Dreams

I have so many dreams. I am very lucky and fortunate to have several of those dreams fulfilled. I have held the hand of those I have loved, I have kissed my bride, I have walked the ocean shores in three countries, I have dirt on my shoes from 39 states, Mexico, Canada, Jamaica, England and Kenya, I have made a movie that matters, I have written songs that matter, I have been a sound engineer for a professional band, I am doing what I love and getting paid for it, I have a college degree, I have seen my favorite bands live and I have played drums for thousands. Yet, I am not done dreaming and I am not done seeing those dreams fulfilled.

I was reminded the other day about another dreamer. I spent the last weekend on the road with the Chapmans. We played in Atlanta, somewhere in Alabama and finished up in Nashville, Tennessee at the historic Station Inn. On Wednesday I spent the day scouting for places to film a music video that I am doing in three weeks. Throughout the course of this day it became apparent to me that the residents of this particular region sill hold deep roots of racism that are prevalent in the South. This was particularly disturbing to me for obvious reasons and I honestly felt a little bit of the oppression and found it very hard to concentrate on the task at hand that day.

After the scouting was done, I headed back into Atlanta. I had some time to spare, so I decided to stop at the historic district where Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was born and laid to rest. There is a museum there that is not only dedicated to him but to the Civil Rights and Human Rights movement as a whole.

I would like to think that I would feel the way I did no matter what day I was there, but on this particular day, my senses were on sensory overload. I was feeling all these emotions of Jamaica and Kenya and the places I’ve spent time in were poverty and wealth live next door to each other, like St. Louis, Houston, NYC, London and Mexico…even parts of Springfield. Adding to that, it was Thursday, August 28^th…which is the anniversary of the “I have a dream speech” by King. And, that night Barack Obama was going to accept the nomination of the Democratic National Party for the Presidency of the United States. While many here do not share my affinity for Obama, this is irrelevant when it comes to the inherent historical value that lies within, and the blood that has been shed to achieve this goal.

The area of King’s memorial is in a particular part of town, that in all respects is still run down. This was my first observation as I pulled in and headed into the historical section. The next thing you notice as you enter into the parking area (which is free, as well as the museum) is that there are posted signs everywhere that remind you not to leave valuables where they can bee seen, but to move them to your trunk. That’s your fist clue that not all things are right.

As I entered into the museum, I noticed one thing right away, other than my friend Chris who was with me, I was the only white person in the museum…in fact the only white person I saw even walking around. This was very troublesome to me for some reason…perhaps more so just because my senses as I said were way on edge, but that’s just the way it was.

The first room I went into was a room dedicated to King’s last days on earth. I saw pictures of him standing on the balcony of the hotel, drinking his coffee and waving at passerbies. Then, there was a shot and he was on the ground and his blood was flowing. They had a picture of the man with him pointing in the direction where the shots were fired from. They showed him on the stretcher going down the stairs and then they showed his funeral. There was a visitation at one church, and then a few days later, he was transported to another church. His casket was placed in a wooden cart that was drawn by donkeys to represent the poor. The picture showed the streets filled with thousands upon thousands of people who followed the cart for miles as it went through town. By this point I had goose bumps all over my body and was getting very teary-eyed. To add to the mix, the cart was in the middle of the room. I touched it. It came alive to me. All the while, his “I have a dream speech” is playing in a loop over the speakers in the ceiling.

I’ve read about King since I was a little kid, but he was never so real to me as he was on Thursday. He was never as important to me as he was on that day. Sometimes books just don’t do it, and as hard as a history professor tries they can’t teach what you can see and touch and smell.

After I left that room, I wasn’t feeling all that well. I felt myself getting very sad and very overwhelmed with emotion. I made my way through the rest of it very quickly because I was seeing things I didn’t want to see. The last thing I saw was a picture of the KKK and of a lynching. I was sick and I was pissed. I all but ran out the door, not because I was ashamed, I know that I had nothing to do with it and I don’t feel responsible for what happened back then. But, I was feeling so overwhelmed because those ideas and those concepts are still present, and there is still so much work to be done.

I have family members who are racist, I have friends who are racist and it just really hurts. My wife accuses me of being racist at times toward white people because she sees that I hold it against them and disassociate myself from them, which is a form of racism, although not extreme. I do not mean to do this, but I suppose that as it is so vitally apart of who I am, I have a hard time being around or calling friends those who are racist. I think it’s just shallow. I understand where it comes from; it’s just that that in this day and age it just shouldn’t be happening. Yet, it is not only here, but all over the world. Look at Iran and Iraq and Pakistan.

I say all this to make one very simple point. Racism is alive and strong today. It’s found in the US, in the UK, in the members of the UN and everywhere. The only way to truly defeat it is to defeat it within you…To go out of your way and reach out to what is different from yourself and accept that different is not always bad or wrong, it’s just different.

“And when this happens, when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"