He Died For You & Me

Almost fifty years after his death, what’s our friggin’ problem?

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MLK in Newark, NJ 1968  (The King Center Archive)

 

I was born in 1969, the year after MLK was assassinated.  He died for me.

 

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Cleaning MLK’s blood credit: Henry Groskinsky

I grew up in mainly Puerto Rican and Dominican neighborhood in upper Manhattan.  Being the only Korean kid in your neighborhood is ass, but that’s where my parents landed.  Next time someone calls you a “chink” see how fast you pop them in the mouth.

I like to think I’m pretty liberal in my views having grown up in this big city, with a best friend who’s black–we grew up three blocks from each other.  And I want to be “woke” and kind to my fellow man no matter creed or race.  But I could have easily gone the other way if it hadn’t been for the movement known as Martin Luther King, Jr.

If I believed in God I would say MLK was our Jesus Christ on earth.  Neither man was perfect, they just had the incredible insight and vision to see beyond themselves.  But I’m not going to pigeonhole myself to say I am that kind of believer––I’ll just say MLK was a good man who was killed for doing the right thing.

In light of our current social and political crisis, I know that we can’t keep letting his death be for naught.  We have to fight for what is right: equality, fairness, kindness, understanding, and goodwill for everyone.

We’ve got to fight the powers that be.

 

 

 

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