cliche. I mean, the abolitionist movement, all these movements,

they are their own incredible, unlikely acts. So I understand why you didn't focus on the museum, but how do you take it yourself? Well, I just, I mean, I think it is an intentional choice. I think we've tended to make the abolitionists, the heroes of the anti-slavery movement. that they were the leaders who won the struggle for emancipation. And I just think that's not complete.

I even think it borders on dishonesty. I think the 10 million people who were enslaved over 246 years and found a way to hold onto their humanity and the dignity, there's nothing more that contributes to abolition than to stay human when you're being treated as an enslaved person, to hold on to your dignity when you're being denied your dignity, to hold on to your humanity when your humanity is being crushed. I think they are the heroes of that story.

They are the champions. And you could be in Boston writing in nice and polite things that others can read, but that's not the hard thing about enduring enslavement. It's not the hard thing. It's not going to be the thing that gets us where we're trying to go. And so I don't have any problem. with all of those who did all that they did,

but I think we are not acknowledging the power, the strength, the courage it took to endure. Those husbands and wives and children and siblings that spent their last nickels and dimes to find their loved ones after emancipation, you have to understand that heart, if you really want to understand how did slavery end? And similarly, in the civil rights context,

You know, I love Dr. King. I love Mrs. Parks who had the privilege of getting to know. I love the names that are known by other people. But it's the cooks and the maids and the laborers who had to walk three miles every day to get to work because they didn't have a car, then walk three miles back to get home. It's Georgia Gilmore who was making food for other people

because she knew that some people would never have time to eat. It's these ordinary people doing extraordinary, things. It's the 50,000 black people in this city, most of whom whose names will never be known. Again, nothing but admiration for Frederick Douglass, but we actually use the words of William Wells Brown at Freedom Monument Sculpture Park, who was also like Douglas, someone who escaped slavery. But what he writes about is the pain of enslavement. He wants people to understand what it was like to hear his mother being whipped when he had been pulled into the house to work inside the house, but his mother was still out in the field. He wants people to read about his heartbreak when he tried to escape

and was caught. Those are the stories, I think, that are important to understanding this legacy. His story was very, very powerful to read as it creates a sort of narrative as you move through the park. So he tells a story of escaping with his mother at one point. And they're traveling and they feel near to freedom. It's a particularly difficult pillar to read because you can begin to feel that they're going to be caught and they are. But the part that is stuck with me is they're caught by functionally bounty hunters. And he's bound and they're taken and they're being taken back. But they and the hunters stop for the night somewhere to spend the night.

and the people who hunted them, who captured this man and his mother and are going to bring them back to terrible punishment, maybe death, definitely bondage, take out a Bible and read from it to everybody that night. And he talks in that recounting of it about, well, how is it that this person imagines himself to be a Christian? And Christianity is so present in the museum.

It is so present on all sides of the conflict, of the civil rights movement, but also of the people fighting the civil rights movement. The KKK is a Christian organization. It's so present in slavery. Even just from the perspective of story, how do you understand how the same book, the same words, can take such different forms? Well, I think, again, Christianity, when you have a lot of power, when you have a lot of status,

can be corruptive. And the Gospels speak to this. They basically say wealth and power and privilege is something that will make you a bad Christian. It will keep you away from the kingdom of God. and unfortunately, in a nation as wealthy and powerful and privileged as our nation, there's just not as much emphasis on that. I actually think I would love, I want everybody to come to our spaces, but I want particularly Christians to come. And I just want them to ask themselves, were those Christians on the right side, not just of history, but on the right side of theology, of Christianity, of faith,

who tried to justify and defend slavery. Similarly, when Christians were saying, no, black people over here, white people over here, the biggest proponent of segregation, the loudest opponent of the Montgomery Bus Boycott was the pastor of the Baptist Church here in Montgomery. Were they good Christians? Were they good believers?

