The Rev. Jesse L. Jackson Sr. speaks on a radio broadcast from the headquarters of Operation PUSH at its annual convention in July 1973. (Photo by John H. White/National Archives and Records Administration)
“And another thing…”
The Rev. Jesse Jackson always wanted to mention another thing.
As a reporter, I might have had deadlines shouting and other stories clamoring. But Jackson had something on his mind — and he would not let me hang up.
All his life, Jackson burned to share his vision of a more equal, inclusive and generous America.
Jackson was a tireless talker.
Like most reporters, I was happy to listen.
A hundred journalists in South Carolina — past and present — probably have a Jesse Jackson story.
I’ll remember that unmistakable voice. On the phone, in the pulpit or on the stump — there was nothing like Jackson’s clarion, mesmerizing voice.
From a political podium, it thundered.
For a long time, there was perhaps no more powerful stump speaker in America than Jackson, who died Tuesday at the age of 84.
The civil rights leader, who was born in Greenville, had a fierce moral vision, particularly in evidence when he spoke about education, health care, voting, justice, worker’s rights, and struggling Americans.
Listen, for instance, to his Democratic National Convention speeches in 1988 and 1992.
The charismatic Jackson understood the secret of great oratory: We may forget the words, but we remember how they made us feel.
A ‘servant leader’ honored: The nation pays tribute to Jesse Jackson, civil rights icon
What I remember is this: He called us to be better than we are.
Yes, he had his flaws, which critics frequently highlighted, but for millions of Americans, Jackson offered a stirring vision of possibilities.
Jackson gave us the soaring music of the American Dream, without which politics can seem like a dull and sometimes shabby business.
A speech by Jackson was like a Baptist sermon or a Tchaikovsky symphony, beginning softly, slowly, earthbound with mundane detail. But that was just stage-setting for the virtuosic performance to follow.
His voice would swell, rising in volume and intensity, until the final coda rang out in call-and-response affirmation: “These are our children!” “I am somebody!” and, of course, “Keep hope alive!”
Jackson understood the power of a memorable phrase.
“Keep hope alive” belongs in the pantheon among other great American rallying cries: “I have a dream” (Martin Luther King Jr.), “Yes, we can” (Barack Obama), “Mr. Gorbachev, tear down this wall” (Ronald Reagan).
An irony is that one of Jackson’s first civil-rights actions required no voice at all.
In July 1960, while home from college, Jackson joined seven other Black students in a peaceful protest at the whites-only public library in Greenville.
They entered the library to read and browse books — a quiet act of civil disobedience that led to their arrest for, of all things, “disorderly conduct.”
The group became known as the Greenville Eight. Their efforts helped force the integration of the public library just two months later.
I’ve always liked that Jackson’s lifelong crusade for justice began with an act of good trouble (as John Lewis used to say) in a public library, a symbol of democratic educational opportunity.
If Jackson spoke passionately about the American Dream, it’s because he lived it.
Born in Greenville on Oct. 8, 1941, Jackson grew up under Jim Crow segregation.
Growing up in a segregated city shaped his lifelong commitment to justice.
“I was born in the slum, but the slum was not born in me,” he memorably said.
He rose from difficult circumstances to become a two-time Democratic presidential hopeful and, for decades, the most prominent Black leader in America.
Jackson, following Martin Luther King Jr., left us with a legacy of nonviolent action in the cause of justice. Throughout his leadership of PUSH and later the Rainbow Coalition he framed marches, boycotts, voter registration, and negotiations as nonviolent tools for social change.
Though he never held elected office, Jackson deserves more credit than he often received for battles won over the past few decades in education and more accessible health care, particularly for children.
Jackson left us with a positive vision that lifts up rather than tearing down.
The last time I saw Jackson was a little more than a year ago at a fundraiser in Columbia.
Wheelchair-bound and in declining health, Jackson nevertheless grabbed the microphone and spoke well into the evening.
He was a world-class talker, and we were happy to listen.
Jackson was such a force of nature that it’s hard to believe his magnificent voice is gone.
But the music of his legacy endures, keeping hope alive.
Courtesy of South Carolina Daily Gazette
