How is it that we know so little about the real Martin Luther King Jr.?

Martin Luther King Jr., the 1963 March on Washington, “I have a dream”: We’re all familiar with the story. Every third Monday in January, we observe and honor the man who fought racism and paved the way for civil rights — at least, this is what most can say about him. It’s not a bad description, by any means. It’s quite beautiful, actually. The thing is, that tweet-length description of King’s legacy is incomplete. Grossly incomplete. King wasn’t simply this saintly fi gure we’ve come to martyrize: the “Santa Claus-ifi cation” of King, as renowned social-justice activist Cornel West describes. Close your eyes for a minute and conjure your image of King. You’ll likely imagine that August day when King stood before hundreds of thousands of people and told the world about his dream: one of the greatest moments in our country’s history,

a moment we’re all familiar with. But think to yourself, how much do you know of King after that speech? The man lived for another four and a half years. Why don’t we know more about that time? How is it we know so little about one of the most revered fi gures in American history? Everyone praises the 1963 King, the “I-have-a-dream” King. Yet we forget the 1967 King, the King who vehemently opposed the Vietnam War, got right under President Lyndon Johnson’s skin for going too far, called his country “the greatest purveyor of violence in the world,” organized a Poor People’s Campaign to eradicate poverty (refusing to stop with his spotlight in 1963 and 1964) and braved attacks and smear from not only conservatives, but even the liberals of the day.

The New York Times’ editorial response to King’s April 1967 anti-Vietnam sermon read, “Dr. King makes too facile a connection between the speeding up of the war in Vietnam and the slowing down of the war against poverty.” Lyndon Johnson reportedly responded with, “What is that goddamned n----- preacher doing to me? We gave him Civil Rights… we gave him Voting Rights… we gave him the War on Poverty. What more does he want?” The FBI would reportedly keep watch over King and wire-tap his hotel rooms after the "I-have-a-dream" speech, among other reasons, up until King’s assassination in April 1968. King isn’t a hero because he had a dream in 1963. He wasn’t a dreamer; he was a

doer. King saw that injustice remained in 1967, when so many others felt complacent. Racism, war and poverty were not distinct issues for King; they were all threats to the human spirit, threats that were not bigger than any of us, but rather within our power to end. King viewed justice (for all people, all around the world) as a reality, not a liberal dream. And he lived and died to make that so-called dream a tangible reality to be fought for and achieved. That is King’s legacy. Not a dream, but a struggle, a conversation, a fi ght he started and one he’d expect us to fi nish. Next April will mark 50 years since his death. Are you satisfi ed with how we’ve honored his legacy? I’m not. And if you aren’t either, then don’t just dream for better days: Make them. That’s how, in my view, you honor King.

David Hoffman is an Alligator copy editor and former opinions editor.