Or were they misled? Did something get between them and true Christianity? And if you ask that question and you have to say yes, it just prompts them these new questions for you, for how you function, how you believe. If we believe we are called to do justice and love mercy and walk humbly, do you think those things should be easy? Or do you think those things are going to be hard? I can tell you they're going to be hard. And so you have to prepare yourself to do something hard. The good news is that we have been empowered to do the hard thing because of our faith.

I mean, I've always believed I had to believe things I haven't seen. I mean, you know, nobody, my family had gone to college before I had to believe that, even though I hadn't seen it. I'd never met a lawyer. I had to believe I could be something I'd never seen. We came to Alabama in 1980s to represent people on death row. Everybody said, you can't help anybody on death row in Alabama. You'll never win a case. We had to believe we could make a difference even though we hadn't seen it.

And even today, I have to believe that there is something that. that are waiting for us in America. It's not that hard to have hope. It's not that hard to believe that. I walked these streets of Montgomery knowing that the generation that came before me would put on their Sunday best. They'd go places to push for the right to vote.

They'd get battered and bloodied and beaten while they were praying on their knees. And then they would go back home, wipe the blood off, pick their Bibles back up, and do it again. I stand on the shoulders of people who did so much more with so much less. And so I just think that's where Christianity has power.

That's where faith has power. It doesn't just have to be Christianity. It's the ability to believe things that we haven't seen, to do things that haven't been done before. It is the engine that drives the power of faith. And that's what Dr. King and the civil rights community, I think, got so right. They knew that they could empower people

who had lived lives rooted in that view to now challenge segregation, to challenge this racial order. This is my own view, but one thing I often think about is that spirituality, great spiritual teachers, mystics, they are unruly and they are disruptive. It's true of Jesus. True of any prophet you might want to name. That's right. And religions over time, not every single one of them, not at all times, but they often come to prize order.

Yeah. And spirituality often wants to reorder the world, and religions often want to maintain it sort of because they're built around the world as it is. And one of the places you saw that, and you see it so often in the history of slavery, of civil rights, but you have a recruiting bill from, I believe, the Citizens Council, which is a group in the South. built to fight civil rights. And it's trying to convince other, you know, white citizens to give their $4, give their $6. And what it promises him isn't white supremacy. It's racial harmony.

Yeah. It says, we are here to maintain racial harmony in Selma. Yeah. That we, if you work with us, will get you another decade of racial harmony in Selma. And the way that the status quo is. the order of oppression can look like harmony to those it is not harming. You read histories of the Civil Rights Act, and civil rights activists are always called agitators. Yeah.

They're agitating things. Yeah, that's right. Yeah. No, I think you're absolutely right. If you think religion creates stability, if you think religion creates calm, if you think it creates order, then that will be your narrative. That will be the message that you try to give to people. And that's exactly what happened. So the White Citizens Council in Montgomery was very small until the Montgomery bus boycott.

And it grew dramatically. The mayor wasn't a member, the police chief wasn't a member, until the Montgomery Bus Boycott. But every month of that boycott, thousands and thousands more people started joining the White Citizens Council, all because black people were not riding the bus. And they saw that as destabilizing. They saw that as, and because Dr. King was articulating these things that people were hadn't articulated before, and he was challenging them. And when you listen to these speeches he gave, he would say at the mass meetings that we have to help our white brothers and sisters. He says,

because segregation is evil. Then later segregation, many Negroes lost faith in themselves. Many came to feel that perhaps they were less than human. Many came to feel that, feel that they were inferior. This, it seems to me, is the greatest tragedy of slavery, the greatest tragedy of segregation, not merely what it does to the individual physically, but what it does to one psychologically. It scars the soul of the segregated as well as the segregator. It gives a segregator a false sense of superiority while leaving, the segregated with a false sense of inferiority.

