Mourning the death of MLK 

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The end of the Civil War, while declaring on paper that there should never again be legal enslavement of any human being, regardless of race, was only a first step in ensuring the civil rights of America's Blacks.

Lincoln's Emancipation Proclamation of 1863—created by presidential proclamation and an executive order during the heat of the Civil War—provided the right words but fell far short of realizing a solution. After all, "Words are cheap," and the abolishment of slavery, further reinforced by the surrenders of the South's most celebrated generals and the final concession of Jefferson Davis, were merely steps in the right direction.

The aims of the Civil War had not been won. Oh yes, the Blacks were "free," but they had lost the only jobs they'd ever known; they were prayed upon and exploited by those who understood that their lack of education left them sorely vulnerable; new election laws created poll taxes that made it impossible for poor blacks to vote; some states initiated literacy tests, with the understanding that the blacks, who were hopelessly uneducated, would fail them; grandfather clauses were introduced. All of these, regardless of the law, stole the black vote.

Oh yes, they say that necessity is the mother of invention. After the Civil War ended, southern states were forced to find novel solutions to help compensate for the de-legalization of slavery. Horrifyingly, some states and municipalities created vagrancy laws, allowing the police to round up and incarcerate any unemployed or homeless black man and, as satisfaction of their sentences, impress them into forced farm labor for up to three months, working for the same plantation owners they'd only recently escaped. Remarkably, one of those laws—Virginia's—wasn't repealed until 1904.

Despite the greatest loss of life in any American war, the "War Between the States'" final surrender left 3.5 million slaves in a state of limbo. The 14th Amendment, in 1868, was a declaration that all Americans would be afforded the same protections under the law. That suggested progress and in 1870, a 15th Amendment gave all American males the right to participate in the election process. (Note: Women, ironically, were given no voting or property rights until 39 years later. Disgraceful!)

President Andrew Johnson, who took the reins after Lincoln's assassination, advocated for the rights of states to create their own laws, which were frequently out of tune with federal mandates. It would take about 94 more years for another Johnson to sign a Civil Rights Act that actually ensured the right of every American to vote.

So, how does Utah fit into this picture? Perhaps because of religious views on the Black race and its perceived unworthiness to receive all the sacraments of Mormonism, Utahns suffered a certain ambiguity over the plight of the Blacks and the murder of one of its greatest. After all, their religion had taught them that the Blacks had failed to be valiant in a pre-existent life and had, therefore, been restricted from receiving the Latter-day Saint priesthood or receiving temple endowments.

Ruled by the view of King as a rabble-rousing communist sympathizer—a view cultivated by the persistent attempt of our government to discredit him as a man, and to create the perception that he was an evil influence on our society—the FBI had dogged him for years to hurt his reputation. J. Edgar Hoover's FBI agents followed him, tapped his communications and used our tax money to gather dirt on his personal life. It all culminated in King's 1968 murder at a Memphis motel.

And on the subject of slavery, Brigham Young had actually sealed, in a temple ceremony, Joseph Smith's black servant—Jane Elizabeth Manning James—as a "servitor for eternity." In 1852, Young had delivered a speech on the plight of the blacks, stating, "This colored race have been subjected to severe curses, which they have in their families and their classes and in their various capacities brought upon themselves. And until the curse is removed by Him who placed it upon them, they must suffer under its consequences; I am not authorized to remove it. I am a firm believer in slavery." And, of course, Young's sentiments persisted as doctrinal until 1978, when revelation allowed the "curse" to be lifted.

In 1983, President Ronald Reagan signed a proclamation designating the third Monday of each year Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. Starting in 1986, that day was celebrated as a national holiday. In 1993, Salt Lake City, pressed by a growing effort to honor the Black Moses, renamed 600 South as Martin Luther King, Jr. Boulevard. Not surprisingly, Utah was one of the last states to honor and observe MLK Day. It took another 14 years—in 2000—for Gov. Mike Leavitt to declare MLK Day a state holiday. Bravo! But far too late.

Utah has come a long way. Beginning as a state with a religion-spawned disapproval of the Black race, it has slowly joined the rest of the nation, naming streets after that giant of a man and endorsing the national holiday it once rejected.

Martin Luther King, like his namesake, was a man committed to reform. And yet, anytime the word "reform" is mentioned—particularly when it's connected to the direction and progress of a country or society—it raises the hackles on many. It's not surprising that about one-third of Utahns, as shown by both Gallup and other major polling organizations, deeply disapproved of Dr. King, and a surprising number responded affirmatively to one of the survey multiple-choice statements: "He had brought it on himself."

As a stronghold of anti-communism, anti-unionism, and blind endorsement of the Vietnam fiasco—which King stridently attacked—it wasn't surprising that many Utahns had seen his death as a blessing for the country. Along with a similar percentage of Americans, a remarkable percentage of Utahns continued to disparage him, even after his tragic murder.

Hopefully time, with its wiser perspectives, has recognized the greatness of MLK. Certainly, like all of us, he had his own foibles, but he is the one person who has made the greatest difference in promoting the recognition, excellence, and protection of an increasingly black America.

We should all echo his words: "I have a dream."

The author is a retired novelist, columnist, and former Vietnam-era Army assistant public information officer. He resides in Riverton with his wife, Carol, and the beloved ashes of their mongrel dog.