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Video of Speech I am happy to join with you today in what will go down in history as the greatest demonstration for freedom in the history of our nation. Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of their captivity. But one hundred years later, the Negro still is not free. One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languished in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land. And so we've come here today to dramatize a shameful condition. In a sense we've come to our nation's capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir. This note was a promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white men, would be guaranteed the "unalienable Rights" of "Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note, insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check, a check which has come back marked "insufficient funds." But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation. And so, we've come to cash this check, a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of Now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to make real the promises of democracy. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood. Now is the time to make justice a reality for all of God's children. It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment. This sweltering summer of the Negro's legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. And those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. And there will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights. The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges. But there is something that I must say to my people, who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice: In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again, we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force. The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. And they have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone. And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" We can never be satisfied as long as the Negro is the victim of the unspeakable horrors of police brutality. We can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the negro's basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as our children are stripped of their self-hood and robbed of their dignity by signs stating: "For Whites Only." We cannot be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until "justice rolls down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream." I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow jail cells. And some of you have come from areas where your quest -- quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive. Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to South Carolina, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair, I say to you today, my friends. And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream. I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal." I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood. I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice. I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. I have a dream today! I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of "interposition" and "nullification" -- one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers. I have a dream today! I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight; "and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together." This is our hope, and this is the faith that I go back to the South with. With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day. And this will be the day -- this will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing with new meaning: My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride, From every mountainside, let freedom ring! And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true. And so let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania. Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado. Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California. But not only that: Let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia. Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee. Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring. And when this happens, when we allow freedom 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!
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April 20th, 1999 Two boys entered Columbine with guns and bombs. Lest we forget. A mourner moves slowly past the casket of Isaiah Shoels at the Heritage Christian Center. Isaiah, who would have graduated two months later, was buried with his diploma and in his cap and gown. The Victims, Both Injured And Dead 1. Rachel Scott, age 17, killed by shots to the head, torso, and leg on a grassy area next to the West Entrance of the school. 2. Richard Castaldo, age 17, shot in the arm, chest, back and abdomen on the same grassy area. 3. Daniel Rohrbough, age 15, killed by a shot to the chest on the West Staircase. 4. Sean Graves, age 15, shot in the back, foot and abdomen on the West Staircase. 5. Lance Kirklin, age 16, shot with wounds to the leg, neck and jaw on the West Staircase. 6. Michael Johnson, age 15, escaped from the grassy knoll with wounds to his face, arm and leg. 7. Mark Taylor, age 16, shot in the chest, arms and leg on the grassy knoll. 8. Anne-Marie Hochhalter, age 17, shot in the chest, arm, abdomen, back, and left leg near the cafeteria's entrance. 9. Brian Anderson, age 16, injured near the West Entrance by flying glass. 10. Patti Nielson, age 35, hit in the shoulder by shrapnel near the West Entrance. 11. Stephanie Munson, age 16, shot in the ankle inside the North Hallway. 12. Dave Sanders, age 47, died of blood loss after being shot in the neck and back inside the South Hallway. 13. Evan Todd, age 15, sustained minor injuries from the splintering of a desk he was hiding under. 14. Kyle Velasquez, age 16, killed by gunshot wounds to the head and back. 15. Patrick Ireland, age 17, shot in the arm, leg, head, and foot. 16. Daniel Steepleton, age, 17, shot in the thigh. 17. Makai Hall, 18, shot in the knee. 18. Steven Curnow, age 14, killed by a shot to the neck. 19. Kacey Ruegsegger, age 17, shot in the hand, arm and shoulder. 20. Cassie Bernall, age 17, killed by a shot to the head. 21. Isaiah Shoels, age 18, killed by a shot to the chest. 22. Matthew Kechter, age 16, killed by a shot to the chest. 23. Lisa Kreutz, age 18, shot in the shoulder, hand and arms and thigh. 24. Valeen Schnurr, age 18, injured with wounds to the chest, arms and abdomen. 25. Mark Kintgen, age 17, shot in the head and shoulder. 26. Lauren Townsend, age 18, killed by multiple gunshot wounds to the head, chest and lower body. 27. Nicole Nowlen, age 16, shot in the abdomen. 28. John Tomlin, age 16, killed by multiple shots to the head and neck. 29. Kelly Fleming, age 16, killed by a shot to the back. 30. Jeanna Park, age 18, shot in the knee, shoulder and foot. 31. Daniel Mauser, age 15, killed by a shot to the face. 32. Jennifer Doyle, age 17, shot in the hand, leg and shoulder. 33. Austin Eubanks, age 17, shot in the head and knee. 34. Corey DePooter, age 17, killed by shots to the chest and neck. Hate breeds hate. ~AA
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Depressing Thunder Of My Heavy Heart; In Memory Of Fred
Arch-Angel posted a blog entry in blogs_blog_777
We went on the highway to get to work. Flashbacks of the seventh grade flew across my head. Fred was a freshman going into sophomore year. He was an immigrant, and went to my church. Friends with my sister, and always cared. I barely knew him. I just heard he was the one Christian Brazi that people loved because his smile never left his face. He always asked how your family was, whether he personally knew them or not. He would be 19 or 20 today. I believe it was May 29th, 2005... He was coming home from church in Boston inside his friend's Eclipse. His friend was tired, as it was 1 AM, and he needed someone to keep him company to talk to and keep him awake, otherwise he slept at the wheel. Fred, like the good friend he was, died a good friend keeping his friend company. The night before, rain poured down hard like it did today in Massachusetts. The Mass Pike was extremely wet, and the driver was young and didn't care if he was going 90 on a 75 mph zone. They hydroplaned into a light pole, which tipped over, killing Fred almost instantly. The next day, I cried for a death for the first time. Since then, I've tried to be Fred. I do what I can to put a smile on one's face and remain serious in the end. Some of my close friends think it'll be my downfall trying so hard, but Fred was able to do it, and he's my role model. The dark clouds and the cold drops of rain only suited me. In Memory of Fred 1990 - 2005 ~AA -
~AA
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Its been a year. Don't forget. ~AA
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To say this man made a significant difference in my life today is an understatement by all means. Today marks the 40th anniversary of his death as he walked out of his room in the Lorraine Motel April 4th, 1968. Towards the end of his last speech given the day before, named 'I've Been to the Mountaintop', he said the following which seemed to have foreshadowed his impending death. King's last words on the balcony were to musician Ben Branch (no relation to Taylor Branch) who was scheduled to perform that night at an event King was attending: Take My Hand, Precious Lord written by Rev. Thomas A. Dorsey ~AA
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NOTE: Suggestions of 'Song of the Day' are much obliged, so if you have a song thats clean or mostly clean of swears and/or profanity (rap/Hip-Hop/R&B allowed of course), than PM it, and it might become 'Song of the Day'. INCLUDE WHY YOU THINK IT SHOULD BE SotD. July 25th, 1941 - August 28th, 1955 Read. This folk song was made in honor of Emmett Till, though never published, was still popular in within Protest Groups. Emmett Till, today song goes out to you. The Death of Emmett Till by Bob Dylan. ~AA