And this is exactly what happened. But then something happened to the Negro. It was brilliant, but it was particularly enraging to the White Citizens Council because he was actually saying, hey, white people, I've got something to help you too. And that's what made it so provocative because he was saying we need a new order. We need a new future. transform this pending cosmic elegy into a creative psalm of peace and brotherhood with this faith, we will be able to speed up the day when all of God's children, black men and white men,

Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, Hindus and Muslims, Theists and atheists, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, pre at last, free at last. Thank God Almighty, we are free at last. We have a long, long way to go before this. And that's why, both in Christianity and in a lot of religions, there's a message to the wealthy and the power and the privileges. Woe to you wealthy.

Woe to you privileged people. You have to think differently than your wealth and your privilege will push you to think. You have to think differently than your status will push you to think. And that's, I think, something that some people of faith are embracing and using in very powerful ways. And that's something that others are not. The civil rights movement, I feel it when I watch the videos here. I feel it when I read the histories of it. It is hard for me to believe it existed.

And that's true for, as you were saying a minute ago, the names we associate with it, the Martin Luther King Jr., the Bayard Rustin's. But it's even more true for the people who showed up at marches who were never going to be written about and who did so knowing they might take a brick to the head. There's a, I think it's a picture in the museum, and you just see a white man swinging a baseball bat at the back of a black woman.

Yes, yeah. And people who came day after day, you know, the people who decided to send their children, into the teeth of Bull Connor. Right. Who chose to do that, and that was very, very controversial. And the, you know, Martha King Jr. and others were heavily criticized for it. That, and to say nothing of just the bus boycott, which went on not for a week or a month, but nearly a year.

Yeah. Over a year. 382 days. And it's almost a hard text because I think, people look at it, and the restraint and the love, it doesn't feel human. I almost think it's easier to imagine yourself suffering or inflicting suffering, right? Like being a victim or being a perpetrator, then to choose to absorb suffering with that kind of grace and restraint. Yeah.

And yeah, I wonder how you... Yeah, I mean, I think the brilliance of that generation of leaders, is that they knew that they didn't have the economic power, the military power, or the political power to force change. So they had to use the power they had. And there was a morality in standing up against violence with nonviolence, being well-dressed and disciplined in the face of all of this brutality. When people were cussing and swearing at you, you were smiling. sending your children into spaces where they would be fire hosed or menaced by dogs or beaten and brutalized. It was a profound, unprecedented use of kind of moral power of using humanity to confront the inhumanity of those.

who abuse. It's hard, credibly difficult. But I think people had an appreciation that that's what it was going to take. When Dr. King is the first speech at the first mass meeting, and he's being very, he's, you know, he's, you know, ornate with his language, he's got all of the flourishes, but he's being very methodical, and he's saying, what happened to Rosa Parks, but at some point, after laying it all out, what he says is, but we're tired now. And that's when the everybody erupts. It was the exhaustion of constantly dealing with the status quo, the humiliation, the degradation, the constant threats and menacing, that people said, we want our freedom, and we want our freedom now. And most of them were prepared to die for their freedom.

And in a lot of ways, I appreciate that and I recognize that. I do. Because I'm in my 60s. I've been representing people on death row and children in courts for 40 years. I've been fighting for a more just system. I want to end cruelty and abuse of people in prisons. I want all of those things. I'm a product. I'm a product. to Brown versus Board of Education, at a time when I don't think we could win Brown versus Board of Education, I think we've retreated so much. And no matter what I do, no matter what I say, I will still go places in this country where I am presumed dangerous and guilty because of my color. I still have to navigate presumptions of incompetence because of my color. I still bear the burden when I'm stopped by the police to make sure that nothing tragic and violent happens. And so do my nephews and nieces and their children. And it's continuing and it's continuing. And when you have to constantly navigate a presumption of dangerousness and guilt

because of your color, when you have to constantly confront presumptions of incompetence, when you have to constantly bear the burden of other people's ignorance, it's exhausting. And when you get to a certain point, you say, I want freedom and I want freedom now. And to get to something better, we're going to have to do some things differently. And I'm saying things, I just never imagine I would say, but I'm saying them, I've decided recently that I am prepared to represent the 10 million black people who were enslaved for 246 years in this country. And when people try to deny the suffering and try to deny their humiliation and distort their stories and minimize their pain and agony, I want to be their advocate. I want to stand up for

