Apr 6, 2022 4 min read

WASHINGTON – The vortex of our vexed record on race came out with the cherry blossoms.

These three things: the Senate vote on a historic Supreme Court nominee; an anti-lynching law passed at last; and marking the cruel April day Martin Luther King, Jr. was murdered in Memphis, Tenn.

President Joe Biden’s nominee, Judge Ketanji Brown Jackson will be confirmed, with few Republican votes. She’s the first Black woman ever to rise to the high court, as Sen. Cory Booker, D-N.J., declared.

Despite her impeccable credentials and testimony before the Senate Judiciary Committee, five Senate Republicans made sport of the distinguished Jackson.

Yet she showed dignity and forbearance, a true judicial temperament.

To accuse the judge of being soft on child pornography was the lowest of blows, akin to a Southern strategy.

Snarling senators were Ted Cruz of Texas, Josh Hawley of Missouri, Lindsey Graham of South Carolina, Tom Cotton of Arkansas and Marsha Blackburn of Tennessee.

All hail from former slave states. It was not pretty to treat Jackson that way.

Is this just a coincidence? You tell me. History rhymes and patterns remain.

Jackson was clear and candid in her answers, more than any other nominee in years. She came across as forceful yet respectful.

By contrast, Brett Kavanaugh, a Donald Trump nominee, dodged a credible witness who alleged a sexual assault. He lost his cool and started sputtering about beer. A Republican Party operative and Federalist Society pick, his name was pretty much on that seat.

And he got it.

Amid the rumble in the House of Representatives this session, something really good was going on.

A certain congressman from Chicago reached the finish line on a federal law against lynching as a hate crime. The Senate passed it by voice vote. Biden just signed it into law.

At 75, Sen. Bobby Rush, D-Ill., is one of the coolest members, with a life story that combines being a pastor and Black Panther. The young Barack Obama lost a race against Rush.

This law was not an easy win. It took time, grit and faith in America’s capacity to own the darkest side of our past. The recent National Memorial for Peace and Justice in Montgomery, Ala., dedicated to victims of lynching and racial violence, is testament to that.

Hooded terror against thousands of Black people began after the Civil War and lasted into the 20th century, even in Maryland (a former slave state.)

Rush told me the family of Emmett Till, the young victim of lynching in Mississippi in 1955, witnessed the moment as guests in the House balcony.

The law is named for the Chicago youth, murdered while visiting relatives. His gruesome end was a catalyst for the nation’s civil rights movement.

The House caught the arc of justice. Remembrance of Till is a monumental capstone for Rush and us.

There are times we get it right when we’ve gotten it wrong for so long.

On April 4, the date Dr. King was slain, his family invited Ukrainian ambassador Oksana Markarova to lay a sunflower wreath on the memorial to the slain civil rights leader.

The symbol spoke of Ukraine’s rich summer fields. This was a prayer for peace, in King’s nonviolent spirit.

His assassination was my first national tragedy. I wept hearing King’s preacher voice rise on the radio in 1968.

In 2005, my sister and I went to the Memphis motel – now a museum – where King led a strike of sanitation workers by the Mississippi River.

We met friends of “Martin” and heard the story of his last day.

His circle of civil rights leaders was gathered, going to dinner that night at the Rev. Billy Kyles’ house.

King joked about what his wife was cooking, Kyles told us in person.

Mesmerized, we looked into the room where King stayed. Crystal clear, Kyles set the scene he witnessed.

As he recounted, Martin’s mood was light that afternoon after giving his prophetic “Mountaintop” speech the night before. Civil War President Abraham Lincoln was also lifted up, at peace on the day he died.

King walked down to the balcony, Kyles said. Then – the rifle shot rang out. The dreamer was dead at 39.

Jackson is a vote for the future, a new day past our tears and tragedies.

Jamie Stiehm writes on politics and history. She may be reached at JamieStiehm.com.