“Fear is the most frequent justification for silence. It is also the quickest way to switch from ally to bystander.“

Democracy survives when we protect and defend three things: equal protection for every person, equal opportunity via sustainable economic security, and equal accountability under the rule of law. That is what separates rights as being practiced and delivered from being simply promised.

I left the 56th Martin Luther King Jr. breakfast in Boston today as a representative of the city’s oldest organized church congregations, tackling a question that felt larger than any single question I have had in my life: “What will I bring?” Not what will I post or say, but what will I risk, what will I choose, and what will I refuse to normalize?

Nikole Hannah-Jones, the keynote speaker, did not provide a message of hope. She recounted the truth about a time, not so different from today, when many people felt the ground shake beneath their feet. She named the fear clearly. She reminded us that progress is not certain and that democracy is more fragile and recent than we are willing to admit. In that honesty, I remembered my late mother and her dedication to helping families in the Mississippi Delta throughout my childhood and young adult life. Nikole Hannah-Jones’ invitation reminded me of dinner table conversations about how democracy should not be treated as a family legacy that can survive on its own. I recall being taught how to view it as a discipline that required daily protection, specifically its three fundamental pillars: equal protection, equal opportunity, and equal accountability. I remember stuffing envelopes with a brochure titled “Are You Willing to Have THE POOR As Part of Your Family?” starting in 1975. I read the brochure over and over at each mailing, pondering why that life wasn’t mine and asking what it meant.  

The shared experience Ms. Hannah-Jones described about civil rights activists who admitted their fear revealed that courage is acting despite fear, not lacking it. Fear is the most frequent justification for silence. It is also the quickest way to switch from ally to bystander. I recall hearing similar stories growing up, including how my mother, as the Executive Director of the Box Project, Inc., could only host a Festival of Friends 20th anniversary picnic at a federal park in Grenada Lake, Mississippi, because existing segregation laws that were never repealed prohibited blacks and whites from being in close proximity in a state or municipal park. It was June 1988. Even then, there were concerns for everyone’s safety. 

I was unaware until I was an adult that my mother raised me to be an ally. I understood from a young age that as a white person, I must always witness and act as a truth teller when wrongdoing occurs. It is how I learned to speak up against injustice, to show up, and to care for my Black and Brown classmates and professional colleagues. As an adult, I learned the label for my behavior was “Ally.” I immediately realized that I could never refer to myself as an “ally” after hearing the term. Being white, calling myself an ally is a privilege I cannot claim. Only a person of color can give me that label and it is only earned each time I demonstrate its meaning. The label does not remain permanently attached when I am silent or sidelined. 

Now, in my second half of life, I recognize that allyship alone is a limited identity unless it develops into something more formidable. Today, I received the opportunity to try on “Accomplice.” An accomplice doesn’t simply agree. An accomplice assists in removing the burden. An accomplice accepts the inconvenience. An accomplice protects the most vulnerable when it would be easier to turn away. An accomplice bears witness and holds the privileged and powerful to account.  I have a role model of an “accomplice.” She is my late mother.  She was an accomplice from 1969 to 1992. I believe she would have liked the label and its meaning I learned today.  I now understand what she was doing—educating and breaking through institutional racism for the families in the Mississippi Delta in her own way. In support of Ms. Hannah-Jones’ point, I acknowledge that the work is not finished.  The Mississippi Delta is still economically exploited. When they are not, the dream of democracy will be within our grasp. 

In his comments, Senator Edward Markey, MA, reminded us that Dr. King warned of the “three giant triplets” that undermine democracy from within: racism, economic exploitation (poverty), and militarism. Today we might refer to them as a system that reduces belonging, concentrates money, and normalizes violence. Against the “triplets of evil,” I choose to cling to three sacred angels/guides of democracy: equal protection, equal opportunity, and equal accountability.

Equal protection means that I refuse to accept selective rights, selective history, or selective humanity. Equal opportunity means that I will not refer to a society as “free” if stability and safety are viewed as privileges rather than a foundation. Equal accountability requires that I will not ignore criminality or cruelty because it is politically expedient.

Ms. Hannah-Jones concluded with a question that continues to resonate with me: one day, our children and grandchildren will ask what we did when democracy failed or almost failed. When my grandchildren ask, I want my answer to be simple and true.

 “Yes, I brought my voice. More than that, I brought and shared my privilege of choice. I demonstrated courage. I committed to protecting what is sacred in a democracy—ensuring that rights and human dignity are not only declared but delivered.” 

The only decision left to make is the “HOW” of it. The “WHEN” of it. The “WHERE” of it. The fierce urgency of Now: Revolutionary Love, Liberation, and Joy is upon us. I best get to work since I have places to go, history to revisit and learn again, and letters to write.