them and say, no, you need to understand this, you need to hear this. I want to represent the millions of black people who were forced to leave the American South because of terror violence. Six million black people fled the American South, and they left lands that they owned. They gave up opportunities to create wealth for their children and grandchildren because of terror violence and our country's unwillingness to enforce the rule of law. And I want to represent them as they now continue to struggle with the economic consequences of that hardship. I want to represent the people who had to deal with the humiliation and degradation and degradation. Those signs that said white and colored, they weren't directions. They were assaults. They created real injuries. And that's why I'm

committed to creating this era of truth and justice, truth and repair, truth and reconciliation, truth and restoration, and it needs to happen now. We have to create a new era. And I say era very intentionally. It can't be like five years ago. It can't be a march for a few weeks. It's going to be, It's going to take decades, and we're going to have to build, and we're going to have to imagine things, and we're going to have to be structured and systematic and all of those things. We need to create something better. And that's why when I think about the 250th, I want to think about the 300th. You mentioned the difference between a moment in an era and a moment you sort of described

as what happened five years ago. So what do you take as having happened five years ago? I mean, there was this moment. There was marches in the streets and Black Lives Matter and a sense that's something really different. I mean, it was very popular called The Reckoning. And when Biden and then Kamala Harris, you know, ran for re-election, we're not going back was one of the big, right? You said, we're not going back. They said, we're not going back.

And then we a little bit, a little went back. And, you know, so now Donald Trump is president. and the 250th. You know, and President in part on a very explicit promise to represent a very different vision of American history. When you look back on what happened five years ago, what do you learn? What does need to be done differently? I think, I mean, in many ways, it was too easy. It was too popular.

Everybody just got to walk and claim something and didn't have to give it. anything, didn't have to do anything really hard. And some people got mad when I said, it's not that hard to kind of march under these conditions. The police weren't really brutalizing you like they did on the Edmund Pettus Bridge. And I think the same thing was true for corporations, you know, who started saying, yes, diversity, equity, inclusion, black lives matter. They didn't say it in 2015, but they were willing to say it in 2020, 2021, and we made it too easy. And I kept always arguing, look, don't say we're going to commit to diversity, equity, and inclusion without first admitting to all of the harms that you created when you denied promotions to women and people of color for the last 30 years. Do a report that documents the discrimination and the bigotry and the ways you held women and people of color back.

In your company, women and people of color who were more skilled, more competent than their white peers, but they were denied the promotions because you didn't trust. women and people of color to be in leadership. Admit to that, document that, name names, and then say, but today we're going to commit to a new era where we're going to embrace diversity. We're not going to allow gender and race to keep the most qualified person from playing the leadership role. We're going to have equity. We're going to be inclusive.

And two things would have happened. That company would know that when somebody says you shouldn't do DEI, they would know how to respond to that. They would say, no, we're doing this because. because this is what we used to do, and we're not going to do that anymore. That was wrong, and this is not. And people who were looking at it wouldn't think that black people and women are just getting benefits that they don't deserve. But that was hard for corporations, and most of them wouldn't do it. They didn't do it. And so then when somebody comes along and says, no,

we're going to wipe that out. They're like, okay. And so that's what I mean by an era. We've got to admit to the hard thing. So this legacy of slavery is something we have to acknowledge, if we're going to actually get to something better. The lynching violence and the terror violence, we have to acknowledge if we're going to create a world where mobs don't form when our political candidate doesn't win and they engage in violent protests. For me, the lesson, I joke Fred Gray, the amazing lawyer,

who's still alive, who represented Dr. King and was the architect of Browder v. Gale and did so much in the 19... So I joke with him sometimes when we get together. I said, Mr. Gray, we need to go back to 1965. And he'll say, what were we going to do when we get back to 1965? I said, you know, I think we misjudged what was needed. I wish we could get back to 1965.

And what I want to say in 1965 to Alabama, Mississippi, and Georgia, Louisiana, it is not enough for you to just vote against the Voting Rights Act, for you to just exist. I think we should have said all of you states that disenfranchised black people for 100 years, you are now required to automatically register every black person when they become 18 years of age. wouldn't have been radical. It would not have been radical. It would be a way of giving the violators of that right an opportunity to reckon with it,

and the people who had been harmed by that, an opportunity to benefit. I don't think it would have been wrong in 1965 to say, you all made polling places dangerous and treacherous for black people for 100 years. So it's not right for them to have to come to the dangerous place. You should go into the black community and get their boats. Well, let me ask you not just about what you would, like to have happen, but how the power or the narrative to make that happen happens. There is a tremendous amount in that sort of five-year period we're talking about that I just think was right.

And what we saw was it was not able to build or sustain power. In fact, it created more backlash and was able to create staying power in many ways. And so, you know, you talk about what happens on the Edmund Pettus Bridge, and that is people putting themselves on the line to create images meant to create power. And it works to some amount. And then at a certain point, I mean, and you know all this history much better than me, there's white backlash to that. And, you know, wait, we pass these bills. How are there still urban riots? You know, when is it going to be enough? So when you talk about moving to this new era and you talk about the power of these narratives and you, you know, what lessons are there about building the power? Because the corporations are talking about

they don't want to go back and do a large analysis of who they did not promote and in what ways and open themselves to legal risk and all the rest of it. People are, we talked about the, appeal of the harmony of the present. The harmony of the present is very seductive. Right. Right. But it's the same thing you were saying about Christianity and faith, wanting stability. I actually think. those companies that are willing to do that become stronger companies, become healthier companies. Those are companies that are going to thrive and create an environment for employment that's going to be so much more effective than those that continue to hide and deny their harms. So I think the problem

with five years ago is it wasn't rooted. We didn't require people to know the history of police violence against black people. We didn't require them to understand the nature. of this struggle over 400 years. We just allowed people to walk with a sign. And that was it. And so I think it has to be rooted. When I talk about an era of truth and justice, truth and repair, truth in reconciliation, truth and restoration, I think those things are sequential. I don't think you can skip the truth-telling part and get to the beautiful R words. I think we make a mistake when we do that. And just again, coming from a faith tradition in my church, you can't come to my church and say, oh, I want salvation and redemption and heaven and all that good stuff, but I'm not going

to admit to anything. I'm not going to confess to ever doing anything wrong. The clergy in my community will say, oh, no, it doesn't work like that. You have to first confess. You have to repent, but you shouldn't fear it. They will lovingly tell you, do not fear confession and repentance. And they'll explain to you that confession and repentance, acknowledgement, is what opens up your heart to grace and mercy. That's how redemption happens. That's how repair happens. In a love relationship, we learn that we have to sometimes be willing to say, I'm sorry. You show me two people who've been in love for 50 years. I'll show you two people who've learned how to apologize to one another when they offend, when they make a mistake. We understand that in our personal lives,

but I think the same is true in our collective life, our communal life, our national life. But there was an effort to make people repent. There was an effort to make people reckon in a way that there hasn't been, certainly other times in my lifetime. And the place I'm pushing here isn't about whether or not I think it would be good if people did so. But what did you learn from the way the backlash overtook the project? I mean, again, Donald Trump is going to be president for the 250th. And I was thinking before we sat down today about the way he frames.

what it means to believe in America versus the way Obama framed, what it means to believe in America. And his framing of it is very much to believe that America is great, that the story of being a patriot is loving your country

very much as it is. Obama's story was very much that the people who have made America great, that people have been part of the process of change are the true patriots. It was a creed written into the founding documents that declared the destiny. of a nation. Yes, we came. It was whispered by slaves and abolitionists as they blazed a trail

towards freedom through the darkest of nights. Yes, we came. It was sung by immigrants as they struck out from distant shores and pioneers who pushed westward against an unforgiving wilderness. Yes, we came. It was the call of workers who organized women who reached for the ballot. A president who chose the moon is our new frontier and a king who took us to the mountaintop and pointed the way to the promised land. Yes, we can to justice and equality. But I do think there's real ways in which the left lost patriotism to the right. It felt like it was just an endless confrontation with sins without maybe necessarily the space for grace that you're talking about. And so to keep that from happening again, what do you believe?

should be done differently. Yeah. Well, I think, first of all, I think we've gone through a moment where our platforms have been dominated by people who represent perspectives that I don't think necessarily represent the perspectives of the majority of the population, but they create the debate. They create the discussion. And I think we're getting better at sort of evaluating that and understanding that. But I don't think this isn't, you know, this is something can be shaped by, you know, academic elites.

I don't think it should be shaped by even media elites. I don't think it should be shaped by people who have by one means or another created platforms. You have to be connected. Dr. King succeeded because he had the respect of every black person in this community. And if he didn't, wouldn't have worked. They were connected. Before we had elected black officials, you had just people doing extraordinary things in the community. They became the leaders because of what they did, not because they won an election.

Now, I'm glad we have elected officials, and you identify an amazing set of them, President Obama, et cetera. But it takes more than that. It takes a connection. And so, number one, we have to understand truly who we are in this struggle. Secondly, I just think there is a lot of power in appreciating what people have. have already done to get us to where we are. That is, what has already been done, the nature of that progress, the nature of that struggle.

I mean, when people say to me, oh, it's just so much harder now, I mean, the truth is, we've never been better position to win a narrative war, to create an error of truth and justice. There are more talented writers and journalists. There's more black journalists. There's a diversity in journalism that has never existed before.

There's a diversity of platforms. We have more scholars. We have more this. We have more everything. We're better positioned than we've ever been. The question is, do we have the will? Do we have an understanding of what we must do? And I just look at different movements, different, I mean, 30 years ago, nobody would have predicted that there would be marriage equality. What got us to marriage equality was a narrative movement that caused people to retreat from this idea that only a man can love a woman. And we just started to see the limitations of that. And then we got to the point where we could see love. It's not stable. We may see retreat. But that's a progress. That is real progress. That has changed the lives of real people based on that movement.

I want to read you something that Donald Trump said when he announced the 1776 commission, his response to the Times of 1619 project. And he said, our mission is to defend the legacy of America's founding, the virtue of America's heroes and the nobility of the American character, who must clear away the twisted web of lies in our schools. and classrooms and teach our children the magnificent truth about our country. We want our sons and our daughters to know that they are the citizens of the most exceptional nation in the history of the world. Something you just said to me a few times is that we, and I take the we here to mean

those who believe in a more just and more free America, an America that is beyond where it is today, have never been better positioned to win what you call the narrative war. And so rather than have you answer that, what I'd like to hear you describe, as we come to a close, is what is that narrative? What is the thing at the center of the answer to that? What what Trump wants to tell everybody at the anniversary is this country has always been great, and the people who are trying to take its greatness from you are the enemy? Yeah. What is the story that you want to see, the people seeking justice tell in return, the story that you think can build that power

and change that country? I don't think greatness is defined by who has the most powerful military. I don't think greatness is defined by who has the most money. I don't think greatness is defined by who has done the most innovation with regard to technology. It's not defined by who gets to the moon first

or to Mars first. Those are all new. notable and laudable achievements. But when I think about human history and when I think about the human struggle, I'm quite convinced that greatness is defined by our capacity to love one another, our capacity to care for people we don't have to care for, our capacity to show mercy, our capacity to help those in need, our capacity to get beyond boundaries and borders that have either artificially or naturally limited us, our capacity to unlock opportunities for those who have been unfairly bound and burdened. That's greatness. And so when I look at our history,

the things that make me proud are the things that people have done, to overcome. I actually think there's an American story that appreciates the underdog who does the great thing that no one thought they could do. You know, the team that wins when nobody expected them to win, the person who dazzles when no one thought they had that ability, the person who shocks you because they have a voice you didn't expect them to have, the person who surprises you because they can do things in an entertainment or an athletic space you didn't expect them to do, that's what creates wonder, that's what makes you appreciate the glory of being a human, the beauty of being a human. And nothing, I think, reflects greatness more than our desire to see that everywhere and that opportunity given to everyone.

So, you know, I just think the model of greatness that's about power and strength and the ability to threaten and intimidate, it's a false narrative. And the military power, the nations that have been claimed to be the greatest nations because they had the most military power have all fallen. It's not a stable or sustainable space to occupy. Those who diminish and deny and marginalize human relations, care, love, mercy, justice, those societies fall. And I'd still like to believe that America's best days are in front of us. And when I roll my eyes, when people say make America go, great again, it's not because I minimize some of the things we've done in the past. I just have to believe there is something better waiting for us. And I believe that. I really do. I think we are

poised to do some things, but we're also threatened to go back. And so we're going to have to win this struggle. But yeah, I think for me, greatness is creating a world where there's more love, where there's more hope, where there's more mercy, where there's more opportunity, where there's less sickness, where there's less poverty, where there's less despair, where there's the kind of joy and beauty that I think we all crave. And our government should facilitate an opportunity for more of that, more of that beauty, more of that joy, more of that love, not block people from understanding things that get in the way of joy and beauty and love, like bigotry and violence and hatred and racial categorizations and hierarchy,

I think to me that's the greatness that I'm looking for. This is something that I thought walking through the sculptures. It had to have been a choice to represent things that were, that are so hard to bear, so hard to look in the sun of their cruelty. In ways that are so beautiful. Yeah. Not a ways that it's a very difficult place to move through. it sits heavy at you. And yet it is all, you found, or the artist there and the space you chose and the garden you created. I mean, there's one sculpture there of a child who's a slave child who is hurt his hand, picking cotton, showing it to his mother. And there's cotton, real cotton bowls. I'll never forget how beautiful and sad that sculpture is. But that choice to represent so much hardship and beauty,

struck me as very moving. Yeah. Yeah. I mean, I guess that's just what I've learned from my work. I mean, I've chosen to stand next to condemned people who are going to be executed. And you can ask yourself, why would you get close to something like that? And what I've learned is that when you're kind of close to the disfavored, the marginalized, the condemned, you sometimes, have the ability to harness the power of love and grace and create something beautiful in the midst of something really ugly. And those are the things that people hold on to. What inspires me the most about representing the people I represent is to see their humanity, to see them say something, hear them say something or see them do something beautiful.

And I just think if you understand that enslaved people had the capacity to show compassion and love to their children, you begin to understand slavery differently. You don't go to, well, they benefited from slavery. You ended up better off than you were because you understand that they're not so different. And so, yes, I think beauty is important. I mean, I, as, you know, I've seen a lot of ugly, a lot of ugly, and, you know, locking people up in cages and seeing some of the bigotry and the hostility that people have sometimes showed I've gotten death threats involved. There's a lot of ugly. But, oh, the beauty. Oh, the glory. I mean, you know, the remarkable things that I get to see among condemned people, people are in jails and prisons, people, we have an anti-hunger program now.

We're going into the Black Belt. Alabama has one of the highest rates of food insecurity in the country. And so we go into these communities. We support families who are food insecure. We give them basically $415 a month for six months, so they have some space to do some other things. And then we have a mobile grocery that goes into these rare, really isolated areas and sell grocery set next to nothing, and people come out. And there is a love and an excitement

and an appreciation. Everybody on my staff is fighting to be on the team that goes out because it's just so energizing. And every now and then I'll talk to somebody. And when, you know, an older person pulls me aside and just says, thank you for doing this. And we allow people in the program to identify other people who should be in the program. So I'll say to some of the people in the program. You pick three people in your community who you think needs this more than you. No relatives, but just pick three people. And they'll take it so seriously. And then they'll come back and say, well, these are the three people. And what this woman said to me is, she said, Mr. Stevenson, just because you're poor doesn't mean that you don't want to be generous. Just because you're poor,

doesn't mean you don't want to help other people. And she's more grateful that we have allowed her, in her words, to be a philanthropist than she is for the food. And for me, there's a beauty in that, not just the material exchange, but in the understanding the heart of this human being who, despite poverty, wants to be generous. And instead of just labeling and demonizing and marginalizing the poor, when we understand there's a desire in that community to be generous, we think differently about what it would mean to fight poverty. And so, yes, I think that beauty is really important. Without the beauty of overcoming segregation, in germ crow, the beauty of overcoming the violence and menace of lynching and not hating everybody

for that. The beauty of choosing America and citizenship and not retribution and revenge after emancipation, it'd be hard to believe in this country. But when I experience that beauty and I see that beauty, and I know that beauty doesn't have a racial boundary, it doesn't have an age boundary, it doesn't have a gender boundary, it doesn't have a gender boundary, it doesn't have an identity boundary, it is a human experience that we can all embrace, then I'm motivated. I'll end before asking books. Something you just said, what it means to choose this country, what it means to believe in the country. I know a lot of people who have come to feel very alienated from the country over the past 10 years. Trump's first term and his second term and what he represents

and the way he acts and the things he says, it's been hard for them to know so many of their countrymen chose him, chose him again. They actually have done reckoning with parts of the country's past. They maybe did not know that much about. And that has been deeply overwhelming. It's a hard thing to hold. And the mixture of the two and then the 250th coming when it does,

in the political moment it does, when I asked them them, I said, do you love the country? Would you say you believe in America sort of pause and said, well, it's a hard moment? So what do you does it mean to love America to believe in it to choose it? I think it's for me, at least, it's kind of the wrong question, do you love America? It feels like it's a question created as a sort of a litmus test. It's like asking, you know, which child do you love the nurse?

We think that's an inappropriate question because we have an obligation. We have a responsibility to all of our children. I am an American. And when I think about my four parents, as much as I have been recently, they have fought for me to be an American. I think they emancipated, those four million black people who were emancipated after this war, are some of the greatest Americans I can identify. Because they commit it when it wasn't rational. They contributed when it wasn't appreciated. They persevered when they were being threatened in menace.

They continued to believe, despite unspeakable abuse and cruelty, I think they're the greatest Americans. I'm not trying to rank Americans, but if you ask me to name some great Americans, I'm going to name the 4 million people who were emancipated who continued to fight, just like I would name the people in this community in 1955 who committed themselves to staying off the buses. They were great Americans. And so I want to be a great American too. I want to be a great American like my enslaved four parents,

like my grandparents who fled terror violence and fought for a better way, like my parents who dealt with humiliation and degradation of segregation. It's not the only kind of American, but I want to be a great American. And so my heart is in creating a world where that becomes easier and easier for more and more people. Because if I think about America, if I try to reduce it to something, it's a place for everybody who wants better, who believes in equality, who believes in justice, who believes in fairness, who believes in opportunity. That's the essence of it. And so to get there, we have to do some work. And it's been going on for a long time.

go on for a lot longer. But that's what I want. Yeah, I want to be a great American in that tradition. That's a beautiful recasting of that, not what does it mean to choose America, but what does it mean to choose to be a great American? Yeah, yeah. Always our final question.

What are three books you recommend to the audience? I think a great book I recently reread was, Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neal Hurston. I recently read again Le Miserables by Victor Hugo, powerful. And I guess my third book would be, in this moment, Fyodor Dostoevsky, the brothers Karamatov, which is one of my favorite books in the world. Brian Stevenson, thank you very much. You're very welcome, very welcome.